#▌✞ quoth the raven. ( self )

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QUOTH THE RAVEN - CHAPTER 4

Rolan/Tav | NSFW | 5,210 words

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Rolan's POV

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He rouses slowly to the sound of muffled laughter.

Tav’s scent and warmth all around him fills his senses. She smells like leather and sweat, but there's a sweetness that lays beneath it that is purely and wholly her. He finds he enjoys it immeasurably. Almost as much as he enjoys the feeling of having her wrapped up in his arms. Her body shakes lightly. He feels the warmth of her breath and the movement of her lips against his arm, where she tries to suffocate the sounds of her giggles.

Making his voice work so soon after waking is a challenge - Rolan’s never been a morning person - but he manages to choke out words.

“What are you chuckling about?”

She stills slightly in his arms. Perhaps it’s at the sudden realisation that he’s awake, or perhaps it’s how close his lips are to her skin.

“Nothing, really.”

It’s not a very well thought out lie, truthfully, though it doesn't really matter. He just tightens his grip and pulls her closer to him, letting his nose graze the cartilage of her ear.

“Very convincing,” he struggles to keep the rasp out of his words, and she shudders minutely against him, “however for some reason I don't seem to believe you.”

Her voice is gentle, and it has a sweet Baldurian lilt to it that he can’t help but appreciate. Perhaps if it were anyone else, he’d think they sound common, but it suits her so painfully well that he finds he likes it. “I was just thinking about how insane my life has become these last few months… And about how warm you are.”

The laugh that spills from him takes him slightly by surprise, but it's not unpleasant. He finds himself laughing with her often. It’s so incredibly foreign to him, feeling this comfortable with someone, but he can't help the feeling that spreads through his gut when he’s around her.

“I told you before, tieflings run hot.” He’d shrug if he wasn't worried about jostling her. “It’s a blessing and a curse, though admittedly more of a blessing when one finds themselves in a region shrouded by supernatural chill.”

Tav hums her assent.

The silence that follows is sobering. It dawns on him, all at once, that they definitely didn't fall asleep spooning. He wonders who made the move, in the clutches of slumber, to crawl towards the other. He’s quite certain it was probably him.

He feels bashful all of a sudden. Perhaps she’s waiting for him to move away, so that she can be free of his grasp. He has the urge to run, as he so often does when he feels vulnerable, but the idea of not having her in his arms is rather unbearable.

“Are you… Is this…” He’s not quite sure what he’s trying to say. Do you like this? Am I making you uncomfortable? Can I keep holding you? He swallows the questions down before they can spill from him. “... Okay?”

It's not the most elegant thing he could've said, and there's a moment of self-consciousness that runs through him as Tav snorts at him. But then she’s speaking, and suddenly everything is well again. She has that effect.

“Is it okay that I’m wrapped up warm in the arms of a dashing gentleman? I suppose I can deal with it.”

Does she have to be so enthralling? Does she have to be so incredibly lovely in every sense of the word that the very insinuation that she finds him easy on the eyes has his face flooding with heat and his heart hammering in his chest? It’s pathetic, to be honest, but instead of running away like his bones scream for him to, he buries his nose in her soft skin and breathes in a lungful of her. He finds he can't keep the soft smile off his lips.

“Gods, is this what I get for trying to be polite?”

She laughs, and hells if it isn't a beautiful sound. Like the clouds parting after a monsoon. She shifts slightly and locks her fingers with his, and his heart rate ratchets at the simple touch.

Her tone is light. Comforting. “I’m comfortable as long as you are.”

He can't tell her that he's more comfortable than he's ever been in his life, in more ways than one. That he’s never felt so at ease as he does when they tease one another or when her hand grips his. He can’t tell her that if someone came in now, telling him the sky was caving in and the end was nigh, he’d scorn them for interrupting and tell them to leave the pair in peace.

“I suppose I’m amenable to the situation.”

She sees right through him. Squeezes his hand. His heart squeezes with it.

It’s quiet for a moment, before her gentle voice breaks the silence.

“Thank you.”

He scrunches his face in confusion. What could she ever have to thank him for? After everything she’s done for him?

“For what?”

“For yesterday.” She’s so quiet. “For looking after me.”

“Oh, right.” He’d almost forgotten, in the haze of waking up wrapped around her, the situation that had led them here. The ghastly wound on her torso that she sustained when she saved his brother’s life, and by extension his own.

Truly, he’d been terrified when he saw it. When he told her his healing magic was rudimentary, he wasn't exaggerating. Just enough to heal cuts and scrapes sustained by Cal and Lia when they were young and eager to prove themselves. He’d felt bile rise in his throat, seeing up close the way her flesh had split. The wound itself was a clean cut, courtesy of the no doubt recently sharpened blade that left it, but it was deep. He couldn't honestly believe she’d still been standing, let alone that she willingly sustained such an injury in pursuit of his siblings safety. It made his throat feel tight. What could've happened to Cal, what could've happened to Tav.

He's not sure when he became so concerned with her safety.

He shrugs, trying to chase the thoughts from his mind. “It’s about time I did something for you, isn't it? Other than giving you a migraine, that is.”

The laugh that sputters out of her chases every ‘what if’ away.

“Well, either way, thank you. I feel amazing. You've healed things I didn't even know were hurting.”

He can't help the smirk that rises to his lips. “What can I say? I’m nothing if not thorough.” How can he help himself? He’s just a man. A very, very weak one.

“Can I turn over?”

And just like that, his bravado is gone. He’s loosening his grip to let her move, bracing himself to see her face for the first time since waking up curled around her.

The sight punches the breath from his chest.

Because really, truly, she's one of the most beautiful people he’s ever laid his eyes on. She's all soft skin and bright eyes and lightly flushed cheeks, and she’s absolutely gorgeous. Her bottom lip is plump and pink, her top lip curving with a graceful cupid's bow. Her hair, a vibrant red, falls in soft waves around her. It frames her face and her glistening green eyes, parts slightly around the gentle point of her ears.

But it's not even just the fact that she's absolutely breathtaking to look at that has his eyes darting over her, trying to memorise the minutia of her expression, it's knowing exactly what lies beneath. Kindness and selflessness and an absolute burning need to do what's right, no matter the personal cost.

When he had met her, he thought her prideful and conceited, uncaring of the safety of others if it aided her personal goals. He thought that's why she’d insisted they stay at the Grove, to pad out the numbers so that her body wasn't one that fell.

Instead she came back, bone weary and covered in viscera, with the fight already over and not a single life lost.

She's so inherently good, and he can't help but wonder how he ended up here. Next to her, as broken and imperfect as he is, sharing her air and holding her body. He feels like he’s balancing on the edge of a cliff, trying not to plummet, as though a slight hair moving out of place will send him spiralling through the air and put his whole world off kilter.

And yet he still breaks the silence that’s fallen over them.

“You're feeling better, then?”

She nods, “much, thank you. I appreciate it.”

He doesn't mean to roll his eyes, but he does. “I meant it, Tav, it was the least I could do. I've been rotten to you, and you saved us.”

There's a beat of a pause. “You don't owe me anything, you know.”

And Hells, how incredibly wrong she is. How absolutely astoundingly incorrect.

“On the contrary, I owe you absolutely everything.”

She doesn't comment, so he raises his hand to her cheek. It stands out so starkly against her pale skin. She is soft and elegant where he is rough and flawed. His red skin looks like a blemish on her beautiful face, but he can't bear to not hold her like this. Can't bear for her to feel for a moment that she isn't precious. He stares straight into her eyes, trying and failing to keep the emotion from his voice.

“You saved me, then my family. Gods, you-” he chokes back the words he almost says. You could've died. It doesn't bear thinking about. “I owe you more than I could ever possibly repay you in one lifetime.”

Tav’s eyes stay locked with his. “You don't have to repay me. I like helping the people I care about.”

He knows she doesn't mean it like that. It's completely innocent. A gentle comment on the unlikely friendship that has formed between them after everything that has happened. And yet it makes his heartbeat stutter and his hands clam up. He doesn't deserve her, he reminds himself, but the questions wrenches from him anyway.

“You care about me?”

It's not what she meant. It’s cruel to insinuate otherwise. Cruel to put her in a position where she can hear the hopeful tone in his voice before she cuts him down. But she just flushes crimson.

“Obviously.”

And fuck, what can he even say to that? What can he possibly give her in return for the feeling of hope that radiates through his veins and spreads to every one of his extremities.

When he speaks, it's around a smile he didn't realise he was wearing. “Well, now I owe you even more than before, because I’m quite sure I’m the happiest man this side of the realms.”

She sputters out a laugh and his smile spreads wider. “Well, if you’re dead set on showing me your gratitude, I’m sure we could come to an arrangement.” Her eyebrows waggle like two gleeful slugs and he sputters out a comment about how incredibly incorrigible she is, but it blurs into the background because he's kissing her.

He’s kissing her, and it feels like coming home. It feels like the first salve of the hearth as you rush to escape the cold, biting and soothing against frostbitten skin all at once. It feels like the first thaw as winter ceases, the sun peeking through the clouds and reflecting off the snow as it melts. His heart jackhammers in his chest, and then she's sucking on his bottom lip and wrenching noises from him he didn't even know he could make, and wow- the hearth is lit and the whole house is moments away from catching ablaze.

Rolan moves his hand to her hip, because frankly he’s absolutely desperate for her, and he has been since she first kissed him. She's rolling her hips and sighing into his kiss and he feels like he’s just hanging on for the ride. He’d be embarrassed by how loud he is, but it seems to spur Tav on, and isn't just the thought of that enough to have his cock straining against his breeches.

He’s pulled out of his reverie when he feels her fingers tracing along his chest, over the cartilaginous ridges that line his sternum.

Even pulling back to look at her in all of her beauty doesn't ease the ache that thrums through him.

Because this is where she realises just how different they are, how much better she deserves. How a monster like him isn't worthy of warming her bed, let alone her heart.

He can't hide the bitterness from his voice, “another joy of my infernal heritage.” He plasters on a smile that even he knows is half hearted, and probably looks as false as it feels.

Her hand stills.

Her eyes scan his, and he braces for the rejection.

“You're beautiful, Rolan.”

And he laughs, he actually laughs, because who does she think she's fooling? Certainly not him. People are attracted to tieflings in the same way they're attracted to skydiving. They like the danger, the thrill, the feeling of doing something they shouldn't be. Rolan’s body is nothing but a novelty that he knows is quick to wear off, so he selfishly leans in for another kiss before it does.

She stops him.

“I mean it. You're beautiful.”

His brow furrows as he scans her face, searching. He's not entirely sure what she gains by lying to him about this. He's already hard against her, desperate and aching for whatever she deems him worthy of. He can’t quite ascertain why she would say these things, unless she truly believes them, and that certainly can't be the case.

And then she's on top of him.

He doesn't have time to protest, barely has time to suck in a surprised breath before her thighs are straddling him and she's leaning forward. His hands fly out of their own accord to grip her hips.

Her lips land on his forehead, and his eyes drift closed. “You’re beautiful.” The words rattle around in his skull, devoid of anything other than her words echoing through it. “You were beautiful when I met you in the Grove-” her lips trail softly to his temple, and he barely holds back a pathetic sounding whine, “you were beautiful when I found you in those shadows-”. Her hair falls around the pair of them, and it traps the smell of her soap and skin in the cocoon of safety she's created.

It’s just them.

“-and you're especially beautiful now.”

Then her lips are ravaging his own, and he’s trying not to cry as he pulls her as close as he physically can, merging her body to his like they’re two halves of one whole, like a final return to normalcy after a lifetime of living through the extraordinary. Their tongues dance like the push and pull of the tide, and maybe someday he’ll stop writing poetry when she kisses him, but right now he can't fathom it.

When she pulls away he can hardly breathe, he's gasping and gulping for air as if he’s just come to the surface after drowning, which he has. There are tears pricking at his eyes that he prays she can't see.

“Gods, Tav, you-” you can't mean it, “you're so-” you're so fucking perfect, “how do you always-” how do you always know just what to say? How do you see right into my soul and read what's written there like it was placed there just for you?

“Hells.”

He buries his face in her neck, because looking at her right now is too much, she's too much.

“I haven't-” I haven't earned this, “I don't deserve it. I don't deserve to have you like this. I want you so desperately it hurts but-” but you deserve so much more than I can give you. “Gods, you're so-” resplendent. “You're perfect and I’m just-”

Her core grinds down on his and all thoughts leave his mind in a whirlwind of lust and longing. His head slams back against the pillows, almost catching his horns on the headboards, but he's so lost in her he barely even notices.

“Well I’m here. And I want you.” She angles her hips downwards and drags her cunt along his length, and even through two layers of clothes it has his brain rebooting and air punching out of his lungs. “So what are you going to do about it?”

He's never sobered quicker.

His eyes fly open (he didn't even realise he’d closed them) and he's greeted with the sight of her above him, radiant and warm and absolutely everything.

And really, he never stood a fucking chance.

She's under him in an instant, gasping in surprise at the sudden switch in positions and his mood. But fuck, she wants him do something about it? She wants him?

He leans in, slowly, slowly, until they're almost kissing. He hisses the words through his teeth.

“I'm going to make sure you never want anyone else again.”

He crushes her lips with his own, fitting them together and pushing closer until the only air he can breathe is hers. Because she’s ruined him already, absolutely thoroughly ruined him for anyone else ever, so fuck if he isn't going to try and do the same. Heavens forbid she ever lay with another man, he needs her to think of this night, of him. So he kisses and grinds and bites at her until her sighs turn into whines and she's grinding back up against him, and he’s swallowing every noise she makes and praying to every deity he can think of that he remembers exactly what she sounds like for the rest of his days.

He lets his claws graze at the skin just below her sleep-shirt, pulling back to look at her as he toys with it. The heaving of her chest as she struggles for breath fills him with satisfaction, but he needs to see it better. Without barriers between them.

“May I?”

She nods without hesitation and that alone has him pulsing in his breeches, but he strips her torso slowly. As desperate as he is for her, he wants to savour her like this.

He smirks when he sees shivers race through her body. He did that.

Her breasts meet the cool air of the room and he watches as her nipples pebble. He takes one in his hand, rolling it experimentally. She gasps.

“Look at you.” He can't help himself. “You're divine, Tav, you know that? All power and glory and incredible beauty, and yet you're here in bed with me.” He truly can't believe his luck. “I should think I’m dreaming.” If he is, he hopes he never wakes up.

“I won't be in bed with you much longer if you don't start touching me properly.” She’s going for annoyed, he thinks - frustrated perhaps. It just comes off needy, and he absolutely fucking loves it. It makes him laugh.

“Oh yes, I forgot to mention impatient, didn't I?” So eager. So-” he brushes his lips along hers, “greedy.”

He twists her nipple, slightly harder than he meant to actually, but it has her back arching off the bed into him and his mind goes blank. He kisses and teases and caresses her until she’s moaning more than she's breathing, and he can't get enough of her.

He kisses his way down her chest, taking a nipple into his mouth and lapping at it. Her reaction is immediate and intoxicating. He holds her down as she writhes and hisses, and before long she looks as desperate as he feels.

“Hells, Tav…” He can hardly catch a breath, his fingers replacing his mouth on her chest. She shudders. “Gods above, you're perfect. Writhing and shaking for me already. I’ll make you feel so good darling.”

She just moans in response. His cock jumps.

“Let me, please? Please?”

He can't hide the need in his voice. He wants to make her feel good. He needs it more than he's ever needed anything else in his life. He needs her to praise him and beg him and tell him how incredible she feels.

“You already are.” The words are barely there around her laugh.

He can't help leaning forward to taste her lips again as he preens silently, then he shakes his head determinedly. “I want to do more. I need to. I need to make you cum around my hands and against my mouth and-” He can't breathe. His lips dance over hers with every word. “Can I have you, Tav? Please?” He's so fucking desperate. “Can I have all of you?”

Tav reaches up and grabs his face, and for a moment he’s terrified. He's said too much, he’s being too much.

“You have me Rolan.” She whispers it into the space between them. “I’m yours.”

He can't fucking breathe.

“Say it again.”

Her eyes shine in the low light of the room, full of earnest. “I'm yours, Rolan.”

Between her confession and the way his name sounds on her lips, he’s gone.

He kisses her so hard he thinks his mouth might be bruised tomorrow, the points of his canines catching on the thin skin on the inside of his own mouth, but he doesn't care. He kisses her mouth, then her neck, then her chest, then her stomach, peeling her remaining clothes away as he descends, until he's tucked into the space between her legs and staring at her pussy.

She's fucking beautiful. Her folds are soft and pink like her lips, glistening with her arousal, and all he can think is that he did that. He made this beautiful woman wet, made her clit so hard it peeks through the soft skin that conceals it. He’s never been more turned on than he is at this moment, staring up at her body from her gorgeous cunt. He traces a single digit featherlight along her seam and her whole body shudders.

His voice is raspy even to his own ears when he finally finds words. “I’d like to taste you, if that's okay?”

She nods, but that isn't enough. He needs to hear her say it. Needs her to tell him she wants his mouth on her.

“Strange, I’m certain I remember you speaking the common tongue before.” He feels the smirk work its way back onto his face as she glares daggers at him from above. “I’m quite sure I can't touch you further without your explicit verbal assent-”

“Gods,” her voice is a high pitched whine, “please.”

So he does.

He's tentative at first, but the first brush of his lips against her core has her arching and sighing into him, and from there it isn't hard to lose himself in the way she grinds down onto his face. He catalogues every noise, every flinch and breath and clench of her thighs, desperately seeking what makes her feel the best. When he flattens his tongue against her, trying to taste as much of her as possible, her whole body jolts violently and she lets out a loud sob. He does it again to the same end, and before long he’s pinning her hips to the mattress and moving his tongue over her in earnest as she threads her fingers through his hair and pulls.

Her body is a temple, her cunt is the altar, and his tongue laving over her is the closest thing to worship he can think of. She tastes like salvation.

Her noises get higher and higher pitched, her hips rocking desperately, until her voice cracks and her legs spasm and suddenly she’s spilling into his mouth. He drinks from her deeply, swallowing her musk until her hips are stuttering.

When he finally wrenches himself away from her body, their eyes meet, and he can barely stand it. Her pupils are huge moons against the green of her irises. Every rise and fall of her chest has her tits jostling enticingly and he has the overwhelming urge to hide her from the world so that no one else’s dirty gaze ever sweeps across her again.

“Rolan.” Hells below, her voice is wrecked. “Fuck me.”

He’s pretty sure he blacks out.

When he’s once again aware of the world and the fact he exists within it, he’s tearing his shirt away from his skin. The appreciative gaze she sends over his torso has him preening.

His voice comes out ragged. “It would be my pleasure.”

And then he’s naked, all of their clothes forgotten, his body covering hers. The feeling of her soft, naked body pressing against his own makes him shiver. He gulps air greedily as he tries to remember how to breathe. She lifts one leg and hooks it over his hip, and that very much doesn't help.

As he gazes down at her, she looks right back at him, her expression raw and open, and he butterflies his touch across her cheek, just under her eyes. He feels like if he looked into them for too long, he’d drown, but he can't bear to look away.

And he could. He could drown in her. He could lose himself completely in everything she is and everything that she’s yet to be. He could lose himself in her body and her soul. He could be hers, if she wanted him to be.

The thought is terrifying.

Rolan has never wanted to belong to anyone. He wants to be strong and powerful, and she makes him feel anything but. She drags down every single wall he’s ever built around his heart, brick by wretched brick, and it absolutely fucking terrifies him.

He’s not used to feeling important. Or like his thoughts matter. But as she lays here, her nakedness bared to him, the softness in her eyes tells him that he is. That he matters. That he matters to her.

He gulps.

“Did you mean it?”

She looks slightly confused. “Mean what?”

Hells, he feels like he's going to cry. He’s not good at vulnerability. But he’s trying. For her, he’ll try.

“That I’m important to you. That you're mine. Did you mean that?”

Because he needs her to. He has to know she means it before he gives himself to her like this. Before he gives her this piece of his body and his soul that he's never wanted to give anyone else. Because if she takes this from him, she’ll be taking a piece of his heart with it, and he’s sure he'll never get it back. He’s sure he’ll never be able to give it to anyone else.

There's a soft, caring smile on her face, and it turns his insides to clay. She brushes her hand over his face, and he leans into it.

“I meant it.” She whispers. “Every word.”

That piece of his heart is forever hers.

He presses their foreheads together, looking into her eyes the best he can. He hopes she can see how much she means to him.

“Then I’m yours.” He can barely hear his own voice, but it's the gentlest it's ever been. “You're mine, and I’m yours.”

Then he's sinking into her.

He’s surrounded by wet heat as he slowly inches further inside her, and neither of them are quiet as their bodies join together. He's never felt anything like it. The impatient grip of his own fist can’t compare in the slightest to the spongy softness of her inner walls, clenching around him like a vice. He makes a small, testing thrust, trying to figure out how to move, and it makes fireworks erupt behind his eyes. He curls his tail around her leg, pulls her as close as he can, and collapses her forehead into the crook of her neck as he desperately tries to suck in air. His mind is completely empty.

“Rolan?”

He doesn’t speak.

“Are you okay?”

It hurts to form a coherent thought that isn't to do with the way she feels around him. “Yes, it's just-” earth-shattering, mind-numbing, life-altering, “I’m just-” trying not to cry, or cum, or both, “You're so tight, I just need a second.”

“Does it feel good?”

He scoffs, because did she really just fucking ask that? As if he isn't currently trying to remind his body that it’s still alive and that there's a heart pumping in his chest? As if he doesn't want to become a permanent resident of her perfect body, making his home at the apex of her thighs?

He lifts his head to scowl at her. “You're joking, right? Yes, Tav, you feel fucking incredib-”

She bears down on him, her muscles squeezing his cock impossibly tight, and he makes a noise more animal than anything else. His hips slam up into her on impulse and holy shit he could cum like this, her walls tensed around him.

He looks back at her, and sees the look in her eyes that tells him it was very much on purpose, that she was trying to unravel him, and the challenge he sees there? That's familiar territory. Spite and a need to win? That's second nature.

“You.” He growls it, and he sees the slight widening of her eyes. He digs his claws into her hips and thrusts and her arms swing wildly for purchase, landing on his shoulder, then forearm, the other grabbing his hip. “You are a fucking minx.”

He starts fucking her, hard and fast, because he's got a taste for it now, a craving for the way she flutters around him with every deep stroke. Her mouth falls open in a silent cry as he sets a punishing pace.

“Fuck, you drive me absolutely insane, you know that?” Words start tumbling from his lips without his permission. “Ever since I- ever since- since you stuck your nose in at the Grove. Hells. You occupy all of my fucking thoughts, Tav.” He’d be embarrassed if he wasn't so completely fucking cunt-drunk. “You terrify me and you put me in my place and I love it- fuck you feel so good.”

She's crying out, her whole body convulsing and shaking as she clings to him and he's never seen any sight more beautiful. No dream or conjuration could ever compare to the sight of her sprawled out below him, her pussy eagerly swallowing his cock.

“Please don't stop, Rolan, holy hells please don't- fuck!”

As if he’d fucking dream of it.

He grabs her by her shoulders and pounds into her, hard and fast and relentless and he’s not sure how he knows what to do but he just does. He was made for this, for fucking her. He’s so desperate to please her, to make her feel good, to make her his. He's muttering into her skin, begging and pleading with her, for what he isn't sure. But it's half gibberish and half Infernal and one-hundred percent pure pleasure and he can't stop himself. He's crying out and groaning and he’s going to fucking cum and he needs her so badly. So fucking badly.

He doesn't know what happens now, he realises.

“Tav, I’m close, I don't-” Does he need to stop? What happens if he stops?

“It's okay,” her reassurances are breathy and full of need, “it's okay, I want it. Please don't stop.”

Shit. He bites into the space between her shoulder and neck, a primal noise from deep in his chest rumbling out as he pistons his hips. She wants his seed in him. She wants him to fill her.

He’s going to fucking die.

He's frantic for it. He reaches down and desperately presses the pad of his finger into her clit, because he needs to know she's satisfied, he needs to feel her cum to know he's done a good job. His pleasure, however blinding it is, comes second to hers.

She makes a noise that almost sounds pained, and then she's clenching around his cock again and there's a rush of warmth spreading over his cock, and fuck she's cumming on him. She's cumming with his cock buried deep in her and that's it, he's finished, he might never breathe again.

There's nothing in his brain except the primal urge to fill her, and his movements grow uncoordinated as he chases his end. She whimpers and simpers and clenches her sensitive hole and that's his undoing.

He bites down on her skin again, and he might be worried about hurting her if the pleasure wasn't so blinding. His orgasm shocks through his whole body in a way it never has before, and there's static in his skull and the soles of his feet and his chest as his toes curl and he spills himself inside her. His cum spills from him in thick, powerful bursts and he chokes and twitches as he fills her with it.

They lay there like that for an age. His body plastered over hers, his cock softening and his cum cooling inside of her while he gasps desperately for air. Eventually, the feeling grows uncomfortable, and with a reluctant groan he slides out of her and rolls to the side.

Everything is silent except for the pounding of his own heart in his ears. He drapes an arm over his eyes and tries to take deep, steadying breaths.

“Rolan, can you…”

Her voice rouses him back to the present. He glances at her past it and meets her eyes. She looks throughly fucked, but slightly uncomfortable, and he realises why after just a moment. He casts prestidigitation, focusing on cleaning his spend from her (though he almost abhors the thought). After another moment, he casts a simple healing spell, and he hears her relieved sigh and feels the bed dip as she relaxes.

It's so quiet all of a sudden.

“That was-”

“Rolan, I-”

They both turn to look at each other at the same time, and a grin breaks out on his face as they both descend into breathless giggles.

He turns his body, props himself up on an elbow to get a better look at her. She's magnificent.

“That was incredible.” The words sound disbelieving, even to his own ears. “You're incredible.”

He reaches out to touch her, a hand resting over her navel, and her own hand comes to cover it. It sends warmth through him.

“So are you.” And Gods, what a lovely feeling to believe her. “I can't believe you hide all of this beneath those robes.”

He’s laughing, real and true and so unburdened by everything that’s happened to him over the last months that it almost takes him by shock. But it shouldn't. It doesn't. Because it's her.

And when it makes her laugh, too? Breathless and weightless and utterly enthralling as her face lights up with joy?

Worth it.

She struggles to talk through her laughter, “and you- you did-” She laughs again, loud and free, “how did you do that? Any of that! Who taught you that?! I need to write them a letter, maybe send them a bouquet.”

It sends him into hysterics despite the rising heat in his face, and he throws himself back down onto the bed, covering his face with his hands to hide his embarrassment. “No one taught me anything, Tav. I was quite sure I’d be awful, if you must know.”

She goes suddenly silent. It stretches. He feels unease brewing in his gut.

Why did he say that?

After another second of agonising silence, he slowly parts his fingers to peek through them at her. He's worried he’ll see disdain there, perhaps disappointment, but instead she just sits staring at him, mouth agape.

“What?”

She blinks. Blinks again. “You're a virgin?”

He makes an incredibly unattractive noise at her bluntness, “was a virgin, I believe. Unless my performance was so poor it doesn't count.”

It's meant as a jest, but he can't help the undercurrent of uncertainty that slips through his words. What if she’s disgusted, knowing he’s never laid with anyone else? What if she feels taken advantage of, that he didn't tell her before?

But her jaw just stays slack, her eyes blinking. He chuckles, bringing a knuckles below her chin and lifting it to meet the rest of her skull.

“Careful, dear, you'll catch flies.”

The pet name slips through so easily it's almost enough to send him spiralling again, but the feeling of her soft skin against his hand keeps him grounded.

She shakes her head, disbelieving, and boy if that isn't a stroke to his ego. “You're lying. That wasn't your first time. I don't believe you. No one knows how to do that the first time.”

He feels his cheeks heating, and wrenches away from her gaze. Truthfully, he was mostly running on instinct and the books he reads before bed. He tries to think of something witty to say.

“... I’m an academic. I studied the matter.”

He fails, evident by the way her eyes light with mischief as she snorts. “You ‘studied the matter’? That's an incredibly polite way of saying you read porn.”

Brilliant. Perfect, even. No, that's fine, he’ll just walk into the shadows outside and let himself turn into dust. That would be preferable, he thinks. He forces a shrug, but it's completely ineffective coupled with his blazing cheeks.

She just laughs, and lays down on his chest, her head over his heart. It feels appropriate.

Not appropriate. That's the wrong word. It feels… right. It feels like that's exactly where she should be, like she's simultaneously always been there and that she's never left.

His heart hammers beneath her. Uncertainty rears its ugly head once more.

It's all gone so awfully, terribly, perfectly quickly, and once again in the silence he begins to wonder when the other shoe is going to drop.

“... You truly meant it? Everything you said?”

Fighting for his life, losing his siblings, staring into the hollow eyes of cultists and supernatural creatures. All of these things he’s faced as of late, and he’s still never been more scared than he is in this moment.

She sits up, looks at him, and he mourns the loss of her head on his chest while simultaneously celebrating the ability to see her face. She doesn't say anything, she just waits, and that almost makes it harder.

“I have to check, before-” he cuts himself off with a deep, shuddering breath.

Before I fall in love with you.

“I have to know, because I won't survive this if you don't. I have to know.”

Because I think I already love you.

She looks at him for a long time, and he's so achingly scared that he’s made it too obvious. That his feelings are written across his face and she's going to pull away. That between giving her his virginity and looking up at her now with nothing but raw vulnerability, he's shown his cards too soon and scared her into folding her hand.

Her eyes drift down to his chest. His heart sinks.

Then she's tracing patterns into it, her touch featherlight, and his breathing hitches.

“I meant it. Every word. I’m yours, if you want me. I can't promise for how long, everything we’re doing is so-” she takes a breath, and he tries to ignore where he thinks that sentence was going. “But I’m yours. If you want me to be.”

And for the umpteenth time in the last few hours, he finds himself completely breathless. When she looks back up at him, their eyes meeting once more, she sees the same vulnerability reflected in her eyes that he feels deep in his stomach, and he just knows. He knows he loves her.

“I want nothing more.”

[3-kraehen-im-anzug]

As I yawn from gently waking

Suddenly there came a quaking

As of my phone gently making

Vibrations as a message comes.

“’Tis some messenger,” I muttered, “Vibrating my phone around. This and nothing else I’ve found.”

(more verses that I’m too tired to write)

Then this ebony bird beguiling my tired self into smiling,

By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore,

“Though thy crest be black and ruffled,

thou,” I said, “made no such buzzing muffled,

Ghastly grim but pretty Raven approaching me with such a frown-

Tell me why thou and thy charcoal feathers approach me now with such a frown!”

Quoth the raven: Ao3’s down

[zephartchives]

Feeling a little goofy in the brain so I feel like expanding on Quoth's concept and sharing new and old doodles :] I change his weapon to a coffin and a sickle. As much as I want him to use a scythe I tried to be more unique with him and express mourning instead of death more :3 A future redesign for him is in order

As said before, his literary is "The Raven" but I forgot to mention his character is both Lenore, the lover who's dead in the poem and the raven. So his literary is both "Lenore" and "The Raven"

The reason why he's an index messenger (apart from my love for that organization) is the raven in the poem is getting called a prophet, something The Index is like with their Prescripts. How the widower reacts in the poem reminds me of what other people who were granted horrifying prescripts

So Quoth isn't a part of the I-miss-my-wife-tails group, he is the wife that is missed, he faked his death😭

I thought it would be silly to use a lady character and just flip them to be a different gender like how some LCB characters are

Speaking of LCB, I'mma make him a part of a different LCB branch with a different gang.. there's no one else in there right now. Some parts of his doodle feature our Main LCB folks that's because I have this thought of making him tag along with the main LCB group for a mission where he can guide them (like with Yuri). Totally not for self-indulgence, verily. 😭😭

[bearsclubsstuff]

2.7 is like 10 days away and something that I need an explanation for is this poem “death of the crow”(which is also a reference to the raven by Edgar Allen Poe) that was clearly about Sunday 

Once upon a midnight dreary, while you pondered, weak and weary,
Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten dreams —
While you nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,
As of someone gently rapping, rapping at your chamber door.
"'Tis some visitor," you muttered, "tapping at my chamber door —
Only this and nothing more."

Ah, do you distinctly remember the dew-doused window pane;
And a dying baby dove laid like a shadow upon the floor.
Eagerly you had wished the story to meet a happy end
Eagerly you had wished no birds would plummet, their demise to bewail.
Some soared like shining stars, bound for the sky...
While others found only demise, in dust they lie.

Deep into that darkness peering, long you stood there wondering, fearing,
Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before;
Worms have stained satin, and flames consumed doves with broken wings,
A flame-bathed raven greeted you, its voice's rasp that sings.
"Sweet dreams are no paradise of mine," you whispered and sighed. "When I cast my eyes around —"
Darkness there and nothing more.

Then this ebony bird beguiling your sad fancy into smiling,
"The echoes of ghosts bring no salvation to light."
"People repent, their hearts sincere, only due to them seeking greater gains."
"Drink this blessed potion from the Great One, erasing your painful memories."
As Harmony's tune changed, you hear a dirge played amidst the dancing ashes...
Quoth the Raven "Nevermore."

The unbroken stillness remains silently, mocking any reply so aptly spoken,
But the Raven still beguiling all my fancy into smiling,
This and more I sat divining, scrying the source of the world's pain
Your heart grew resolute, no longer held back by confusion and doubt.
"Liar," you declared, "the Great One is blind to worldly sorrow —"
Merely this and nothing more.

You ascended the stage, you stole the authority, you strived for divinity
You raised the dim curtain, your self-directed farce skillfully honed.
Your heart overflew with pureness, while the shadows of the puppets cast grim shadows in their play.
Your soul embraced compassion, daring to forge a scale that will never sway.
"Behold," you proclaimed, "the utopia of absolute bliss,"
Yet the dream shattered, "Nevermore."

The velvet nest fell, the golden bed withered away,
But the bird remained perched, as did you, come what may.
The gods, who once bestowed upon you love's sweet hue,
Withdrew their favor, leaving your paradise askew.
Liberated from the shadow of young dove's demise, your soul will take flight,
Merely this and nothing more.

Your old dreams are as dead soil, barren of hope and bereft,
Yet how can a noble soul wither and fade, left adrift?
I shall await your arrival, with open arms and boundless hope,
Here lie the truest dreams, where infinite possibilities lope.
Here, all your ambitions shall be fulfilled and set aflame,
The past forever transformed, and nevermore

Yours, Most Sincerely

Cecil Simmes

—

What catches my attention is this being and invitation.

I remember people theorized that this was written by Elio but now we know that likely isn’t the case. What we do know now from an npc at Paperfold university is that the name came from a horror novel. There is a readable that backs this up (I can’t find it rn) but the radio host name is Cecil.

A confusing error about this though is that the letter was not found in the grand theater it was in dreamflux reef and you could collect it even before the fight with Sunday.

Perhaps it really is just a different letter but either way the author is the same “Cecil Simmes”

[eirianerisdar]

hi! i'm really loving icarus, you're a wonderful writer! but i just had a quick question. i love the flock graphics, and they're super helpful! would it be possible for you to maybe list the species of birds for the main 'characters' of the story as well? you don't have to post example photos or anything crazy, but i think just a list like that would be helpful too. sometimes i forget who has what kind of wings, and i think having a list so i can google image the bird would be great.

if that's not something you want to do or don't have time to do or something, no worries!! i really appreciate you taking the time to write icarus in the first place <3

Oof I might as well do a general guide! I never thought a maxiel wingfic would spawn so many specific wing allocations but here's the general list:

Paddock wings in Icarus:

Current grid:

Daniel Ricciardo - Scarlet Macaw (colourful, nimble flyers)

Max Verstappen - Peregrine Falcon (raw speed, inherited from his mother)

Sergio Perez -Crested Caracara (a type of mexican bird of prey)

Lewis Hamilton - Greater Bird of Paradise (beautiful wing plumes, lovely singer)

George Russell - Blue swallow (beautiful metallic-blue feathers, scream like madmen when they fly)

Carlos Sainz - Spanish Imperial Eagle (white epaulets, very regal)

Charles Leclerc - White Dove (need I say more? Perfect white wings, exploited because they're pretty but so intelligent in pathfinding)

Lando Norris - Lucifer Hummingbird (Small, colourful, likes to hover in place)

Oscar Piastri - Little Lorikeet (One of the smaller types of Australian parrot. Very cute)

Yuki Tsunoda - Japanese Long-tailed tit (Photos should be self explanatory. They fly like ballistic missiles)

Alexander Albon - Crested Fireback (National bird of Thailand. Beautiful dark blue and fiery plumage)

Logan - Blue Jay (Commonly found in Florida. Blue, like Logan's current posting, and his eyes)

Pierre Gasly - Osprey (A bird of prey often found near coasts along the European shoreline, and Pierre is from Normandy)

Esteban Ocon - Black Stork (Tall, gangly, also migrates through France)

Fernando Alonso - Kestrel (a type of small bird of prey, hunts by biding their time and waiting then divebombing)

Lance Stroll - Snowy Owl (Lance is cuddly ok and I didn't want to make him a Canadian goose because that's his dad)

Valtteri Bottas - Bullfinch (Look it up. The picture is self-explanatory. The manliest of men)

Zhou Guanyu - Chinese Red-Crowned Crane (A crowned crane for the champion of the universe, as translates his name)

Kevin Magnussen - Raven (Viking. quoth the raven.)

Nico Hulkenberg - Crow (he keeps coming back. As wily as many of their bird counterparts but has a bad rep for being a bad omen)

Retired drivers or drivers not currently on the grid:

Sebastian Vettel - Swiftlet (Extremely good fliers, reaching up to 160km/h and pulls insane G-forces)

Mick Schumacher - European robin (Very cute. Universally liked. Same wings as his father)

Nico Rosberg - Eurasian Sparrowhawk (a bird of prey that hunts by ambushing before a high-speed, agile chase)

Jenson Button - Northern Harrier (hunts in a high-speed flight close to the ground, exceptionally good listeners)

Mark Webber - Cassowary (look up a photo. Just look at it.)

Kimi Raikkonen - Giant Albatross (King of gives no shits, flies very long distances without a care)

David Coulthard - Bush-Stone Curlew (White trousers!)

Romain Grosjean - Red-tailed Hawk (I chose the bird of prey that could best mesh with the phoenix metaphor)

Antonio Giovannazi - White-spotted Starling (Very pretty plumage)

Daniil Kyvat - Great Bustard (I honestly don't remember why. Distributes in Russia)

Nyck De Vries - Common European Sparrow (Small. Commonly found. Unfortunately often hunted)

Nikita Mazepin - Flamingo (Need I say more)

Sir Jackie Stewart - (Clipped) Merlin Wings (Extremely fast Scottish bird of prey. In-fic, Jackie was one of the generation of drivers that clipped their wings, permanently robbing them of flight)

Team Principals and people in the paddock:

Toto Wolff - Black Swan (self-explanatory)

Christian Horner - Golden Eagle (A bit pompous. Matches his hair)

James Vowles - Magpie (Utterly clever, not from any particular prestige)

Fred Vasseur - Partridge (Affable. Cuddly.)

Guenther Steiner - Shoebill (self-explanatory, look up a photo)

Cyril Abiteboul - Eagle Owl (something about his face is very Eagle Owl)

Micheal Italiano - Kookaburra (laughs when they shouldn't)

Zak Brown - Chicken (self-explanatory. Literally and metaphorically)

Andreas (mclaren) - Common Quail (short lifespan)

Mattia Binotto - Pigeon (wants to be as pretty and loved as Charles. Is a public nuisance instead)

Otmar sznafnauer - Peacock (Struts around, can't really fly)

Resident Bastard:

Jos Verstappen - Cuckoo (Cuckoos are brood parasites, and lay their eggs in nests of birds of other species'. The cuckoo parent therefore does nothing while other birds raise their young)

[wxnheart]

𝐅*𝐜𝐤 𝐀𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐅𝐢𝐧𝐝 𝐎𝐮𝐭, 𝐇𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐲 𝐄𝐝𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧

note: *Horny Heresy inTENSIFIES*; take this seriously. or don't. your choice. just keep fucking around and finding out.

Lion El'Jonson - You always wondered what a visibly frustrated Lion would look like but you didn't have the self-awareness to fucking STOP until it was too late. And so here you are, hands bound in shackles, suspended bare before the First himself. For a while, he said and did nothing save for his eyes roving along the contours of your body. That was soon replaced with a curious hand and the moan you let out was heretical, indeed.

Fulgrim - It's a... miracle you can walk. And talk. And still breathe. Mmm... you weren't expecting that out of Fulgrim were you? You look like you've fought a battle and lost while nary a hair is out of place on his head.

Perturabo - Turns out he's not an ass with a martyr complex where it counts. He's still an ass, though... who ironically has a nice ass. Who knew that armor hid so much. Bastard. He may or may not like when you smack it.

Jaghatai Khan - Simply put, you found out on his bike. You were stumbling for a bit afterward.

Leman Russ - Well you didn't have to fuck around for long. In fact, Leman was practically waiting for the moment to pounce, and pounce he did. There's a reason why he's The Wolf King because Leman had you howling all throughout the night, dear.

Rogal Dorn - Perhaps the most surprising encounter of the Primarch. Dorn has some freak bitch tendencies, let me tell ya. All the signs were there what with his fondness for the Pain Glove.

Konrad Curze - *stares in judgemental Sevatar.*

Sanguinius - Watching him succumb to his lust was so beautiful. He had you right where he wanted you, enveloped tightly in his arms, embraced fully with his wings. The Brightest One's eyes are so clouded with a feral desire. He leaned down, pressed a tentative kiss on the pulse of your neck, and you were putty in his arms.

Ferrus Manus - Yeah, Ferrus is many things but when it comes to the matter of the flesh, um... yeah, you had to make the first move. He's got the spirit, though.

Angron - Whew. You fucked around and found out, alright. You riled Angron up so much, all you remember is him growling, muttering something in his native Nucerian tongue, and the next thing you know, your clothes were in tatters around you and he looked feral as he eyed your naked body. Oh.

Roboute Guilliman - Turns out he's a fan of office sex; you fucked around so much that Guilliman had your ass finding out on his desk. With his head buried between your legs. Please be quiet, my dear. There are people beyond those four walls. And yes, please run your fingers through his hair some more. Tug on it a little, too.

Mortarion - *stares in seventy times seven whilst surrounded by seven of the Death Guard.*

Magnus the Red - You thought Guilliman was the only one who liked it when you pulled his hair? Comes with a side of... pleasurable Warp shenanigans.

Horus Lupercal - The hoochiest of the hoochie daddies. The Primarch meets your bullshit with the most blissfully arrogant smile ever and proceeds to keep you up the entire night, reminding you why the Emperor named him Warmaster. Those tactics in the bedroom are devastating, babe. You're practically a zombie the next day.

Lorgar Aurelian - D'aww, look at Lorgar's inner dom coming out. All that resentment came out in one of the best hatefucks of your life. Kudos to you, darling.

Vulkan - You fuck around and find out and it turns into an all-night bear hug bonanza. But naked.

Corvus Corax - He puts his abilities to... good use. "Nevermore", quoth the Raven as he pulled you into the comfortable embrace of the darkness and made you his wonderful Lenore.

Alpharius Omegon - GOTTA FUCK 'EM ALL! ALPHA LEGION!

[valentinos-corner]

the bee has plans :)

vague explanation under cut, feel free to ask questions I love my bird people

All this started because I wanted an excuse to make Vocaloid songs with a story

So there's a hierarchy among the corvids constructed by the Raven, she claims she serves a higher power called "Eternity," but in reality she's just a corrupt shithead who wants to keep her position of power.

The Carrion Crow had always been at the bottom, but eventually managed to claw their way into a better position. However, thanks to them speaking out against Eternity, and the Magpie being a snitch, the Carrion Crow was banished, the Jay- the Carrion Crow's only friend- staying silent.

They didn't want to lose their own position, and besides, what could they do in the face of Eternity? Better to stay silent or they'd both be punished, right?

The Magpie is the epitome of "I'm going to cause problems on purpose, because it would be funny." The Raven really doesn't like them, but she has to let them keep their position because they're the only one that knows the truth behind Eternity and she refuses to threaten her own position.

I only have two song names conceptualized so far

Quoth the Carrion Crow (guess who)

Dancer, Dancer (the Magpie)

I love my stupid bird people so much

The Carrion Crow, the Outcast

The Jay, the Silent

The Magpie, the Self-Serving

The Raven, the Omnipotent

if you come up with song names for the Jay and the Raven please share them because I got nothin

the Magpie is my favorite, they're horrible and I love them :)

there will almost definitely be a Corvid Court ask blog once they have canon designs

[awesomeepicblog89]

not really a ref sheet not really anything at all more like i got bored and drew this anyways. wow these things sure are stranger! meet the worst english TA youve ever met ever in your life

[redwryvernwrites]

Young Iron | In Pursuit of Self

Chapter 31 - Quoth the Raven

...

Archive of Our Own | Fanfiction.net

[hellofromthehallowoods]

The Omen is a good bird and I will fight anyone who says otherwise (including the Omen)

Quoth the raven, I have self esteem issues

[bakunawaart]

Young Iron | In Pursuit of Self titlecard - Chapter 31 | Quoth the Raven

[opheliawillowbrook]

@bea2607 and @mezgkq

If we're going for everyone's "canon" sign (which canon seemingly means nothing these days, courtesy of DC and their antics. Not to mention the slew of trash writers reconning everything and imprinting their own basis onto characters (but that's a different conversation entirely lol) then sure: Damian is a Leo which makes sense. Raven being a Libra works too.

However, if I’m going off my own personal take, cause this is Tumblr, and that’s what we’re all here for. Then Damian is an in my opinion an Aries with a Leo moon, if I’m gonna get technical. For example the key personality difference are similar, but just slightly different.

Core Being

Aries - The most passionate (I personally find Damian to be more passionate than people give him credit for. But that could be my personal bias. He tends to hold firm in his beliefs and is reluctant to change them and will go out of his way to prove his point. Meaning, he HAS to be right. We lead from the head.)

Leo - The most fierce (Damian is without a Doubt fierce. As a fighter, he’s cut-throat. I.e. kill or be killed. Leos make great friends, but they’re also great opportunists, and who better to than the son of Batman and one Talia al Ghule, am I right? )

That being said, Aries is also a very opportunistic zodiac sign. In fact, we’re the best. I’m not proud of that, but we definitely feel the need to be number one and be the best, and we’re hella competitive and easily the most vengeful of the signs in the zodiac calender. Do not make enemies of us. We will kill you. Straight up ruin your entire life because we fucking LOVE to HATE shit! ARIES AIN'T THE GOD OF WAR FOR NOTHING. We make vengeance a hobby, because we can--we’ve mastered our crazy, and we’re good at. Like everything. If that doesn’t sound like Damian, then I’ve been writing him wrong this whole time lol.

Weakness:

Aries - Hot-tempered (Yes we are)

Leo - Bossy (Yes you are)

Both of these are Damian to a T. I’m not even gonna explain, we all know.

Strongest suit:

Aries - Ambition ( Damian is easily the most ambition, Robin and Titan. Ambition becomes him. It's literally in his Demon blood)

Leo - Generosity (For sake of argument, Damian is and can be generous, but not before being a total dick. Unless he loves you. As most of us are aware, Damian does have a “kind and generous soul” to, quoth the Raven. Which lends itself to the structure of his likability and character growth.)

As a Team:

Aries- (Cardinal) "Okay, here's what we gonna do." I feel like this Damian to a T. Take control, be the leader, act with no hesitation because he knows he has a plan B, and he's a cocky little shit. It might not work perfectly, but Damian’s confident, sometimes overly so. Did I mention that Damian's wicked cocky?

Leo - (Fixed) - "I will arrange the meeting and let's stick with the plan A." This to me feels more like Cassie Sandmark who’s a moral busybody. Damian will definitely tell you how he feels and point out that you're wrong, but he’s not a Karen.

At party:

Aries - *Drunk and ready to fight anyone*

Leo - *Heads to the center stage cheerfully and does theatrical stunts*

I’ll you be the Judge, juror and Executioner.

In a fight:

Leo - Tells Sagittarius "why do you have to be so criticizing?"

Sagittarius - Tells Leo "why do you have to be so self-centered?"

Aries - "You both have a problem. You two wanna fight me? Come on, I'm ready. (Aries live for this shit. Like we’re waiting for any excuse to pop off. Worse, we can justify it to ourselves. Personally, I think Damian is more likely to act on this take. Let's face it, there's war in his soul.

So yeah. Y’ll can take from this analysis (if we can call the incoherent ramblings of a chicken keeping, hairstylist such a thing.) I personally, as an Aries, feel justified in my arguments, because I’m an Aries and there’s not hope for me. But that doesn’t mean anyone has to agree. We all have our own takes, and that’s the beauty of fanfiction. We don’t adhere to canon, and we don’t have to.

With Love Ophelia.

[the-devils-toybox]

The inner voice of the Psycho sighed. He had been trying to make progress with his outer self for some time now, and now that they were alone with some quiet time, he's been trying to better educate him.

"THIRTY-FOUR MEATLESS RIBCAGES, READY FOR PICKING CLEAN!"

...It wasn't going all too well.

"Mmm... okay, so math isn't exactly your strong suit. Guess I should've seen that coming... Let's go back to literature. Do you remember how that poem we read last time went?"

"LITTER!? I FEED THE LITTER TO THE RATS AND WATCH AS--"

"Christ, you're wordy today. Okay, look; I'll keep it simple. We'll do one line, and if you can get that much, we can go find something to kill. Alright?"

"Ugh... Little Men shouldn't fib the rib tickler..."

"I mean it! I think there's a camp nearby! So let's just do this one. Ahem... Ghastly grim and ancient Raven wandering from the Nightly shore. Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night's Plutonian shore. Quoth the Raven..."

"GUTS AND GORE!"

"No, idiot... come on, two more tries. Quoth the Raven..."

"Nnnnngraaaah... SssssssSEVERAL BOARS!"

"Strike two. Come on man, think; and think about how much easier it'd be if you could actually talk to her. You know, the whole reason we've been trying to do this?"

Silence fell as Krieg shifted in place, grumbling to himself. He was really antsy... but the inner voice had a point. He did miss the Pretty Lady just as much as his inner self did.

"...Never... morbed..."

Silence from the inner voice... and then a small laugh. "...Yeah, alright. I can see you're trying. C'mon, grab the axe. Let's go rough up some meat."

"HAAAAHAHAHA! THE FESTIVAL OF BLOOD IS UPON THEE!"

"Yeah... whatever you say, man."

[dalyntha]

Howie Mandel, a meager and unassuming opinion

The other day I posted about “Deal or No Deal Island”, and during the course of that post I explained the basics of the original “Deal or No Deal” show. I of course mentioned the host, Howie Mandel. Why would you shorten Howard to Howie? Howard really is an awful name, but Howie sounds juvenile.

According to the many (one) source, HM was born in 1955. That means he is 69 years old this year. (Stoo snickering). I have a hard time believing it, but he’s older than my parents.

He’s old enough to vividly remember the civil rights movement, a handful of wars (that we know about 👀) and like, a crap ton of other important stuff. He was 30 ish when the Berlin Wall fell. It may not seem like that big of a deal, I mean, there’s a lot of people that age, I mean, come on, the “boomers”. AKA my grandparents generation had little to no self control and/or birth control.

It’s just, Howie does not look like he’s about to ding 70. There’s a handful of celebrities that have really aged well, that’s another post. But Howie is - different. I think, and I could be wrong, that Howie Mandel is indeed an extraterrestrial being. This is why, I’m sure many of my readers noticed, I called him a creature. I can’t definitively say he’s an alien but he is a creature. Now, if you have seen the stage of the “Deal or No Deal” show, it’s lit up, and like, for sure a space ship deconstructed into the stage. Howie lives deep beneath the ship/stage, in quarters that “NBC” Has provided for him, in addition to many other forms of payment, because Howie requires intense medical care. Not used to the germs that humans carry, his weak alien immune system (well from our point of view, I mean, it could be that he also can’t handle our atmosphere yet he persists…just suffers for it by being almost paralyzed by common human germs. His people have cleverly covered this up by having him tell everyone that he suffers from OCD, and more specifically, he is a germophobe. Putting him in harms way every time he did a show by letting middle aged women hug him and good ol boys grab his hand for a handshake. Doctors here have struggled to adapt our medicine to treat him, but thanks to the profits of the game show, they are able to provide him every effort.

I won’t go into his career much other than to say that he apparently voiced Gizmo from “Gremlins”. That was a pretty cute little thing until it’s fur melted into a slick acidic mess of a monster. It didn’t terrify me as a child (i think i was 5 when it was in theaters, i wanted to go and my mom said no) but it did really piss me off to have the cute thing do that.

Pretty sure HM has done a lot of stand up comedy, interviews, and of course AGT. It’s all to keep his cover, any platform where he can comedically display his humanity, that’s where he is.

I don’t think anyone knows what his real motives are. Are there more like him? Will they come here in more game show ready space ships? I mentioned his youthful appearance, and of course this will eventually catch up with him, unless him or his people…have already planned our convenient end before then?

I’ll leave you with that, dear reader. Will be come for you? Will you hear a constant gentle rapping, rapping at your chamber door?

“Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from offmy door!”

Quoth the Raven, “Deal…..or no deal??”

@twig-gy