#Along Banks of Bow River

[ellecdc]

Hiiii! I have a request, poly!marauders x animagus!fem reader (you decide what type of animal) and everytime it’s full moon she turn into an animagus and watches hboyfriends (kinda lurks around secretly) as they take care of Remus. The thing is they don’t know that she’s an animagus, and what would their reaction be when they found out?

(You’re an amazing writer and your fics makes my day🫶🏻)

this was so sweet - thanks for your request and for your patience in me getting this to you!

please note: my requests are currently closed as I finish exams and work through the requests that I currently have.

poly!marauders x fem!reader who's a secret animagus

Prongs was very confused.

This was the third moon in a row that he, Padfoot, Wormtail, and Moony had been romping through the woods when Moony seemed to get caught up on something.

He wasn’t sure what had changed; they always followed the same routine: transform in the shack, let Moony out, follow their trail where they can run (and roll, in Moony & Padfoots case) down a large hill, chase each other along the river bank, drink from the edge of the Black Lake, and slowly make their way back to the shack for Moony’s transformation. 

Except, once again, they seemed to be caught up under this unassuming tree.

Prongs looked to his canine companion who offered what he could only assume as a doggy shoulder shrug as Moony yipped and stood on his hind legs in an attempt to see through the lowest bows of the tree.

The first time this happened, Moony almost took one of Padfoot’s legs off for trying to encourage him to leave the tree. 

The second time, Moony could only be convinced to leave as his bones actually started stretching and reorganising themselves as the transformation started.

What was even stranger, though? After both of those moons, Remus woke up in a panic asking where you were and if you were ‘okay’.

It took Sirius shifting back into Padfoot and laying across Remus’ chest in order to provide grounding pressure to his chest before they could get him to calm back down and convince him that you were safe.

James hated seeing this side of Remus; the side of him that none of them had seen since before the Marauders told him that they knew his secret. He felt horribly paranoid, reclusive, and entirely too guilty. 

Guilty for daring to love you even though he felt you deserved better. Guilty for allowing you to love a werewolf. Guilty for not telling you that you were in love with a werewolf. And guilty for lying to you about it every month.

Sirius and James hated the secrecy too - but it wasn’t their secret to tell. They loved you, but they couldn’t take away Remus’ autonomy when it came to his infliction.

But, tonight - the third moon in a row of this nonsense from Moony - and Prongs had had it.

Prongs bowed his head and scooped Wormtail up into his antlers, hoisting him up to the lowest branch of this damned tree Moony was fucking obsessed with and encouraged him to investigate. 

Moony let out a little whine and a huff as he sat and watched the little rat disappear through the bows of the grand pine. 

A squeak alerted the two animagi and one werewolf to trouble when the top branches began to move and out flew a large black crow with a rat trapped in its talons. 

The crow gently glided to the ground about ten feet away from the trio and let go of the rat who quickly ran up Prong’s leg and situated himself in the safety of his antlers. 

Padfoot - ever protective of his pack of misfit toys animals - began stalking toward the offending bird, sure that Moony was just as excited as he was about this impromptu hunt. It wasn’t their favourite - it was not a rabbit - but it would do. 

However, much to both Padfoot and Prongs’ surprise, Moony quickly leapt in front of the crow and grumbled warningly at Padfoot, going so far as to bare his teeth at his pack member. 

Padfoot tilted his head in confusion at Moony as if perhaps the situation would make more sense at a 45 degree angle, but it appeared that it made no difference when Pads ultimately huffed and turned back towards Prongs. 

Prongs wanted to laugh - but deer stags couldn’t do that - so he let out a ‘bleat’ as the crow flew above Padfoot and teasingly landed on his head.

Padfoot, ready for a fight, turned to nip at the bird who simply jumped back up and hovered just out of reach of the dog.

Prongs was suddenly even more confused.

What crow willingly releases a plump, likely juicy, rat from its talons instead of enjoying it as their meal? And what crow willingly teases a large werewolf sized dog in front of his werewolf friend? 

This one, apparently.

And Moony - usually very possessive and exclusionary when it came to the other creatures they came across in the Forbidden Forest - seemed not only accepting of this new addition, but really quite pleased with it. 

But it was time to go if Moony’s flinches and groaning was any indication; the transformation would happen soon. 

Padfoot moved towards Moony and affectionately nudged him with his shoulder, hoping to encourage him towards the Shrieking Shack. 

Moony seemed to understand that he ought to go, but couldn’t bring himself to leave without his newest friend.

Somehow - to Prongs’ absolute astonishment - the crow seemed to understand what the hold up was and flew over to situate itself on Prongs’ antler.

Prongs - far too tired after a night full of romping with a werewolf directly after a full day of classes - acquiesced to being a glorified chauffeur for his smaller friends and led the way to the shack. 

The crow sat quietly on the top of the old fireplace as the Marauders went about business as usual. 

Padfoot convinced Moony to curl up on the bed so he would wake up at least semi-comfortably, whilst Prongs used his antlers to encourage a blanket up around Moony so he wouldn’t wake up completely nude, and Peter ran back towards the castle to give the lovers some privacy. 

Once Moony returned fully to Remus, Prongs and Padfoot took a moment to shift back to their own human forms and started up on the healing process, completely forgetting about their interloper.

With a groan, Remus came to after James encouraged healing potion down his throat.

“I’m sorry, Moons.” He apologised in a whisper as he handed the empty vial to Sirius’ waiting hand.

“Where is she?” Remus croaked. 

“Where’s who, babe?” Sirius asked, sharing a concerned glance with James. 

Remus choked in his attempt to respond and both boys began shushing him. “Dovey.” He finally got out.

“She’s at the castle, Moons…she’s safe.” James placated.

“No.” Remus argued. “She was there.”

James turned to see if Sirius had any idea how to handle their boyfriend’s insanity when he spotted it behind Sirius.

The crow.

“You.” He whispered in awe, causing Sirius to whip his head around.

The crow hopped down from the mantle of the fireplace and landed gracefully on the floor before it spun and grew back into you.

“Dovey.” Remus groaned. James turned to see there were tears in Remus’ eyes, though he knew not what for. 

“Hiya Moons.” You answered shyly, shooting guilty glances at Sirius who was still staring at you in shock and to James who was looking frantically between you and Remus.

“It’s been you?” James asked incredulously.

“How long have you known?” Remus asked at the same time.

You smiled sadly at Remus and knelt down beside him. “Long enough to become an animagi?”

“You sneaky little witch.” Sirius finally let out with a breath, sitting down unceremoniously at the foot of the bed to look at you.

“I’m sorry. Please don’t be mad.” You begged quickly; eyes darting nervously between your three boyfriends.

“You’re worried about us being mad?” Sirius asked disbelievingly. 

“Angel, you’ve caught us sneaking around and lying to you.” James teased with a certain level of sincerity, nudging you with his shoulder. 

“Do you hate me?” Remus whispered, eyes still trained steadfast on you.

You looked at him like he had grown three heads.

“Remus, I love you. That’s why I’m here.” You pressed severely. 

Remus laughed out a sob and covered his face with his hands. 

“I’m sorry, but what the fuck were you thinking?” Sirius asked suddenly.

“What?” You responded warily.

“Casually inserting yourself into a werewolf pack! What would you have done if Moony hated you?” He barked, flinging a hand towards Remus’ general direction.

You scoffed derisively and shot Remus a look like ‘can you believe this guy?’ “I’m impossible not to love, Sirius. Do keep up.”

Your cheek earned you a scoff before Sirius was launching himself at you and the two of you fell to the floor, disturbing layers of dust and causing the particles to dance through the air. 

“You’re so lucky you're cute.” Sirius said in faux contempt as he peppered your jaw and neck with kisses. 

James sighed in relief as he looked back over at Remus who was watching the two of you with a look so full of fondness, James was surprised he couldn’t see hearts pouring out of his eyes.

“You okay, Rem?” James asked him quietly, pulling one of his hands to his mouth and pressing a kiss to his palm.

“Perfect, Jamie. Just perfect.” Remus said with a content smile and a single happy tear trailing down his cheek.

James was more than inclined to agree.

[twola]

To Name A Vista

Arthur Morgan x F!Reader Smut (18+), MDNI

➵ Fic Masterlist ➵ AO3 Link

It's beautiful - this hidden place he's brought you - but you'd have to admit, nature is not the only view you're admiring.

When you awaken, blinking yourself back into the world of the living, it's only a moment before you arch your back against your bedroom that your body becomes your own again.

You yawn, stretching your arms above your head and your legs out straight, the small of your back bowing upward. As you settle back down on the rumbled bedroll, you run a hand down your face, brushing your hopelessly tangled hair from your cheeks.

As you stare up at the pitch of the tent, the morning light filters through the canvas as your hand settles over your stomach. A smile crosses your face.

Your cunt aches sweetly, a dull pain you're happy to feel within the cradle of your hips. A blanket lays discarded, twisted around one of your legs. Otherwise, your skin is bared completely within the tent, gooseflesh prickling as a soft morning breeze pushes through the hanging flap of the tent.

You roll over, yawning again, frowning slightly as you feel the stickiness of dried sweat on your back and something else entirely between your thighs.

Sitting up, you roll your shoulder backward to shake out the sleep from your body. Discarded clothing litters the ground, trousers and shirts, gun belts, and a chemise bunched up in the corner of the tent. A pair of men’s boots knocked over.

Your fingers grasp for the tent’s flap, drawing it open slightly to let the early morning sunlight in, birdsong becoming louder as you squint against the brightness.

It’s certainly picturesque, here along the banks of the Dakota River, tucked away from roads and trails, the gentle waters flowing south to collect in Flat Iron.

You grope for the discarded blanket on the other side of the bedroll and wrap it around your shoulders as crawl out of the tent to stand. Stepping past the campfire that’s been re-lit in the morning, you notice a pot of coffee heating up in that old beat-up percolator.

You’re drawn by some unseen string to the riverbank.  Your bare feet slide slowly over weathered river stones to where your toes touch the water’s edge. Pulling the blanket around you closer, you smile as the birds chirp loudly overhead.

Arthur stands several feet out in the water, gently lapping at his thighs as he scrubs at his shoulder idly, staring off into the distance, Mount Shann looming large miles away.

Nude as the day he was born, you are transfixed, gazing unabashedly at your lover’s body. The lines at his neck and elbows where sun-kissed skin meets what’s usually hidden beneath his clothing. Scars, marks, a smattering of dark, wiry hair. That slash on his shoulder from a coach robbery in Colorado. The circular mark on his bicep when he was shot in Arizona. New, pink-red lines scratched into his skin on either side of his spine. No, those weren’t battle wounds, those were love marks - carved into his skin by your blunt nails as he thrust himself inside your body, over and over and over again last night.

A smile creeps over your face as you note a faint pink imprint of your hand on one of his ass cheeks.

He rolls his shoulder, still unaware of your gaze on him. Blading his body sideways, he leans over, cups river water between his hands, and brings it up to his neckline, splashing it to cover his chest, idly scrubbing at wet skin.

You cannot help but stare at his large cock hanging prettily between his legs. Even with how many times the two of you climbed into each other last night, heat flares in your belly as you feel wetness gathering in your cunt. You rub your thighs together absentmindedly as you trace the paths of the rivulets of water down his chest, down the muscles of his abdomen, as it weaves through the dark curls of his pubic hair and drips off of his cock.

You’re smitten, there isn’t any denying it. 

This was all fairly new between you - and maybe it’s still those early days of a relationship where you can’t keep your hands off of each other. At some point when the gang was traveling from the west, the simmering tension between the two of you boiled over, and after a night around the campfire and a tad too much whiskey, you awoke in Arthur’s bedroll, thoroughly satiated and adorned with sloppy bite marks and suckled bruises across your décolletage.

That, of course, quickly devolved into sneaking into tents at night, groping behind wagons, and the occasional dalliance in the woods outside of camp.

When things had finally calmed down from the Blackwater mess, he grabbed you without much preamble, led you to the horses, swung you up on the rump of his new mare, and headed out of Horseshoe Overlook, muttering something about needing a break.

Not that last night was much of a break… the night was spent holed away in that little tent, between gasps and moans and cries of each other’s names for hours.

Arthur finally turns around completely and sees you, your hair spilling messily over the blanket you’ve wrapped around yourself. A grin slides across his face as he begins to wade toward you, unabashed in his nakedness.

“Get some sleep there, darlin’?” 

You snort lightly as he steps closer to you, his arms reaching toward your shoulders, engulfing them in his large hands and rubbing them affectionately.

“You know me, need plenty of beauty rest.” You roll your eyes with a laugh.

Arthur snorts in return, bemused, “Y’dont need a lick of that to be a beauty.”

Oh, this man…

You give a smile as you let the blanket fall from your body and collect at your feet. You can hear him suck in a breath for a moment, then Arthur’s hands immediately dart to your bared breasts, his palms engulfing them as he squeezes gently. Your hands trail down his abdomen, fingers brushing the wet hair from just below his navel until it spreads out over his pelvis.

He smirks, “That getcha goin’?”

You grasp his cock, solid and warm even when he wasn’t aroused, and squeeze as gently as he holds your breasts, “So gentlemanly,” You stress the honorific by swiping your thumb over the head of his cock, and he shivers in response, blood rushing to his groin as he is coaxed to rigidity in your hand.

With an affectionate squeeze of his right hand to your breast, he quickly moves southward, reaching between your thighs as you begin to stroke him.

You step up on your toes and he leans down to press your lips together, opening your mouth immediately to him as a comforting rumble emits outward from his chest.

Your tongue presses up against his as his fingers slide between the seam of your body, collecting your dewy sheen as he rubs back and forth between that little nub of pleasure and the rim of your aching cunt.

Speaking of which, you jerk backward slightly when his pointer finger slips inside to the first knuckle. He pulls back immediately, hand landing on your hip. He blinks, a concerned look on his face. 

“Y’hurtin?” Arthur whispers, patting your hip gently.

“Just a little sore.” You smile up at him and press your lips to his again quickly, “Been a while since we did that. And you ain’t exactly small neither.”

Arthur blushes, and you’re overcome with a fondness for him - for this, he blushes, considering every damn position he had you in last night. 

“I-I’m sorry, I don’t ever want to hurt you.” Your outlaw says forlornly, one of his hands moving to cup your cheek as a frown snakes across his face.

“Stop, stop it. You didn’t hurt me. Y’did nothin’ but please me last night,'' You shake your head with a smile, “Now let me please you.”

He cannot suppress a groan as you slowly let yourself down to your knees, the blanket saving you from being directly on the sandy soil.

“Oh honey - y’don’t -”

“You’re all clean and I’m still dirty. Let me.” You whisper in a sultry voice as you stroke his cock languidly. He swallows audibly as his hand moves to cup your jaw.

“Christ, you’re gonna be the death of me, my girl.” His thumb traces the apple of your cheek as you smile, turning your head to kiss his palm.

You move from his palm to the edge of his hip, where the hard-earned lines of muscle collect in a v-shape, tapering from his waist. Slowly, nearly painfully slowly, your lips trail across his body, from the crest of his bone to underneath his navel, where dark, wiry hair starts to curl. 

Arthur cannot help but to gently rock forward against you, and you place your chin just below his navel, smiling up at him in complete adoration. He returns that smile as he pushes a strand of your hair behind your ears.

You grasp the base of his hefty cock with one hand and turn your head back to him, drawing the red tip of him to your mouth and kissing it gently before letting your tongue dart out against it. He hisses in pleasure as his fingers thread through your tangled locks to grasp your head. You take that action as permission to take him into the wet cavern of your mouth, inch by inch, tongue pressing against him. 

Arthur groans aloud and throws his head back, slightly bowing his body toward you. You suck gently on the head of his cock before pressing forward to take more of him in, beginning to bob back and forth, taking him more and more with each movement. Your hand balances on his thigh, thick and corded with muscle.

He looks back down at you, breathing heavily, while you tip your head up slightly and make eye contact with him. Slowly, near aggravatingly slowly, you take him into your mouth, deeper, deeper, until you can’t look at him anymore, and your nose presses against his pubic bone. You choke slightly as the head of his cock hits the back of your throat, leaking precum 

“Jesus fuck,” He curses, unable to stop himself from rocking forward slightly, and you moan around him, pulling your head backward to begin bobbing again.

You’re able to wrench the most beautiful sounds from him: pleads and groans and heavy, needy breaths as you suckle on him, the pain in your knees an afterthought as you continue to pleasure your lover.

“F- fuck-” he gasps, breathless and red-faced looking down at you, “I’m gonna -ngh- where…-?”

Your mouth releases from around his cock with a wet pop , a trail of saliva connecting you to him for a moment before it snaps.

He groans, panting.

“Wherever you want.” You purr.

Arthur whines, actually whines, this outlaw, this hardened criminal, this man hewn from the rough life he lives. His hand flies to his cock and starts pumping, obscene noises loud in your ear as his fingers slide over the wetness your mouth left.

“Lemme… lemme spend on them pretty little tits o’ y-yours.” Arthur gasps out, his hips rocking in time with the hand stroking his cock.

You smile, brushing your hair back over your shoulders and leaning forward as he begins to grunt, his free hand moving from your head to cup at his full, heavy balls as he strokes his cock faster and harder.

A groan spills loudly from his throat as his knees shake slightly, and warm spend splatters across your chest, slowly rolling down the curve of your breasts and between them.

Arthur pants, and with one last slow stroke, the pulsing of his cock ceases, a final lazy drip from the head of his member falls to the ground between them.

He stares at you as he staggers back half a step, trying to catch his breath. “Jesus Christ,” He breathes, a dopey, satisfied grin crossing his features. 

Milky spend slowly trails down your chest, and he cannot help but stare. With a gentle shake of his head, he regains both his balance and wits, stepping back toward you and offering his hand to help pull you up.

“C’mon, my lady, let’s get you clean.” You’ve stood up for only a moment before he swings his arms down on either side of you and lifts you beneath your knees and back. You giggle softly as he pretends to exude an air of chivalry, wading slowly back into the river water carrying you like a princess - albeit a ‘noble’ lady with his spend splattered all over your chest.

The morning birdsong blooms along with the sunshine, near perfection in this small wooded area where the two of you are hidden away from the world.

Until your screeching voice cuts across the valley, that is.

“Jesus Christ, Arthur! The water’s cold as shit!” 

[godidontevenknowwhat]

Track me down

Eetu x Sarentu!Reader (Romancing Pandora 2024 Day 4 - Predator/Prey)

A/N: I'm so sorry I feel like this sucks ass, I love Eetu like he might genuinely be my favourite rn but I could not get flowing with this

Tagging: @eywaite @neteyamsyawntu

Synopsis: After you help Eetu give his Ikran, Zomey, the heartfelt goodbye she deserved he feels a bond with you that can't be compared to the members of his own clan. He offers you whatever he can including hunting and tracking lessons to help you in your fight with the resistance against the RDA.

Fic Includes: NSFW so MDNI! Eetu being a little shit, teacher/student dynamics as well as predator/prey dynamics, brief dry humping, fingering, squirting, Eetu being kind of condescending but in a sexy way, minor breeding kink mention, minor male masturbation, 2.9k words

You’d been on a constant journey of relearning since being broken out of the RDA facility you were raised in by So’lek and his team from the Resistance. Relearning your instincts, your clan’s history, your home and yourself. 

Becoming close with Aranahe was one of the things that really helped you on this journey, mostly because the Aranahe introduced you to Eetu.

Eetu was complex and exciting, he thrived in the forest in a way that you only wished you could grow to emulate and taught you more in your brief time together than you could have imagined. His energy was infectious, bored by the traditional and seeking action through every action with his Ikran Zomey. You found that to really get along with Eetu, to break through his walls and become, dare you say, friends, you had to find a game to play with him and if you did that and if he liked the way you played.. He would open up.

You suppose that’s why when he was ready to say goodbye to Zomey, the one person he wanted to be there with him was you. To this day you still feel nauseous at the smell of fortune’s fruit, a guilt that you can’t shake making your stomach turn despite the reassurance from Eetu that you had nothing to feel guilty about. 

It was later that day over a shared meal of some spiced hexapede meat hunting and prepared by himself that Eetu had offered his help to improve your hunting and tracking skills, something he’d expressed boredom about previously as a stranger but now as a friend he was eager to propose. You had accepted his help more than eagerly, knowing deep in your heart that you needed his help more than anyone else’s.

Sweat beaded on your forehead as your light steps drifted along the forest floor, Eetu had taught you quickly how to lighten the impact of your feet on the ground to make your approach borderline undetectable on hunts. It wasn’t a particularly hot day on Pandora but the pressure of wanting to succeed and even more to impress Eetu made your skin burn hot. The small, loose hairs that escaped your tied back hair clung to whatever damp skin they touched instantly and made your skin itch with the tickle of constant contact.

As you crouched over the last remaining footprint in the trail Eetu had left you, on purpose to make tracking him easier, you resigned yourself to attempting to pick up his scent in the air. It seemed your Karyu was playing games today, trying to make the hunt more challenging. You quickly caught his scent in the air, he always smelled like a mix of sweat from the physical exertion of hunting and the nectar from swamp hives, something he used in the polish he made for his bows and knives.

Following the scent trail of your Karyu proved easy enough once you caught it but before long you came to a riverbank where the scent began to dissipate. Suspecting Eetu had used the cover of water to hide his scent, you approach the edge and crouch down to search for signs of disruption in the mud. There’s a heavy silence in the air only broken by the flowing river, running your fingers along an odd break in the mud of the river bank you try to look for a matching disturbance across the water when a sudden, sharp tug on your kuru makes a choked gasp escape your throat and the unmistakable feeling of a cool blade pressed against the delicate skin of your neck causes your back to tense with the tension of a well strung bow string. 

“If I were RDA, you would be dead already taronyutsyìp”, the sound of Eetu’s voice immediately put you at ease despite the blade still pressed against your skin but it also caused irritation to prickle along your spine. He had tricked you. You hadn’t heard any sign of his approach until it was too late. That damn show off.

“You played unfairly, Karyu, purposefully making yourself harder to track.. the RDA are not that smart”, Eetu’s deep chuckle sent a shiver down your spine and a flush began to creep up on your cheeks from his remaining grip on your kuru, he was the only one other than yourself to touch that part of your body in a way that wasn’t meant to cause pain and every time it happened you felt shame at the yearning that stewed in your gut. 

You feel the heat from Eetu’s body surrounding your own as he crouches behind you, the muscles of his chest barely brushing against your back when he leans close to rest his chin on your shoulder. “You were doing well, I have to say, I was almost worried” the grip he has on your kuru is dropped and the knife against your throat is sheathed in his knife holder as he continues speaking “Almost, taronyutsyìp, until you turned your back and didn’t pick up me approaching you. Then I knew I had won, once again” the smirk on his face is unbearable and it makes you shake your head in annoyance.

“You cheated”

“Ah, Sarentu, your words wound me” you feel Eetu move away from you, leaving a chill from his lack of warmth. Quickly getting to your feet you watch as he makes his way back into the cover of the trees, his tail swaying with satisfaction that forces your next words out of your mouth uncontrollably.

“Let me try again, I want to win this time” 

Eetu’s ears twitch with interest as his feet stop their path ahead instead moving to turn his body towards you once again. His eyes roam your body from head to toe, taking the time to look you over as he thinks about your words before a large grin stretches across his face.

“Eetu, what-”

“10.. 9..”

He approaches you slowly, like a stalking thanator approaching its prey and it makes an unexpected thrill shoot up your spine. Your ears and tail betray you by standing straight up, showing straight away how intrigued you are by this little game and yet your feet remain stuck in place. Eetu’s brown raised, surprised at you standing your ground and he takes a purposefully large step towards you.

“8.. 7..”

You stare him down the closer he gets, a sudden confidence taking over you and a great need to make Eetu look as stupid as he makes you feel half the time.

“6.. 5.. 4.. 3..”

He’s close enough now that he could reach out and grab you if he wanted to, but you know him well enough by now to know that he won’t take the easy way out.

“2.. 1..”

Eetu lunges towards you, intending surely to push you into the river but you avoid him at the last second, crouching close to the ground and snarling at him in a playful take on an aggressive display. His grin widens as he nods to the forest, giving you the time to begin running before he can get to you.

You take off with a sprint, running as fast as your feet can carry you yet you can still hear Eetu close behind you. Your heart pounds in your ears and when you chance a glimpse back to see how much breathing space you have a startled yet amused scream bursts from your lips at the sight of Eetu so close. 

The impact of his body hitting your own makes your head spin almost as much as the sudden tumble you both take down the hill that you were trying to avoid while running away. Eetu quickly pulls you against him, pressing your face against his muscular chest as his thick arms circle you to protect you from as much impact as he can. 

Eetu lands on top of you at the bottom and you’re thankfully cushioned in the plush foliage of the forest as well as the soft muscular coils of his arms. You’re both panting from the exertion and the thrill of the chase, you can’t help but laugh at how ridiculous this is. 

You look up at Eetu, his hair is ruffled and despite the tumble a grin is still present on his handsome face. His eyes are gentle as they gaze into yours and he can’t hold back the fond thoughts that plague his brain about your beauty.

“You lose again, taronyutsyìp” You roll your eyes as you attempt to sit up, ready to bite back at him once again. This is your usual song and dance, tease, tease and tease some more until one of you ends it and you both return to hometree to eat together by the warmth of the fire. 

You shift underneath Eetu, hindered by the weight of him on top of you as he refuses to move.

“Eetu, get off you skxawng-” A sudden groan startles you and you freeze in place, looking up at Eetu with wide eyes full of concern at the thought of accidentally hurting him. 

Eetu fights a losing battle with himself, his attraction to you combined with the adrenaline of chasing you like he was hunting a nimble arrow deer had his cock harder than it had been since his teenage years and your cute little thighs unknowingly brushing it every time you tried to get more comfortable under him wasn’t helping in the slightest. Etuwa told him that he was a skxawng, that he should just say something to you and express his interest in you the normal way. But the adolescent rebelliousness still lingered in his brain and he knew that wouldn’t satisfy him, so he settled for teasing, being stupid with you and hiding his feelings behind condescension and sarcasm.

Your ears pin back in concern, hands reaching for his face to smooth back his hair as your eyes flick over every inch of him you can see in this position. A concerned whine rips from your throat before you can stop it and the desperation in the sound is enough to break Eetu’s strength entirely. May Eywa strike him down during the next thunderstorm for his selfishness.

Before he could talk himself out of it, Eetu kisses you with all the force he has, hands cradling your body so delicately that he could swear they weren’t even his own, unable to remember the last time his hands were used so gently. He waits for a bite, scratch, kick.. something that expresses your disgust at his actions but instead he feels your hands in his hair, encouraging him closer until his chest is pressed against yours and his arms are flexing with the effort of keeping his full weight off of you.

You have no time to worry about your kissing talents, your only experience with kissing being with Nor when you were still in your early teens. Eetu grips you like you’re the only thing keeping him present on the planet and you grip him just as tenderly. Every teasing moment, every grip and hit and stupid comment has been leading you both directly here. Eywa was clearly playing a game with you both, pulling your strings while you pulled each other’s.

Eetu pulls back as little as he can to allow you both breathing space and his head falls to your neck, the ache of his hard cock getting more painful the longer it’s forced to be confined in his tewng. His hot breath warms the skin of your neck and for a brief moment you feel the sting of tears filling your eyes, overwhelmed by how incredibly intimate this all feels. 

You feel his breathing match your own as you bask in each other’s presence and you think twice before breaking the silence.

“Thank you.. for making me feel like a normal na’vi”

“You’re welcome.. but you aren’t a normal na’vi”

An offended gasp escapes you and your hand comes down with a dull smack against the back of his head. His snickers fill the air as he pulls back to meet your eyes.

“You are not a normal na’vi” His eyes search your own, full of something you try hard to convince yourself isn’t love for fear that would make you delusional. “A normal na’vi would not make me feel like this.. make my heart pump with all the vigor of hunting a wild thanator, make my brain so clouded that all I can do is act like a skxawng..” A shaky breath rattles through your chest as Eetu drops his hips into your own, the unmistakable outline of his covered cock settling against your covered cunt, embarrassingly damp from his kiss. 

“I would never desire a normal na’vi the way I desire you” 

Your ears ring at his admission and you gape up at him like a fish out of water desperately trying to find the words to express your feelings and match the intensity of his own confession but all your brain can seem to muster is a shaky gasp of his name and a roll of your hips to meet his own.

Eetu groans at the pressure your movement causes, rolling his hips in return to be rewarded with a moan of your own. He rises onto his knees, pulling you with him to settle in his lap as he holds you. He feels the warmth of your cunt through both of your coverings, slick beginning to seep through and wet his thick cock where it sits inside his tewng. 

You feel Eetu’s fingers pressing into the skin of your hips and your own scramble for somewhere to hold as he begins forcing your hips to move against his own. Settling your hands on his shoulders, your sharp little nails dig into his hot skin leaving marks that you have no time to worry about at the current time. The feeling of his hard cock catching your swollen clit forces a sob of pleasure and frustration to rip from your throat, desperate to feel his burning skin against your own.

Eetu, sensing your frustration, quickly works to remove your tewng. Laying you back on the ground once again as soon as you're uncovered from the waist down. He double checks your comfort, looking you up and down as you lay back in the grass and he’s disappointed that this encounter won’t last as long as he’d like purely because of the location. He would love to play with the plump set of tits you hide behind carefully crafted chest coverings and he yearns to spend from sunrise to sunset with his tongue buried as deep as it can reach inside your flushed, dripping cunt.

Your swollen clit peeks out from between your pussy lips, your entire cunt covered in a shining film of your slick that continues to flow under Eetu’s wandering eyes. His rough hands grip onto your thighs, forcing your legs wider and squeezing the fat of them tighter when he hears the sweet little sound of your wet pussy slickly spreading for him. 

He keeps your left thigh in his grip as he brings his right to your pussy, two fingers tracing your entrance and collecting your slick to help ease them inside of you, immediately curling to press against the swell of your g-spot and his thumb rubs delicate circles into your clit. 

The pleasure is overwhelming, almost causing your legs to snap shut if it wasn’t for Eetu’s grip keeping them spread. His fingers hammer into your g-spot causing you to see stars, this was a feeling you had never been able to give yourself and you’re sure you could never replicate. 

Soon Eetu’s third finger slips in amongst his others without much resistance at all, you’d never been so soaked in your life and the squelching noises coming from your cunt was so obscene that it caused your face to burn from the noise of it. 

With a particularly rough rub of Eetu’s thumb against your clit you feel your mind go completely blank, your legs trembling as your hand slapped against your mouth to try and contain the high scream coming from you. Clear liquid sprays from your clenching cunt as you cum around Eetu’s fingers, wetting the length of his straining forearm with obscenely loud splashes. The string of moans each hit against your g-spot forced out was totally uncontrollable, his fingers seemingly moving lightning fast to keep you cumming until there was nothing left to force from your pussy.

Dragging his fingers from your pulsing walls he brings them straight to his mouth and sucks your wetness off with a feral groan. Cock twitching from neglect and interest at how incredible it would feel to have that same pulsing of your walls against him, he presses his hand against his covered cock to try and give himself some relief. The thought of emptying his heavy, full balls into your sweet cunt combined with the taste of your slick on his tongue is enough to make his eyes roll back in his head as his hand dips under his waistband and begins jerking himself to completion.

“Eetu..” His head snaps down and his eyes meet yours, his spit slick digits slipping from his mouth as he groans your name and his large rough hand strokes his hard cock as well as it can behind the constriction of his tewng. You’re stuck in place at the debauched sight, cunt still twitching with the aftershocks of such an intense orgasm.

“Want you inside me Eetu, please..”

[literallyjusttoa]

What’s better Christmas present than a bit of angst huh?

When Apollo was young, not yet a year old, he was banished from Olympus due to his crime of murder. Gaea called for his head, but Zeus shielded him.

“I will not rule as my father did,” he said “The boy can learn, he can be better.”

Apollo was sentenced to exile. Nine years, though he was not told this. No, Apollo was certain that he had lost his chance to join his family in the heavens. His father had spared his life, and as penance he now had to stay on the mortal realm for all eternity, alone.

The young god made due with what he had. He wandered through the fields of Greece, tending to the animals he found along the way. He would sing, as light and clear as the birds, and mortals would flock to the sound. Apollo was never allowed to linger long, but he fell in love with that feeling of warm comfort mortals seemed to carry with them, that joy that he could never quite reach. When he could, he worked, often for little reward. He wanted another taste, another glimpse of a less lonely existence. So he became a shepherd, a soothsayer, a musician, always a few steps away, watching but never being.

One day, in the middle of the coldest months, Apollo was hired by a farmer in the Vale of Tempe. He had a large herd of cattle and was in desperate need of a someone to care for them. Apollo traveled through the backroads and forests, making his way to the valley. When he arrived, however, he found no farmer, and no cattle. Instead, a lone man sat at the base of the river that flowed through the vale. The water was near frozen over, but the man did not shake. Instead, he turned, and smiled wide.

“Apollon,” Zeus said, “Olympus has missed you.”

Apollo was shocked. Had his father truly come for him? He dropped into a low bow, too nervous for words.

Zeus chuckled, low and warm, “Rise, son. There is no more need for humility. It has been decided you have done enough.”

“Truly?” Apollo asked, “May I truly join you on Olympus?”

“You may join me at home, Apollo.” Zeus responded, “Your home. Come, we shall perform a rite of purification in these waters, and then you will ascend to your throne.”

And so the rite was performed, and Apollo was cleansed. As far as the rest of the world knows, the two immediately ascended to Olympus, to the glorious applause of the other members of the divine court. Apollo took his throne, next to his dear sister, and began his immortal duties.

But there was a moment, one moment, which was kept away in that sheltered vale. Once Apollo had been cleansed, he stood at the bank, waiting for the next step. Any demand his father asked of him, he would have agreed too. But Zeus held nothing over his head. Instead, he summoned a cloak of sheep’s wool, and placed it over Apollo’s shoulders.

“A gift,” he murmured, “The golden treasures you were born with will bring you glory, but this my son… I hope this will keep you warm.”

And Apollo believed, with all his heart, that he would never be lonely again.

Time is a cruel master. As years bled into centuries that bled into millennia upon millennia, Apollo realized that loneliness would be his most constant companion. He realized that the source of this loneliness, this suffering, would often be the very man that promised to keep him warm. The fire of his father’s hearth burned everything it touched, leaving Apollo with blistered hands and a scorched heart.

But he still wore the sheepskin. When the loneliness crept into his bones. When the lightning crackled across his limbs with a burning pain, as warm as his father promised with an agony he’d never mentioned. When all seemed lost to the ground and the dust. Apollo found that wool cloak and cast it over his shoulders. Even broken promises can bring some sort of comfort. Even old sheep’s wool can bring an illusion of warmth.

I was his child once. He used to love me.

If only the bite of a king’s cruelty could be chased away as easily as the chill of a winter’s day. The wool does nothing, and the loneliness remains. Apollo shivers, and goes to rest.

[popjunkie42]

Chains

Read on AO3

Chapter One: Of Lovely Monsters

Summary:

"And yet I found myself deciding that if you took his hand, I would find a way to live with it. It would be your choice."

I sipped from my wine. "And if he had grabbed me?"

There was nothing but uncompromising will in his eyes. "Then I would have torn apart the world to get you back."

-A Court of Mist and Fury

Lucien steals Feyre away from the safety of the Night Court as she and Rhys train in the Illyrian Steppes. Winnowing her to the Spring Court and Tamlin, Feyre must contend with the consequences of leaving while held against her will.

An ACOMAF Chapter 47 divergence.

Thanks to @witch-and-her-witcher and @foundress0fnothing for beta reading and giving me amazing advice!

It’s my birthday and…

This is a lil dramatic divergence I’ve been working on for far, far too long. So now it’s your problem!

Chapter under the cut or Read on AO3.

Lucien moved us, again and again through the fabric of the world, his face straining and sweat dripping from his forehead. I screamed and wrenched against him as we winnowed further and further south, barely glimpsing the changing seasons as he pulled us through the courts. I could only tell the distance by the air against my face: a brush of heat, the blast of an icy wind. The misty mountains of Illyria trailing further behind us as he dragged me south.

I knew where he was taking me. My body screamed as I clawed and fought, useless now against his iron grip, and the further we got the more I felt that something inside me had turned brittle and was ready to break.

Rhys. Rhys. Rhys.

Where are you?

My skull was a prison, my mind trapped within. Just moments earlier it had been free - scanning the little blur of impressions from birds and rabbits in the woods, reaching out to listen, shivering from the brush of the other mind that nuzzled against me, and asked me and played with me.

I felt for that bridge, for that gentle pulse around my chest, once so tangible I thought I could feel it as strong as my own heart.

But there was nothing. I was empty - hollow. All my magic had poured out, and Rhys along with it. No cunning amusement, no smiles or violet eyes teasing at the edges of my mind.

No Illyrian warrior to draw me back from this hell.

As we whipped through the courts, I knew with growing horror what awaited me at the end of this journey. A scream was building within me and I didn’t know if it would come out through my mouth or simply keep building inside me until I burst.

⊱⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⊰

Ten Minutes Earlier…

I didn’t hear the dripping of melting snow, the rush of the creek, or the howling of the wind. Not against the rush of blood in my ears.

Lucien. He found me. But –

“Feyre,” Lucien whispered, his red hair like a beacon in this black and white forest of ice.

In a blink, we weren’t alone. Spring Court sentries dressed in black and covered in weapons banked him on each side.

“Lucien. You shouldn’t be here.” The rushing river inched closer to me as I risked a single step, my stomach churning as he followed me forward, his boot crunching through the frozen top layer of snow.

His hand extended to me. No weapon in his palm, but he didn’t need one - now that I had trained my own powers, I could feel his own thrumming under his skin. The flesh of my arm prickled in warning. I wondered if the icy winter of this place would dim him, or if he could still set the forest ablaze, as I had with Autumn Court fire just yesterday.

“Put down the bow, Feyre. I’m here to take you home.” His voice was soft, strangely gentle.

“Don’t touch me,” I said, my voice firmer than I felt.

My mind was churning like the river, my thoughts a frantic blur against the blood rushing in my ears. Lucien. How had he found me? And Tamlin - gods, was he here? I haven’t used my powers in battle yet - what if someone gets hurt? What if I’m not ready? Rhys - he had to be close - would the High Lords rip this forest apart?

As if in answer, my shield dropped that small space we opened for each other, a tendril of my dark power spearing into the air.

Rhys! -I shouted into the void, just as the red paint stroke of Lucien folded into nothing. So quick I didn’t even take another breath of the cold Illyrian Steppes before his warm hand was on mine, and he had snatched me away into the space between worlds.

When we appeared again, we were still in the Steppes but somewhere higher - the air colder, the fog thick in the air.

I was going to scream, I was going to tear at him, but before I could even think, my power was coiling and twisting under my skin.

Lucien - my friend, whose life was in my debt three times over, had taken me. Was dragging me back - to him. The full length of Prythian wasn’t enough to escape it - this rot in the Spring Court, that gave them over to this haughty entitlement, this feeling of possession over me…

I swallowed the cold air into my lungs, letting the ice and panic hone my senses. With an exhale I threw my mind out to the forest like a swift wave, my body seeking his.

Where are you?

The grip of Lucien’s hands on my wrist was crushing. But my bones and joints shifted under his grasp as my fingers elongated and claws began to form, dark like black onyx. Fangs sprang to my mouth and I wasn’t even sure what I was turning into, just that I was in danger, I was angry and I was going to explode. Lucien wasn’t paying attention, was scanning the forest desperately, panting with exertion as I raised a clawed hand in the air.

“Fuck!”

But he was more prepared than I - using his grip on me to pull my body forward and off balance as he dipped to the ground and rolled out of my stumbling reach.

My jaw was widening, bones were popping and transforming in odd ways that probably should have been painful, but I wasn’t aware of such things. Anger burned through me and I felt my canines scrape against my lip as I roared, roared.

On the ground, Lucien turned pale as he scrambled backwards in the snow.

“Holy Mother,” he whispered, and threw something into my face.

Blue powder exploded against my cheek as the small satchel burst. Blue powder down my lungs like sharp metal dust, scratching and burning deep into my chest.

Whatever bones and sharp edges I was growing winked away in an instant, like a candle snuffed out. I didn’t feel the snow as I pitched forward, coughing and choking on the powder and the sudden breathless snap of my power disappearing within me.

In between the rasping coughs, I felt a silence, a cold and empty room within my mind - not a shielded space of mine, but a void of nothing.

Lucien gripped my wrist firmly as I coughed and sputtered, reaching over and over again inside of me for the power that was now gone.

“What did you do?” I screamed, the powder burning in my lungs.

“You’re not yourself, Feyre,” he said, breathless and shaking. He held my arm like a vise but kept me at the edge of his arm’s reach. “This is to protect you as much as me.” Maybe it was wishful thinking, but he didn’t sound entirely convinced. He was as tense as I had ever seen him - scanning the white and black landscape around us, a subtle glow coming from him, trying to pierce through the fog.

“We’ll get you free of him, Feyre,” Lucien whispered now, like we were being watched. I desperately hoped we were - imagined deathly black wings and piercing violet eyes descending on us through the haze –

The air around me whipped away into darkness as Lucien winnowed us from the Steppes.

⊱⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⊰

When we landed in Spring, on the cobblestones in front of the manor, Lucien and I collapsed.

He was on his back beside me, chest heaving, gasping for air.

It couldn’t have taken more than ten minutes.

Birds were singing in the forest beyond, the sounds becoming clearer as my breathing slowed. A warm, gentle breeze blew over us. A peaceful spring day, a mockery of the fear and anger burning inside me like a forest fire.

My muscles shook and I heard my quiver of arrows clatter against my back.

She didn’t want me to rely on my powers alone, that gentle voice echoed back at me.

I had been human, when I first walked these paths and up these stairs. No powers or even decent senses to speak of. Ridiculous, how much I’d come to rely on them.

Now I had two Illyrian knives strapped to my thighs.

In an instant they were in my hands, and I leapt onto Lucien with a snarl.

He barely caught my arm in time and my shaking limbs fought against him, pressing forward, the knife in my hand shaking above his head.

“How dare you!” I screamed, spittle flying into his face.

“Tam!” he bellowed. Even without my powers he struggled against me, my knee on his ribcage, my sweat dripping onto his pale strained face. “Ow, Feyre, Cauldron, stop –”

Bruising hands wrenched my arms and legs into the air, restraining me. Someone loosened my fingers one by one until the knives clattered to the ground as I thrashed.

I scented him before I saw him. Grass and rain and roses.

My body froze, my heart stuttering. A wave of something cold and prickling traveled down my skin as the sentries set me on my feet in front of him, my arms still in their wrenching grip.

Tamlin stood, rooted to the ground at the foot of the manor. His face had gone white, his eyes wide and blazing as he looked at me. An outfit of green and gold, a blur of muscles and power.

“Feyre,” he said gently. As if he had run into me unexpectedly, as if I was a ghost haunting the woods. As if he hadn’t sent Lucien and his sentries to take me.

The sight of him after so many months - his face so familiar yet so estranged, made anger and terror mix together into something sickly and thick in my body, dripping down my stomach like acid.

The last time I was here, I had been a prisoner. Locked inside until the walls choked the breath from me.

“No,” I whispered, my limbs beginning to shake. Moments ago my body was buzzing, humming like a panicked animal. Now I was frozen. My mind went black except for the steady chant inside of no no no no…

“Let her go,” Tamlin growled, that High Lord power of his command compelling even me to tremble. I was set down gently on the stones, my knees giving way, every part of me shaking.

Tamlin stalked towards me, the beast within him cautious, his eyes wide. An apex predator, his eyes never leaving my face.

“Feyre,” he said again, striding closer. “You’re back. You’re free.”

You’re free, Mor’s voice whispered in my mind.

Something in me jolted and I scrambled back from him on the cobblestones. I didn’t get far until my back was up against the legs of one of the sentries. I hated this trembling fear in me. I was a wolf, I was the Cursebreaker, I was made from all seven courts. But here I was nothing more than a trapped rabbit.

The High Lord kneeled in front of me, extending a hand, palm down, so similar to Lucien in the woods. Tentative, calming.

Like I was a feral creature to be tamed.

“What have you done,” I said, swallowing down a sob in my throat.

Finally, his eyes left me and flickered to Lucien, now standing behind him, his hand wary on the jeweled hilt of his sword.

“We found her in the northern woods,” Lucien replied to his silent question. “I winnowed, but her powers…I had to use the faebane.”

A muscled jaw clenched tightly, as Tamlin looked back at me. He was thinner than I remembered him - the lines of his muscles under his tunic stark, his cheekbones sharp against his sallow skin.

“Was he there?” he asked Lucien, still staring into my face.

“I didn't see him, but he was close. We got out before he could interfere.”

I needed my powers - my strength, my weapons. But not even my body would obey me now.

Come find me, come get me

“You’re home, Feyre. We’re going to help you,” Tamlin’s voice waivered, and he swallowed thickly. “He’s in your mind, but we’re going to get him out.”

Something cracked inside my chest. The birds were singing and a sweet scent was in the air and I was terrified and alone. Hot tears were running down my cheeks.

“No, he’s not,” my voice was saying, but I was far away. “He’s gone.”

Tamlin furrowed his brows at me. I could see the pain on his face, in his forest green eyes. As if I was hurting him.

He stared at me for a long moment, as I willed my tears to stop, as I willed them to turn to waves of the ocean or daggers of ice. But no power echoed in my blood, my bones. I was an animal, caught fully in their trap.

The High Lord of Spring reached for me and I felt the scrape of phantom claws on my skin, the bruise from Lucien’s grip still burning onto my wrist ���

“Don’t touch me!”

Tamlin’s face was white with shock, and something like devastation. He froze before me with what seemed like an eternity.

“Bring her inside,” he finally said.

And I was hauled up by my arms and carried back into the manor, prison bound once more.

Read on AO3

[underdark-dreams]

Thank you everyone who has read this fic along its life! I finally got up the courage to tie it up with a bow. Here's the final chapter of my Rolan x Tav series Sage and Soldier, with links to the other pieces:

Blades and Spells [Fluff - First Meeting]

Good Night for Company - [Pining - Feelings Realization | NSFW] [ch1] [ch2]

[ch1] - [ch2] - [ch3] - [ch4] - [ch5]

A Strand to Climb - Ch.6

After the end of the world, there's a wizard's tower in the Upper City.

Tags: Mild Angst, Fluff, NSFW | Word Count: 4.8k [Read on AO3]

There was no time to celebrate the death of the Absolute—not when Tav and her companions stood trapped on its back like one of the doomed cities of Netheril. Not when her ears had already begun swimming and popping from the breakneck speed of their fall.

Tav yelled something back to the rest, some stupid bit of encouragement meant to keep them all on their feet. What else could they do but hold on, after all? They were all helpless, exhausted from battle, keeping their footing however they could as the brain’s pulsating flesh descended from the sky.

When they punched through the misty cloud layer below, Tav’s stomach leapt straight up into her throat. They were sailing across the Upper City, and the high spire of Ramazith’s Tower was rushing forward to meet them.

Too soon, her ears rang with the sickening, rib-shaking crash as the dying Netherbrain collided with the column of the Tower. Her shout of horror was lost to the explosive crumble of masonry and the whip of wind. She had only a second to fear the worst. 

The impact spun the creature on its descent; Tav was knocked hard to her side, forced to scrabble for purchase on the monster’s slimy flesh as it careened sideways. Her limbs skated ineffectually over the brain’s folds—she was sliding toward the edge—

Not like this, her mind screamed in protest.

Tav yanked the sheathed dagger at her thigh and plunged it into the dying Absolute. Two hands gripped the hilt with all her might, even as her legs swung over the side of the Netherbrain like those of a limp ragdoll.

“Hells, we’re headed for harbor—!”

Behind her, Wyll’s yell of warning cut through. Tav understood at once—if they hit the Chionthar still standing on the back of the Netherbrain, its mass would pull them deep underwater with the strength of a vortex. She craned her neck blindly.

“Gale!” Tav shrieked for him, mad with panic. What if he’d fallen in the Upper City? What if he was gone, and she was beseeching a void?

Then she heard Gale’s voice call out for the Weave, and his spell hit hard along her spine. Her boots lifted unnaturally, the feet within them tingling with the power of flight—

The Netherbrain banked hard over the central City Wall. They were low enough now that Tav could make out figures with upturned faces—people watching the monster’s fall from the sky and fleeing away on foot, as if all pushed back by the same bank of wind. With one more lilt, the fleshy ground under her veered straight for the ancient wooden river docks.

A sharp glint of hope. If they timed their jump just right—if Gale’s spell lasted—

“Fuck this—” Beside her, Karlach was of the same mind. She was crouched low for balance, inching forward to the edge of the Crown for a better position. 

Tav used her dagger for leverage to push herself crouched. “Aim for the roof of the Counting House!”

She heard the others fighting to their feet behind her. Gravity was accelerating their fall; sharp rain and river mist buffeted against her face as they swung rapidly for the water. But first, they passed beside a wide expanse of flat stone ramparts.

And then—they jumped.

—

Tav’s limbs cried out in exhaustion; her rain-soaked leg plates jangled heavily with each boot tread. She dragged herself through the streets of the Gate on adrenaline alone. 

Those streets were in chaos. Though the battle was newly won, each corner she rounded brought a fresh skirmish. 

Newborn mind flayers stumbled about in swarms, hungry and rudderless without direction from their Elder Brain. Many still dripped with blood from the death of their human forms. Those Baldurians who weren't running from them with crying children in their arms had snatched up tools and blades alike to run the creatures through with the ruthlessness of survival. 

The chaos helped. Grit and blood and thudding bodies distracted Tav from the one sight she wanted to turn her head to, yet couldn't bear to see. 

As her boots climbed the cobbles north toward the Upper City gate, Rolan’s tower crumbled over and over in her mind’s eye. She felt like retching. Her lungs were on fire.

Please let him be alive, please let him be alive, please let him be alive—she prayed to any god who might still be listening.

A child’s scream brought her up short on reflex.

Silfy—the timid one from the Grove, the little girl who cried when Tav caught her stealing a worthless trinket. A young mind flayer was reaching for her, one long-fingered hand directing its neural heat where she stood frozen in terror.

Tav’s teeth ground in her skull. She was so thoroughly fucking done—her longsword scraped out of its scabbard and arced straight toward the creature’s throat. 

Just as the blow connected, an arrow shaft pushed out between the mind flayer’s dark eyes. It crumpled lifeless to the pavement in a heavy heap. Silfy turned tail without a backward glance; Tav squinted through mist and smoke, trying to identify the Flaming Fist who still held her shortbow poised.

“Lia!” Tav could have sobbed in relief. “Thank gods—is Rolan—?”

“I don’t know—” Lia’s voice was desperate as she ran closer. “Cal and I took the Sundries portal to fight with Cerys. Last we heard, Rolan was up manning the turrets.”

Tav could have swayed and collapsed where she stood. Only adrenaline kept her upright.

“I’ll find him,” she shouted above the surrounding chaos, half to herself, half to wipe that terrible fear from Lia’s face. She pushed away into a sprint without another word to her. 

He’s not dead—he wouldn’t die like that—

Would she even be able to find Rolan’s body in the wreckage if he was? Tav’s knees wanted to give way at the thought. She gasped air into her lungs, wresting that image of him out of her mind with everything she had.

When she rounded the road from Flymm’s Cargo, a powerful wall of heat nearly knocked her back on her rump.

The ancient prow of the Blushing Mermaid was ablaze. Flames the height of ten men towered into the gray skies above, unaffected by the steady drizzle of rain. Her steel chestplate grew painfully hot as she forced herself up the crest of the hill.

Shouts and acrid air clouded her senses as she dashed beside the scene. Tav caught sight of Zorru and Danis, leading a bucket line all the way from Gray Harbor; their voices cracked from heat and smoke as they yelled directions.

All at once, like the emptying of a giant basin over their heads, a crash of water fell over the blaze and its surroundings. The cobbles under her feet were abruptly drenched; Tav slipped and careened forward, catching herself hard on both hands in a clang of plate armor.

There was a deep, ominous creak from somewhere above her. Knocked breathless, Tav nevertheless craned her head back. 

The heavy wooden spindle on the ship’s prow that jutted over the street was already weakened from fire; now it was soaked through from the magical downpour. As she watched dumbstruck, it splintered with a slow twang. Then the wood snapped clean down the middle, and the length of it swung downward, straight for her legs.

Tav scrambled forward on hands and knees. Her boots and gauntlets scraped over the wet stones toward safety—

Footsteps were sprinting closer. There was a shouted incantation and a flash; Tav smelled roses as the Weave enveloped her completely for the space of a blink. Then she landed flat on her stomach in the middle of the street.

Thoroughly winded now, she coughed and wheezed for breath. The blaze and heat of the fire was strangely distant from where she lay. 

As her lungs finally filled again, Tav realized she wasn’t just lying on pavement—something soft under her torso had cushioned the fall. She lifted up with a groan to look down at what she’d fallen on top of.

Rolan was entirely covered in soot and masonry dust from horn to foot. The effect was that he blended almost completely into the gray cobbles at first glance. Only when he opened his eyes did she recognize the two golden flames staring back at her.

“Tav!” 

Rolan sat up so suddenly his horns nearly collided with her forehead. His hands gripped around her forearms with bruising force. “The Brain—I thought you’d—”

Her body had begun to violently shake as she took him in, each inch of his face strained with anxiety and streaked with dust and thoroughly alive—

Unable to go another second without him, Tav threw both arms around his neck. Rolan gripped her ribcage in turn, so tight and so long that her vision went spotty from lack of air. She couldn’t care less; in this moment, she would have dissolved right into him if she could have.  

“I thought you were dead, Rolan,” she gasped into his shoulder. “Your Tower—the Netherbrain crashed right into it.”

“Only the observatory.” Rolan’s voice was muffled against her hair. “Never planned to use it anyway—not much of an astronomer—”

Tav could have laughed hysterically if she wasn’t so out of breath. Rolan continued against her neck. 

“I was following it to the harbor, Tav, I had no idea what became of you—but then the fire, there were people inside—”

“You had to help,” she finished. She felt tears streaming fast and hot down her cheeks. The strength of her relief could’ve bowled her right over again. “I know, I know, just—”

They released each other at the same time. The kiss was stained with sweat and grime, yet it was the most satisfying one Tav had ever felt. She gripped Rolan’s face between two gauntleted hands, crushing his mouth against her.

“Lia’s okay,” she gasped out when Rolan’s lips finally left hers. “I met her south of here. She and Cal went with Cerys. Cal must be fine too, she would’ve said,” Tav added in a rush.

Rolan jerked his head in acknowledgement, his expression punch-drunk as he took her in. He was smoothing her hair back with both hands as if the motion was the only thing keeping him grounded at the moment.

“Are you all right?” Her voice was very small.

Rolan nodded at her again. Clearly spell-spent and dusted in plaster, he looked like his own ghost. “Are you?” Despite all that, his baritone reverberated warm and familiar in her chest.

“It’s so quiet,” she whispered hoarsely. Her words fell in almost comical contrast to the distant sounds of shouting, fire, and steel meeting illithid flesh. 

But she could tell from the way Rolan’s eyes moved over her expression that he understood. The tadpole was finally gone—her mind was entirely her own again.

Rolan’s spark was beginning to return. “Can you stand?”

As he rose, Tav wobbled experimentally to her feet along with him. Her knees were bruised from the tumble, and her calves threatened to cramp from exertion—but she put on a brave face. 

Unconvinced, Rolan kept an arm looped behind her back just in case; one hand fastened along her waist. Walking with him close at her side, the adrenaline began to ebb in her veins. Bone-weariness was instead closing in like a shroud. 

“We should find Cal and Lia,” she said, trying to sound purposeful. Her boots dragged with each step.

“Yes,” Rolan agreed. He was holding her very firmly—practically supporting half her weight. “And we should be sure your friends made it safely from the docks.”

Tav gave a mumbled assent. It was difficult to care about any of that now, though she knew she should. She found herself staring up at his profile beside her. 

“Rolan?”

He looked down in concern. “What is it?”

“After that…will you take me home?”

“My darling—” His lips pressed firmly to her brow. “Yes.”

—

Tav shifted on top of him with a mumble.

Rolan froze with arms still looped around her; perhaps the crinkle of scroll parchment had awakened her. 

But then her face snuffled back into the bare crook of his shoulder. The dead weight of her across his chest assured Rolan that she was still fast asleep.

It was a lucky thing that he’d settled with reading material at arm’s length—the small pack of rare scrolls Tav herself had gifted him. She’d been out cold since dawn, when they all made it back to the Tower. It was nearly twilight now, and the sun’s last orange rays were fading fast through the high windows of Rolan’s bedroom. The distant streets had grown quiet as the city retired to nurse its wounds for the night.

Rolan hadn't seen much of her battle with the Netherbrain. Tav hadn't been in a state to tell many details once it was finally over, either. She could barely keep her eyelids open. The only thing clear was that she was completely exhausted from it.

Before anything else, Rolan coaxed several very potent healing elixirs down her throat. Then he drew them a bath and helped her out of her bloodied armor. She leaned heavily against him under the water. By the time he wrapped her in a towel to dry, he practically had to carry her back to his room.

The only hint of her fire came out when he’d tried to guide her toward the bed for sleep. Tav refused to go anywhere near the large four-poster frame that had belonged to the Tower’s previous archwizard. In fact, she declared that the whole thing was to be burned, mattress and all. 

Rolan couldn’t decide whether he was more amused or touched by her vehemence.

Instead, she’d grabbed a fistful of the blankets and dragged them away in order to fall against the massive direwolf pelt rug in front of the fireplace. It was no feather bed, but still leagues more comfortable than how either of them had slept on the road to Baldur’s Gate.

Especially so with Tav draped over him, Rolan had since decided. She’d promptly held him to her and drifted off. Her bare torso was a comforting weight on his chest. Her cheek pressed against his shoulder as she slept, little steady breaths tickling against his neck.

Home. That’s what Tav had called this, hadn’t she? Silently, Rolan leaned his cheek against her hair as he read.

Lia and Cal had moved all their things into the Tower the same day its ownership changed hands. The few of Rolan’s possessions remaining in their Heapside flat had been left in a little pile just inside his bedroom door. Among them was the small leather scroll pouch Tav had gifted him on her arrival to Baldur’s Gate. 

By this point, Rolan was certain he could find a much larger wealth of arcane knowledge in his new library. Still…it felt important to study from these first. 

For one, they were certainly beyond anything he’d managed to teach himself from hand-me-down textbooks back in Elturel. Whoever she’d stolen them from must have been an advanced practitioner of the Weave. Or perhaps just a man with the wealth and fancy to build a collection, much like Lorroakan had been.

They were also a gift from Tav. That simple fact made them more valuable to Rolan than most of the wealth he’d inherited along with Ramazith’s Tower. 

Had she collected them one by one in her travels here, thinking of him while she did? A warm affection bloomed in his chest at the thought. He’d have to ask her when she finally woke.

It was as if she sensed the thought. 

With a deep inhale, Tav arched and stretched full-body against the length of him under the covers. Her hands both landed to tangle in his hair against their makeshift fur bed.

“Morning,” she purred sleepily against his neck.

Rolan decided then and there—he could very much get used to waking up like this. However, it seemed the right thing to correct her. 

He kissed her brow. “Evening, actually.”

Tav raised her groggy face from his chest then, wiping one corner of her mouth. His eyes left the page to watch her blink around his bedroom in a daze. The blood-orange light of sunset was stretching long and dim across the floorboards now.

“Oh,” she said softly, a single word holding great recognition. Her wide eyes flicked to his face. 

“Have—have I been laid on top of you like a dead fish this whole time?”

“I’d never call you that,” Rolan assured her calmly. “But yes.”

Tav looked at him in appraisal for a long moment. 

“I think you like it,” she decided, and laid her head back down over his heart. He chuckled to himself and raised his free hand to smooth the hair back from her face.

Tav sighed happily at the gesture. “What are you reading, Rolan?”

“One of the scrolls you gave me.”

“Oh? Tell me about it, then. I’m curious.” One hand had gravitated suspiciously close to his ear. Sure enough, her thumb and forefinger began tracing along its edges to the pointed tip.

“You don’t have to do that, you know,” Rolan sighed. He’d always been unable to ignore the shivers that flowed down his spine when she touched him there. “I’d tell you regardless.”

“I'm sorry—” Her touch fell from him immediately. “I don’t do it on purpose, really. They’re just so pretty.”

Rolan cleared his throat. “It’s fine. You can—go on. If you like. Just know it’s a bit distracting.”

After a moment, her fingers cautiously returned. She was careful to keep the motion smooth and predictable this time. Rolan focused back on the page he’d pressed to fall flat before she woke.

“This one teaches a technique for arcane portal conjurement. The linking of two locations with a path carved through the Weave.”

Tav swiveled on her chin to look up at him. “Like the one from the Sundries to your library here?”

Rolan hummed in assent. “I've read about wizards who linked much more distant places together. The distance from here to Waterdeep, for instance. It requires a tremendous bit of spellwork.”

“How on earth?” She frowned at him in curiosity. “Where do you put a portal if you can't see where it's going?”

“Not sure yet,” Rolan mused, already being drawn back in by his reading despite her affectionate intrusions. “Most likely it requires two casters to sculpt the spell properly. I’ll need to understand the basic mechanics first.”

“You’ll figure it out,” Tav replied. She snuggled back into to the warmth at his neck.

“Of course I will.” Rolan shook the parchment out with his hand to punctuate the statement. 

Tav let out a quiet exhale of laughter—but she said nothing to question him. It made Rolan swell with pride a bit.

He held her for another quiet moment as the fire snapped and danced in the hearth beside them. Its light seemed to burn brighter and even warmer now, with the sun finally gone behind the horizon.  

When Tav shifted further over his lap, he didn’t think anything at first. Perhaps she was still trying to get comfortable on their makeshift sleeping arrangements.

Then she ground the heat between her legs over his half-hard cock, and a reflexive sound was pushed from Rolan’s throat.

“Tav,” he groaned.

“I’ve always loved that confidence of yours.” She had propped herself up with hands on his chest to gaze down at him. The covers fell back to bathe her lovely bare shoulders and breasts and stomach with firelight. “You don’t understand, it’s like catnip to me.”

“Where's this coming from?”

“What? Is it not enough that I just woke up naked with the most handsome, brilliant young archwizard on the whole Sword Coast—”

As she showered him with teasing flattery, Tav canted her hips harder against his own. Rolan leaned back against the tips of his horns with another involuntary groan; the scroll fell away dangerously close to the fire, forgotten.

“Tav,” he repeated more forcefully, pushing himself up on one elbow. Her face above him was full of mischief. “You’ve just been through hells—are you sure you’re well enough to—?”

“Yes.” She threw her head back in a moan with the word. Rolan’s hands flew instinctively to her hips. She was already rocking and grinding in rhythm against him, leaving a wet patch of heat where their hips slotted together.

“You’re unbelievable—” Rolan held her arms back insistently, forcing her to look at him. 

Tav panted and bit her lip as they watched each other. He was of half a mind to return the favor. Look at the pretty hero of Baldur’s Gate, fresh from battle and already writhing on my cock—but the clear desire between her legs had rather scrambled his own thoughts. 

Instead, Rolan did what he could manage to tease her. “Tell me how you feel right now.”

“Hot.” Her voice was low and tempting; her eyes were dark with desire. “Wanting you. Needing you inside me—”

Even without leverage from her palms, Tav managed to shift over his ridges in a way that made Rolan twitch and shudder under her.

“Good gods—I want you too,” he heard himself gasp out. 

It was all the encouragement she needed. His grip had gone slack in distraction; with one hand guiding him, Tav angled herself up and sank down over the hard ridges of his length.

Her tight, wet heat all around him nearly knocked him breathless. Rolan lay back and ran his hands up her thighs. The firm muscle there led him straight to the lovely swell of her hips, and he gripped each hand with nails dimpling into her flesh.

Strong and soft—Tav was somehow both of those things at once. As she sat adjusting to him, her eyes certainly had never been softer than they were now, moving over his face.

“I missed this,” she breathed. 

Rolan nodded in silent agreement. From tonight on, he swore to himself, neither of them would ever have a chance to miss this.

When she began moving, it was slow and deliberate. Her hips glided up and down to take him—so warm, so perfect. Rolan glanced where their bodies met, watching his length disappearing into her again and again. The sight was almost too much; he felt compelled to close his eyes.

Instead, Rolan pushed himself seated. He couldn't be close enough to her. 

Tav folded her arms around his shoulders at once, adjusting to the new angle without breaking rhythm. Her face was bathed in firelight.

As he took in every inch of her, Rolan caught sight of an old blade scar under her jaw. He’d never noticed it before now. He leaned to press his lips against it.

She tilted her head with a soft sound, opening up the rest of her throat to his mouth should he want it. And he did—Rolan kissed and nipped at the flesh there while Tav rode him, her voice softly gasping and whispering his name over and over like a prayer. 

The rhythm of their hips together increased to something desperate. Rolan felt heat licking under his skin, burning like flame everywhere their bodies touched. She clutched desperate fingers over the deep ridges along his shoulder blades.

“Come in me,” she gasped. “Please.”

That one little word was his undoing. Who was he to deny the woman who had just saved everything he loved in the whole Realms, herself included? 

Rolan forced his mouth away from Tav’s throat to watch her come apart. She was already close—he could tell from the way her mouth fell open, the way her walls twitched and gripped him tighter each time she bounced down onto his lap. 

“I love you—” 

He wasn’t sure she heard with the way she arched and tensed into him—but then she already knew, didn’t she? Tav’s arms were trembling around his shoulders when she came, as if he was the only thing keeping her anchored down to earth. 

When he felt the coil inside him unraveling, Rolan buried his face into her shoulder again. She was whispering praises against the tapered shell of his ear—things too sweet to even commit to his own memory. Rolan clutched at her back with both hands as he finally shuddered and spilled inside her.

He kept his arms locked tight around her middle as the twitching waves at his core echoed and subsided. Then they tipped backward together, their bodies still connected, to land in a soft pile of fur.

For a long moment, the only sounds were the crackle of the fire and the way they both panted against each other. Lying on top of him again, Tav’s lips brushed against the trail of ridges below his collar bone.

Soon enough, one of his long fingers began tracing over her back. He practiced the shapes of his somatic spell components along the empty expanse of her skin. She was so soft and smooth there—so unlike the way Tieflings were formed.

He felt goosebumps raise where his fingers touched. Tav shivered against him. 

“That tickles,” she mumbled into his chest.

“Apologies, darling,” Rolan told her. Some other time it would be very interesting to investigate how ticklish she was. For now, he stilled to press his palm against her lower back instead.

Tav heaved a deep sigh against his chest. “What are we supposed to do now?”

Rolan crooked his head down at her. “What do you mean?”

“Now that it’s over.” Tav propped her chin on both hands to meet his eye. “I can barely remember what it feels like to just…live my own life. You know?” 

Rolan carded one hand back through her hair. He understood the feeling well. 

“There’s still plenty to occupy both of us,” he assured her. “I need to complete the Tower repairs before the next storm, which could be any day knowing Sword Coast weather. And the Lower City is in a state of absolute ruin. I’m sure you’ll have a hundred people knocking on my door come morning, asking for their hero’s help with a hundred different things—”

To his surprise, Tav sat up on his lap in a huff. The motion reminded him he was still softening inside of her. 

“There you go spoiling my fun,” she complained good-naturedly. “Here I expected you to be thrilled at the prospect of finally having me in your bed day and night, with no mortal peril hanging over either of our heads, no less. And you only want to discuss Baldurian civics—”

Rolan felt himself beginning to laugh at her, a relaxed and throaty sound. “Is that what’s troubling you? Tav, I thoroughly intend to fuck you often and well.”

“You’d better,” she warned, but the corners of her mouth had begun to twitch. He wanted to devour her.

“And since you’ve declared my own bed permanently off-limits—” 

In one motion he rolled their bodies to pin Tav under him. It earned him a little ‘oh’ of surprise; he was conveniently still buried between her legs. “You’ve put me in the position of having to be resourceful.”

“Big change for you, that?” Tav teased. But her legs crossed behind his flanks to keep him close. As they did, one of her heels inadvertently rubbed against the sensitive base of his tail. 

Rolan hissed in air between his teeth. He saw her eyes spark with recognition, and leaned down to kiss her senseless before she could do anything wicked with this new information.

By the time they surfaced from lips and tongues and teeth, he was already achingly stiff inside her again. Her hands ran down his front, flowing over each concentric pattern on his chest with open want. It sent a shiver all the way down his spine, from neck to tail.

The way Tav looked at him—the way she touched him as if he was perhaps the loveliest thing she’d ever seen. He decided it would take him years to get used to. Maybe he never would.

Rolan kept still regardless, waiting for her to finish her explorations. All traces of teasing were long gone from her now. 

Tav’s eyes reflected the warmth of the dying fire as reached up for him. She passed one more deliberate hand over the planes of his face, as if she’d like to memorize the feel of them. Her fingers landed to gently clutch around his jaw.

“My wizard,” she said softly. 

Rolan had never been one for pet names; even from the people he cared about most. Those words should have sounded diminutive and sentimental to him, even spoken by Tav. 

Instead…

They fell sweetly against his ear, flowed like honeyed wine down his throat, and nestled into a space that glowed with warmth somewhere behind his ribs.

And why shouldn’t they? He was her wizard, after all.

[xxstraymoonchildxx]

This Couple is Unusual

Prologue / Next

Chapter 1: This Couple, negotiating

cw: none

As Charles Dickens once put it: “It was the best of times, it was the worst of times”.

The both of you sat in a horse carriage, cars being still not too common around that day, and looked outside the busy street.

England in the nineteenth century was a sight to behold. In awe you watched the people walking down the streets, clad in Victorian fashion - the men in suits, top hats (hopefully without mercury), and walking canes; women in long modest dresses with hoop skirts or bustles underneath giving a distinct shape and various little hats on skillfully made hair. You fit in perfectly with the clothes Asmodeus provided you with. Satan was dressed to the nines, the striped pine green waistcoat over the pristine white, high-collared shirt hugged his muscular frame nicely; the dark coat he wore fluttered slightly behind him when he walked (he couldn’t help himself and only wore one sleeve, the other draped over his shoulder casually). The ascot around his neck matched his black pants and shiny dress shoes. You matched him well - the bodice underneath the dress - white with pine green stripes - emphasized your waist but wasn’t too tight; the long-sleeved waistcoat had frills in the front that opened under the bust like a curtain and ended in your back with a large bow. Around your neck was a necklace with a cat pendant Satan gifted you for your last birthday. 

All that being said sadly didn't distract you from the fact that it smelled so bad. 

Occasionally little boys ran onto the bumpy roads, scooping up what the horses left behind. (You hoped none of those children would get themselves hurt or worse.) Not only that, the industrial smoke carried over from the factories, and people still threw things into the Thames that didn’t belong there (mainly human and industrial waste, and unsurprisingly the occasional corpse)

“I am grateful we didn’t visit London during the summer of 1858,” Satan stated after he saw you wrinkle your nose in displeasure ”I've read about it recently, it was labeled the Great Stink. There were various artists depicting their idea of a shinigami riding along the Thames during that time.”

“Guess it was easier to drop everything into the river. I can’t believe the working class had to bathe in that polluted water, like, eww. Bet Barbatos would've gotten a heart attack from those rats running around if he was with us.” 

Satan hummed in response, looking back outside the window.

You passed the central street that had various shops aligned next to each other.  Somewhere had to be one of the subsidiaries of the sorcerer's society where you would meet one of your teacher’s acquaintances, Viscount Laurent Cavendish who was responsible for the finances there. He was the son of a vineyard owner who made business with high society and offered wine tastings, perfect for making strong connections.

Satan helped you out of the carriage, the strong grip he had on your waist made your cheeks turn pink. The coachman handed you your luggage and wished you a nice day. 

The subsidiary looked like every other building in the business area, disguised as a bank (and also functioning like one for cover). You went inside, walking to the front desk of the entrance hall. An elderly gentleman sat behind the oak table.

“Good afternoon, how may I help you?” he asked politely. You took out the letter from Solomon stored inside your bag, handing it over while introducing Satan and yourself. The man’s eyes widened, looking at the demon in surprise, then back to you. “We need to speak to Viscount Cavendish as soon as possible.” He nodded and made a quick phone call with a hushed voice. Not even a minute later you were escorted to Cavendish’s office.

You expected Laurent Cavendish to be a middle-aged man but you were mildly surprised to have someone sitting in an office chair who can’t be older than thirty. Auburn hair framed his oval in a style that reminded you of Mephistopheles and dark blue eyes looked up from his paperwork to eye you thoroughly. Come to think of it, the way he looks at you, judgingly, reminds you a bit too much of the aristocrat demon. He signed you to take the two seats in front of his desk.

“I’ve never expected this shady man to get himself an apprentice. Say, is his cooking still as horrendous?”

“Unfortunately, yes.”

“Nearly killed me once.”

Cavendish sent you a crooked smile, just for a split second, before leaning back in his armchair, folding his slender hands. Back to business. “So, what brings you here? I assume you aren’t interested in opening a bank account.”

“We are interested in the Whitechapel Murders. We plan on acting as reporters from a foreign country. Unfortunately, we don’t have the proper connections in the Londoner scene,” Satan answered and you continued “But my teacher recommended you, Viscount, saying you’re a powerful man in the Sorcerer’s Society and Londoner Underworld”

You hoped to tickle his ego to the best of your abilities. To drive it home, you opened your suitcase - enchanted so you can put as much as you want in it like in the RPGs Leviathan often plays with you; basically unlimited inventory space - and brought out a gift box, addressed towards the man in front of you and put it on his desk. “We can pay you for your troubles, of course”

Curiously Cavendish opened the present, hummed with a twinkle in his eyes, and closed it again. 

“Very well. The murders are all over the newspapers but Scotland Yard is, unsurprisingly, still clueless. Our Society isn’t interested in the case per se, but of course, we are up to date about everything even if we don’t involve ourselves in such … events. The victims are brought to the funeral parlor Undertaker; the owner is involved with the underworld as well and is a reliable informant, despite his unique personality. I’m also acquaintances with one of the Yard’s chief staff, Sir Redcliff. Although I’d advise you strictly to be discrete with any valuable information.”

Satan looked at you and nodded. Cavendish took a sip of his tea after this long monologue. “I’ll provide you with the necessities and wish you all the best. Please wait in the entrance hall. My secretary will bring it to you once I am finished.”

After shaking hands with him, or rather with Satan, you were escorted outside. But not without his calling something out to you right before the door closes:

“Beware the Queens Watchdog, Earl Phantomhive!”

“Well, that went smoothly,” Satan said, guiding you inside the called carriage. The Viscount supplied you with a hotel reservation as well as various objects for bribing purposes - like a bottle of expensive wine for the Yard and credentials. “He must be quiet in debt with Solomon to go for such length. I wonder what was in the present you gave him” You thought about it for a moment “Eh, I guess some rare ingredients or magical items. I didn’t look inside.” The blond demon let out a laugh “I am surprised, by how noisy you usually are”

“Hey!”

Half an hour later, you arrived at the hotel. It was nothing too fancy from the outside, a two-star equivalent from your own time maybe? You stood before the entrance door when you suddenly heard a gentle meowing noise. 

Satan was quick as always, crouching down to pet the little creature in front of him “Are you all alone?” he cooed, petting the few-month-old kitten. In the blink of an eye, not two, but three and four emerged around the corner. You watched it with a grin. 

//What magnificent creatures. What an adorable little family~// Blushing, he played with the litter of cats. He didn’t hear the sound of protest from around the corner.

It wasn’t until another set of hands appeared in his line of sight. He looked up, staring into a pair of reddish-brown eyes. 

Bonus:

Earlier that day:  Y/N: Okay, we should change into more time period-appropriate clothes *takes off top* Satan: HOLD U-!

__________________________________________________

Finally done it. Had like no time to write last week thanks to being short-staffed.I might edit something in case I notice spelling mistakes. I usually use Grammarly but it doesn't catch everything.

[cirilla-fiona-riannon]

Galileo Galilei Main Story

Translations may not always capture the exact nuances or tone of the original text. Expect grammatical errors and inaccuracies.

After arriving in the city in the afternoon, I let out a deep sigh.

(Even this morning, I didn't feel like I was alive.)

Just like the other day, I had another dream where someone took my life.

(Last time it was a hunter, but this time I was killed by a pureblooded vampire.)

(I guess I was really a dhampir in my dreams.)

Although the people and scenes in the two dreams were different, they had one thing in common.

(In the dream, I was despised by both humans and vampires just because I'm a dhampir.)

Even though they were dreams, fear and sadness lingered strongly in my heart, and I let out another sigh, as I had done many times before.

Then...

Vlad: "What's with the sigh, Mitsuki?"

Mitsuki: "Vlad!"

The one who greeted me was Vlad in his apron.

There was a wagon nearby loaded with flowers, and it seemed like he was doing his usual work as a florist.

Mitsuki: "Thanks for your hard work. I actually made some baked sweets. Would you like to have them with Faust and Charles?"

Vlad: "Wow, it smells nice. Thanks, I'd love to."

Vlad: "But are you okay?"

Mitsuki: "Huh?"

After handing him the sweets, Vlad looked at me and gently touched the area around my eyes with his long fingers.

Vlad: "You have dark circles. Are you not sleeping well?"

Mitsuki: "I had a nightmare. I was feeling down, so I made those sweets as a distraction."

Vlad: "I see. Just wait a moment."

With that, Vlad pulled out a bundle of purple flowers from the wagon and offered them to me.

Vlad: "They're lavender. If you put them by your pillow when you sleep, it should help you relax."

Mitsuki: "Wow, thank you. Can I really have them?"

Vlad: "Yes. I wish I could save you from the nightmares, but for now, all I can do is wish you a good night's sleep."

After parting ways with Vlad, I leaned in to smell the lavender I received.

(It smells nice. It might indeed help me sleep well.)

Feeling grateful for Vlad's thoughtfulness, I walked down the street with warm feelings.

Passerby: "Hey! Watch where you're going, kid. Don't wander around like that."

???: "S-Sorry."

I heard a guy's booming voice and a kid's gentle voice in the distance.

When I looked over, I saw a boy with golden curls and dirty clothes bowing to a passerby.

(That kid seems unsteady on his feet. I hope he's okay.)

As I watched, the boy bumped into someone again and fell afterward. Concerned, I hurried over to him.

Mitsuki: "Are you hurt?"

Curly-haired boy: "Ugh…"

The boy lifted his face, and I noticed his eyes were as clear and blue as the earth.

Curly-haired boy: "I'm thirsty."

Mitsuki: "Wait here. I'll go get you some water!"

I was about to stand up when he suddenly grabbed my skirt to stop me.

Curly-haired boy: "It's fine! I'm okay."

Mitsuki: "But you look like you're in so much pain."

Curly-haired boy: "Don't worry about me. My little sister is waiting, so I have to go."

Mitsuki: "Hey, wait!"

The boy disappeared into an alley without even turning back at the sound of my call.

As I walked along the banks of the Seine River, I couldn't stop thinking about the boy I had just encountered.

(Was I being too nosy?)

(But his clothes and shoes were so worn out.)

Even in seemingly glamorous Paris, many people were struggling with poverty and orphans.

That was the reality I learned upon arriving in the 19th century.

I was still lost in thought when I suddenly heard someone calling out.

???: "Hey, Miss."

Mitsuki: "Huh?"

???: "Would you like to go on a boat tour around Paris?"

I turned around and saw a man with a half-up hairstyle and a hat, smiling.

Drake: "For a lady like you, I'd offer some special services."

(Oh, is he a tout?)

Mitsuki: "Sorry, but I'm not really in the mood for that right now."

Drake: "Ah, I see. You do look a bit down."

The man leaned in slightly and peered into my face.

Feeling unexpectedly close, I tensed up, but the man just smiled again.

Drake: "In that case, all the more reason to hop on my boat for a change of pace."

Drake: "By the way, I'm also feeling really down today since there were no customers."

Drake: "If things stay like this, I'm afraid my boss will give me an earful later."

Mitsuki: "Hehe."

Drake: "Oh? You look even cuter when you smile. So, how about we both forget our worries and have a blast?"

(He's quite the smooth talker.)

(I feel like I'm being taken for a ride, but it sure would be a nice change of pace.)

Mitsuki: "Then, just for a while."

I couldn't help but smile along with him as I boarded the boat, following his invitation.

Mitsuki: "Wow!"

Drake: "Right?"

The boat cruised effortlessly on the Seine River, and the shimmering water under the sun, along with the breeze blowing through, felt nice.

Drake: "Feeling better now, miss?"

Mitsuki: "Yes, much better than earlier."

Drake: "Huh, so a boat ride isn't the perfect cure-all, huh?"

Mitsuki: "Oh, no! It's just a matter of my own feelings."

(Maybe it's because I had a scary dream or met that boy.)

The frustration of being in such an uncontrollable situation still lingered in my heart.

(I've been living a comfortable life back in my world and being treated well in the mansion since I came to the 19th century.)

(But that's just my luck, and it doesn't apply to everyone in this era.)

(Is there anything I can do to help?)

Lost in thought, I brushed back my hair, swaying in the wind, and my fingertips suddenly touched the scar on my forehead.

It was the scar from when someone saved my life when I was a child.

(At that time, I wanted to be someone who could also help others.)

I remember the memories I told everyone at the mansion just a few days ago and the feelings I had at that time burning deep in my heart.

(I know poking my nose at other people's business is bad, but if I meet that boy again, I'll try talking to him.)

(I have to take a step forward, starting with that.)

As my mood began to brighten, the scenery appeared even more radiant.

Then, out of nowhere, the guy suddenly handed me a bottle.

Mitsuki: "Mr. Sailor, what's this?"

Drake: "It's Drake."

Mitsuki: "Huh?"

Drake: "My name's Francis Drake, but just call me Drake, miss."

Mitsuki: "Okay, Drake. What's in this bottle?"

Drake: "A drink to lift your spirits."

Mitsuki: "What!? Drinking during the day is a bit much!"

Drake: "Haha, just kidding. Don't worry, it's just grape juice."

Drake: "Consider it a treat. Well, mine's wine, though."

He raised another bottle and grinned mischievously.

Mitsuki: "Drake, aren't you working right now?"

Drake: "Oops, so strict."

Drake: "Don't worry, I can hold my liquor. I'll make sure to get us back to shore safe and sound."

(That's not really the issue here.)

Drake: "Come on, cheers!"

He handed me the grape juice and took a sip from his wine bottle.

(He's so carefree and likable.)

(But is it okay to drink something given by someone I just met?)

The bottle smelled distinctly of grapes, with no hint of alcohol.

Drake: "Are you being cautious? There's nothing weird in it. I could take a sip to show you if you'd like."

Mitsuki: "Um, no, it's okay. I'll give it a try."

(He doesn't seem like a bad person, so it should be fine.)

Feeling guilty for my hesitation, I also took a sip from the bottle.

Mitsuki: "Mmm, delicious!"

The sweet and rich taste passed through my throat, and the lush aroma filled my nostrils.

Drake: "Glad you like it. By the way, what's your name?"

Mitsuki: "I'm Mitsuki."

Drake: "Alright then, Mitsuki. Captain Drake is here to guide you through Paris."

Drake: "Over there is the Louvre Museum or something like that. It's apparently full of amazing treasures."

Mitsuki: "Hehe. You don't sound like a tour guide."

I chuckled at his tour-guiding skills.

But as I listened to his lively stories…

(Huh?)

I was suddenly overwhelmed by drowsiness.

Drake: "Mitsuki, what's wrong?"

Mitsuki: "I'm sorry, I suddenly feel sleepy. I think it's because I haven't slept much lately."

(Oh no, this isn't good. I'm getting sleepy.)

I tried to fight the drowsiness, but my eyelids stuck together like magnets, and eventually, I fell asleep.

???: "Who asked you to bring her here?"

(Huh? Who?)

A low, quiet voice reached my ears as my consciousness drifted.

???: "Don't make that face. I did it for your own good, you know?"

???: "Being patient doesn't suit you. It might be more interesting if you move quickly."

This time, I heard another, more cheerful voice.

Both voices sounded familiar, but they were different from the voices of anyone I knew from the mansion.

Mitsuki: "Mnn…"

I slowly opened my eyes and saw several books and a dome ceiling.

Feeling a bit disoriented by the unfamiliar sight, I...

Mitsuki: "Where am I!?"

I sat up abruptly from the sofa I was sleeping on, realizing I was in an unfamiliar place.

Drake: "Oh, you're awake, little fawn."

I turned my head and saw Drake, who had been with me on the boat, smiling.

But what surprised me even more was the unexpected presence of another person beside him.

Mitsuki: "Drake, and Professor Maury?"

(Why are they together?)

Previous Part ╎ Masterlist ╎ Premium

[mouwrites]

hi can you do zane/ gn ninja reader oneshot where they get hurt and zane is patching them up? and reader is always jumping into battle first and zane is there to help them. if you want to ofc!!

Can do!

Word count: 673

Ninjago - Zane Patches You Up

Vines and branches whipped at your limbs as you barreled through the brush, but luckily your gi was thick enough to prevent you from sustaining any scratches. You were in hot pursuit of a gang of thieves. They had just stolen a valuable magic artifact from its tomb, an artifact that you would prefer to have in your own hands.

“Don’t they know how dangerous that thing is?” You panted, frustration obvious in your tone.

“If they did, I doubt they’d have stolen it,” Zane replied from behind you. You managed a sardonic laugh.

You nearly fell flat on your face when the thick vegetation opened up suddenly to an angled river bank composed of rocks. Your foot slipped a few inches as a rock tumbled away from under it, but you caught yourself easily and continued running.

The thieves were hauling themselves into a boat when you pounced on them. You seized an oar and swung, knocking out the one who held the artifact. It fell into the boat with his unconscious body.

You lunged for the artifact, tumbling into the boat desperately with arms outstretched. You leapt up with the artifact—a little gold statuette—held high above your head. “Guys! I got it!”

“Excellent work, Y/n!” Zane appraised you, clapping his hands together.

Your cheeks went flushed pink as you beamed at him. For one crucial moment you forgot about the other two thieves in the boat with you.

One of them tackled you from behind, sending you sprawling onto the rocky bank.

“Y/n!” You heard several voices cry out.

You felt a sharp pain shoot up your arm as a particularly jagged rock sliced your skin. The artifact was no longer in your hands.

You felt woozy. You had also hit your head when you fell. Trying to stand up but failing, you fell again. Suddenly you felt a strong body next to your own, helping you limp along to the tree line, out of the way of the ongoing tussle.

The world stopped spinning at last, and you looked to your side to see Zane hunched over your wounded arm. Zane. Of course. He was never far, even when you were in the midst of a battle.

“Is it bad?”

As if in response, a horrible pain shot through you at the slightest touch. Even Zane winced as he watched you recoil.

“You’ll live,” he said after spending a moment staring at the wound. He reached for his first aid kit.

“I can do it,” you offer, holding out your hand. Zane shook his head with a little smile.

“Please. Let me.”

You sighed, reclining a little against the tree and letting him get to work.

“This will sting,” he warned you, wetting a cotton ball with disinfectant. You gritted your teeth as the cold ball dabbed against your tender skin, and you hissed audibly when it suddenly began to burn.

“Sorry,” Zane murmured, trying to move quickly to prolong the pain no longer than needed.

“It’s okay,” you said in a strained voice. You relaxed a bit when he finally discarded the cotton ball. “My fault for getting banged up in the first place. Guess I’m just facing the consequences.” You laughed dryly.

Zane cocked his head. “Was the pain of getting hurt in the first place not the ‘consequence’?”

You shrugged. He had a point, but you were really just trying to cope here. Even with the sting of the disinfectant gone, the wound still hurt like a cow.

The pain eased a little when Zane tenderly wrapped soft gauze around it, fastening the dressing in a little bow. He patted your arm comfortingly. “All patched up, my love.”

“Great,” you grinned, springing to your feet. “Back to battle!”

Zane tried to protest, but you were halfway down the bank already, seamlessly inserting yourself into a struggle between Kai and one of the thieves. With a little sigh he watched you go, an unusual smile making its way onto his lips.

“Y/n, you wild creature.”

Thank you for your request, and thank you for reading! Have a good one lovelies <33

(divider by saradika)

[lindsay00000008]

Fantasy/Historical whump….

My whump must be aesthetic.

Whumper keeps their pet crocodile chained along the riverbank, lazing between reeds until it gets peckish. Whumpee is not fond of the beast. In the shade of the columns of the alabaster pier, Whumpee gets their punishment — the sand is thick and the water cool. Their clothes are wet and stick to their skin with sweat and river water, making them shiver. The weather is hot, but overall it would seem a comfortable way to spend the afternoon, were it not for the watchful eyes of Whumper, the thick chain and collar tugging at their throat, and the crocodile bathing in the reeds nearby.

The collar has been their constant companion these years, and whumpee is familiar with the chafing, weighed down by different chains over the years — some lighter, some heavier. Some tarnished, some pretty. This one is not very pretty.

A pole has been placed in the river, several yards from the bank. It’s drilled firmly into the earth below the water and held down by a massive stone. A loop of bronze peaks out above the water, with two lengths of chain attached — one for each of Whumper’s pets. The crocodile’s chain is long. It can enjoy a wide circle of freedom, up to the bank and into the deeper water. The bank below the pier is its territory. A place where only the unluckiest servants go, tossing goat legs and cow heads before they sprint away to safety. And now Whumpee, with the same length of chain, crouched by the same reeds on that same bank, glancing up at Whumper as if to say, don’t leave me.

It’s a wonderful punishment, Whumper thinks. A remedy for Whumpee’s distracted mood all day. There is nothing to focus on but the pull of the current, and the ripple of a knobby head moving slowly on the bank. And Whumper of course, who has eyes only for Whumpee, despite that large, pale, grey-green tail that swipes aside mud and silt.

Whumper has a bow. They sit cross-legged on a mat with fresh fruit and thin bread before them. They would never let Whumpee get injured, of course. At least, they themselves know that. However what they’ve told Whumpee is less comforting.

“Should the crocodile seek to devour you, I shall ease your suffering. For all that you deserve your punishment today, I should hate to hear you cry at the punishing mouth of another.”

[mariacallous]

NATO is developing a political strategy to counter Russia under the assumption that the Kremlin’s foreign policy will stay Vladimir Putin-like—if not run by the Russian president himself—for the long term.

It’s a part of a broader NATO effort to move away from the post-Cold War peace dividend of the 1990s, when allies tried to placate Russia by establishing diplomatic relations and removing troops from Eastern Europe. After the start of Russia’s full-scale invasion of Ukraine, the allies must now find a way to deal with a Moscow that will almost certainly remain hostile and a threat to NATO for the foreseeable future.

“We all understand that Russia will not change, even when someone will replace Putin one day,” said Estonian Defense Minister Hanno Pevkur. “When there is no change on the political system level, then we will see no change.”

But across 32 nations, NATO needs to figure out what kind of plan it’s pursuing. Is it a containment strategy as the 71-year-old Putin ages? Do the allies wait for Putin to die?

Russia is already putting pressure on the West to break its consensus over Ukraine and soften anti-Kremlin tilt. Moscow has launched more concerted hybrid attacks than the alliance has seen at any point since the end of the Cold War, according to both current and former NATO officials. That effort has included cyberattacks, sending waves of immigrants to the border with Finland, removing border buoys along the Narva River with Estonia, suspected arson attacks, and assassination plots. 

Some of Russia’s actions over the course of the covert campaign might even rise to the threshold of armed conflict, but the first step, officials said, is to stay cool.

“Russia is trying to make us run around like wet hens and lose our heads,” said Tobias Billstrom, Sweden’s foreign minister. “These are attempts by the security services and the military forces of Russia to try and keep us busy, so that we will fail in our support to Ukraine and ultimately bow down to Russia’s wishes.”

The other prong in Russia’s plan to undermine NATO is an effort to continue to build its conventional strength. NATO expects Russia to field thousands more troops—to fight in Ukraine or elsewhere—by the time that the alliance’s new Russia strategy is ready. Moscow is still likely recruiting about 30,000 new troops a month, according to a senior NATO official. “They can probably continue to absorb these very high losses for quite some time,” added the official, who spoke on condition of anonymity based on ground rules set by the alliance. 

NATO estimates that Russia can continue to subsist in a wartime economy for at least another three to four years. Putin is banking on exhausting Ukraine with Russia’s greater numbers of troops and resources—even if there’s a staggering cost in lives. 

Yet the numerical edge hasn’t helped the Russians gain ground in Ukraine so far this year. NATO officials assess that Russia has not achieved a single one of its strategic objectives in Ukraine. The Kremlin’s offensive around Ukraine’s eastern city of Kharkiv has advanced several miles, but progress has mostly fallen off because Russia doesn’t have enough troops—or enough quality troops, said Royal Netherlands Navy Adm. Rob Bauer, the chair of NATO’s Military Committee. 

“The Ukrainians understand what they’re fighting for,” Bauer said. “The Russians have no clue.” He added that Russia had to take troops from another part of the front line to mount the Kharkiv offensive and didn’t have the proper trainers and training facilities that it needed to generate tough enough soldiers to break through Ukrainian lines. 

Both sides are looking for openings to launch another counteroffensive, but it’s not likely to take place until they deal with manpower shortages. Ukraine is also waiting for Western munitions to arrive en masse. Russia has improved its coordination of cruise and ballistic missiles with drones since the beginning of the war, too, in an effort to overwhelm Ukrainian defenses. 

But even as Russia has combined artillery, infantry, and air attacks in Ukraine, NATO officials believe that Moscow is still not conducting effective maneuver warfare that sees a precise sequence of shelling and tank thrusts before ground troops move ahead. 

“Ukraine is actually not a joint fight,” Bauer said. “It is actually a ground war, in essence. If they want to fight NATO, they need to do more than what they do now. They need to be able to fight with air, maritime, and land, and space, and cyber in a synchronized way, which we haven’t seen in Ukraine.” Russia would also need a combined military approach to fight NATO, Bauer said.

Western officials and experts believe that Russia will need to rebuild equipment, train more soldiers, and get proficient in new weapons systems to fully regenerate. Bauer said that Russia could get its military back in the shape it was before the Ukraine invasion within three to five years after the shooting stops, but getting to the status of a complete, modern military that could challenge the alliance with the threat of a full-scale invasion would take more time. 

And Russia is running out of its vast stocks of Soviet-era weaponry, forcing the Kremlin to limit its war aims. But it has also held back stocks of drones and missiles in order to conduct major attacks, such as the one on a Kyiv children’s hospital earlier this month. 

Ukraine’s long-range strikes have had an impact, NATO officials said, cutting Russian oil refining capacity by about 17 percent and forcing the Kremlin to impose domestic restrictions on gasoline exports. NATO nations are also looking to curb Russia’s so-called shadow fleet of 400 to 600 vessels that are helping the Kremlin get around sanctions by illegally transiting oil by sea. 

But even with the economic hemorrhaging, there’s little doubt that Russia will continue beyond Ukraine. “They’re crazy,” said Ukrainian Strategic Industries Minister Oleksandr Kamyshin. “They’ve been fighting with us for decades—for centuries. They’ve been fighting everyone around, from Afghanistan to Georgia. We have to be ready for that.”

The lesson learned from Russia’s two invasions of Ukraine—the initial attack on Crimea and the eastern Donbas region in 2014 as well as the full invasion eight years later—is that Putin could use the same pattern in an attack on NATO territory, said Pevkur, the Estonian defense minister: biting off a small piece of territory and then going for more. There is a fear that Putin might be able to destroy one part of NATO before the alliance’s political leaders have the ability to respond. 

“For us, there is no difference [if] they are coming to Tallinn or [if] they are coming to Berlin,” he said. “There is no difference if it’s just a localized partial attack or a full-scale attack.”

Other allies agree. “You can’t rule out anything when it comes to Russia,” said Billstrom, the Swedish foreign minister. “The only thing Russia understands is power and strength.”

The alliance’s military plans are still currently in peacetime mode, Pevkur said. The question is whether NATO nations will have the political willpower to make the tough decision to activate Article Five in a wartime scenario—and to resist Russia’s efforts to paralyze the North Atlantic Committee, the panel of military decision-makers who would make that call.

“I hope that everyone behind that table—32 members—are crystal clear that if there is a need, we have the votes,” Pevkur said. 

NATO is still filling in some of the gaps in its war plans to make apparent to Russia the costs of dipping its toe into a wider regional conflict. The alliance needs more munitions and air defense, weapons that are in short supply all over the world. It even needs to look toward putting down more of its own military bases in Europe, U.S. House Foreign Affairs Committee Chairman Michael McCaul told Foreign Policy in a recent interview. 

The West has to be ready to respond to Russian nuclear coercion. And it has to be ready for a challenge in any domain, or at any level. 

“The reality is we have to be ready for a hybrid challenge, a conventional challenge, possibly a nuclear challenge, or all three,” the second senior NATO official said. “That’s the way the Russians think: They see a continuum of war.”

NATO can dial up and dial down the response, but officials say that the allies have to be postured permanently to manage Russia’s activity and threats. “We have to get away from this idea that it’s either on or off,” the second senior NATO official added. 

That’s a stark contrast from where NATO allies have been for decades: letting war plans and troop contingents on the eastern flank atrophy.

“There was hope after [former Russian President Boris] Yeltsin came,” Pevkur said. “There was hope after the collapse of the Soviet Union.” 

What NATO countries hope—especially the front-line Baltic states—is that the allies have learned their lesson about Russia. 

“This is the consequence [of] what we did, hoping that Russia will be on a new political system,” Pevkur added. “They weren’t.”

[the-hinky-panda]

The Drowning Kind : Part 1

Title: The Drowning Kind

Pairing: Captain Sean Renard x OFC (written as a reader)

Rating: Explicit

Summary: You heard of the Portland Grimm and leave your fundamentalist group of naiads in Vancouver. You just wanted a safe fresh start; you didn't expect to fall in love with a royal hybrid police captain.

“Lots of men want to stay in a boat because they're afraid of drowning. But a mermaid knows: life is just not worth living if you're not ready to drown a few times.”

― C. JoyBell C.

Captain Sean Reynard has many secrets. Some are larger than others. This one is fairly small, relatively speaking. 

He owns a kayak. 

It’s dusty, and hasn't been used in years. He had bought it on a whim, trying to impress a woman long forgotten now, and now he’s thankful for that impulsive purchase. It’s almost eleven at night when he unlatches it from the roof rack of his car and slips the front of it into the water. The moon is full tonight, turning the river silver and the trees on the river bank more gray than black. He’s grabbing the paddle when he hears your footsteps on the soft riverbank. 

“I wasn’t sure if you were making it out tonight,” you say. “Heard it was a rough day in the office.” 

“Rough day in the office means meeting up with you will be a certainty.” 

Your eyes glint in the bright moonlight as you smile at his comment. He still is getting used to having someone genuinely pleased to have him in their presence, no expectations or favors. You’re already dressed in your swimsuit, bare feet, toes curling into the soft silt as the river laps around your ankles. He knows you’ve spent most of the hot summer day in the river, that you know the currents, branches, and estuaries as well as he knows all the roads and neighborhoods in Portland. The perks of being a naiad and a police captain.

He moves towards you, leaning down to kiss you but you retreat a couple steps further into the river with a coy smile. “You’re going to have to catch me first.” 

“Well that hardly seems fair.” 

“I’ll go easy on you,” you give him a wink before turning and disappearing under the silver water. 

He watches the ripples of your movement as you do your laps under the surface and wait for him to launch the kayak. By the time he’s made it to the halfway point in the river, he can see the electric blue glow of your gills as you circle around the kayak. He pulls his paddle out of the water and rests it across his lap. He waits for a few moments, enjoying the silence, letting his eyes adjust to the night sky as more stars start to appear in his vision. He needs this after the frustrations today; he needs the quiet, the physical effort…you. 

Your electric blue eyes are peering at him from the pointed bow of the kayak. You sink below the surface again but appear at the side of the kayak, effortlessly pulling yourself up and sitting, perfectly balanced, in front of him with minimal shifting of the boat. You stay in your naiad form to help with your balancing, air whistling and chirping quietly from the gills along your neck. 

“Do you want to talk about your day?” 

He shakes his head. “No. I’d rather hear about your day.” 

“All my swimming and playing with my fishy friends?” 

“Says the woman who got kicked out of the all you can eat sushi bar last week?” 

“I almost got kicked out! Get your facts straight, Captain.” 

“My apologies.”  He lays a hand over yours and you instinctively pull it away but he catches it, slipping his fingers through yours like a hook and halting your retreat. He can feel the scars of the cutting, the lack of webbing between your fingers. He knows if he looks at your feet, he’ll find the same disfigurement there too. He changes into his hybrid form and waits for your eyes to meet his. “You’re not the only one with marks of shame.” 

You squeeze his hand back and give him a small smile. This is usually when you start listing the differences between them: he had zero control over his heritage, you had made the conscious decision to go against eons of tradition. His mother had tried to protect him as best she could. Your husband had stood by and watched you be cut by the village elders so they wouldn’t do the same to him. He has tried to convince you, shame is shame, details be damned. One day, he hopes you’ll believe him that when he sees you, all he can see is strength, resilience, and bravery.  

He sees everything he wants to be and that’s a much bigger secret than the kayak. 

[elrieldreamer]

Elain walked swiftly through the large, manicured lawn, past the carefully planned and maintained flower garden, and into the line of trees that delineated the extent of the River House property. She could hear the gentle sounds of the Sidra flowing past the far edge of the woods, and for a fleeting moment Elain considered turning down the worn path that led to its banks.

But shining water and a gentle breeze wasn’t what she needed this afternoon. She’d politely dismissed herself from afternoon tea, hoping to avoid additional conversation after Rhys had announced Lucien’s imminent arrival in the Night Court. Apparently, he was due to provide a report regarding Vassa’s current status, and by extension, any developments with Koschei.

“We will host him for supper following business, Elain. He asked after your welfare, and I offered him a chance to find for himself that you are well,” Rhys had said, with a sidelong glance, surreptitiously judging her reaction.

The trees gradually grew thicker, and Elain finally reached the deeply shadowed area she had set out for. In addition to the towering oaks, this particular space was occupied by a dense blackberry bramble. When the bush was heavy with fruit, she and the twins often collected berries for pies and crumbles, arriving back at the kitchen breathless with giggles and covered in purple stains. When her heart was particularly heavy with sorrow, she came here alone.

Lowering herself to her knees, Elain reached both hands forward and gingerly grasped a thick, woody cane at the base of the bramble. Biting back a sudden rush of emotion, she slowly tightened her grip until thorn after thorn pierced the scarred skin of her palms. Breathing deeply, Elain closed her eyes and imagined the ache being pushed from her heart, each beat propelling it further along her veins until it found release, flowing out of her body as it spilled to the forest floor.

Elain remained there for some time, head bowed reverently as if in prayer. Slowly, as she found that she was once again numb, she loosened her grip. Opening her eyes, she blinked several times as they readjusted to her surroundings, movement catching her attention as a lithe shadow separated itself from an area of thick darkness. Elain’s heart thundered as it darted towards her, circled the blood stained ground at her feet, and then swiftly disappeared into the ether. She’d been caught.

Azriel prided himself on his punctuality. He had arrived at the River House well in advance of his scheduled meeting with Rhys and Lucien, so he headed to the kitchens under the guise of connecting with Nuala and Cerridwen. In truth, he simply wished for a glimpse of Elain. It had been seven months since the disaster that was Solstice, and still his need for her hadn’t ebbed. If anything, it had grown more acute with the distance he’d maintained. The small mercies of fleeting glances in her direction were all that he had of her now, and he held them close.

Azriel had nearly reached his destination when the shadow that he’d sent ahead to find her reappeared, whispering in his ear.

The lady’s lifeblood waters wild blackberries, Shadowsinger.

Azriel stilled, momentarily incapacitated by the unexpected message. Her… lifeblood? Oh, Cauldron.

Take me to her. Now. He responded, melting into shadow.

Azriel’s eyes searched wildly for her the moment that the swirling penumbra deposited him in a thicket of trees and bramble. And, finally, there she was. He quickly ran his gaze over her, desperate to find her wound; to make and execute a plan of care.

Elain stood stiffly, hands clasped behind her back. Face averted, she remained silent. Withdrawn, but seemingly whole, he decided. But she was bleeding. He could scent the metallic tang of iron clouding the heady perfume of jasmine as he inhaled.

The Seer feels shame for seeking comfort in pain.

Comfort in … pain? It was at that moment that his mind seemed to grasp what was happening in that wood. Elain was hurting herself. Because the wound that truly needed tending to was inside of her.

She was hurting herself, and the knowledge broke him.

“Elain,” he rasped, slowly stepping towards her, one palm extended. “May I … may I help you?”

With her hands. With her heart? She remained frozen in place, but her eyes jumped to his. Oh, Elain.

Azriel slowly pulled his undershirt up from the waist of his trousers, ripping a length of soft, black cotton from the bottom hem. Reaching out, he asked again, “Please let me help you with your hands?”

Keeping her gaze low, Elain slowly brought her hands from behind her back, exposing her palms to him. Much of the blood had begun to dry, but deep cuts remained weeping in the fleshy curves beneath her thumbs. Silently, Azriel removed the distance remaining between them, and began the process of cleaning her up.

“Lucien is coming for supper,” she finally said, tone flat.

“Is that the reason for … this?” he asked, raising her hand gently from his lap, where he continued to staunch the flow of blood.

“They want me to choose him. To accept what they think is inevitable. What is most convenient for them.”

He knew that he shouldn’t be here, having this conversation with her. Knew that Rhys would be livid if he found out that they were alone and that Azriel was talking to her and touching her. But she needed him, and tending to her need was more important than Rhys and his Cauldron-damned orders. Keeping his head down and eyes focused on his task, Azriel asked, “And what do you want, Elain?”

“To forge my own destiny. To follow my own heart,” she whispered, “I want to choose.”

Azriel’s heart galloped as he dropped the soiled cotton into a shadow. Holding her scarred hands in his own, he took one swift glance back over his shoulder to where the River House waited, before steeling himself and facing her once more.

“I will always help you defend your right to choose, Elain,” he said. “Let me help you.”

[spiribia]

How I think Hound quests would be done in different games.

Fallout 4: A man with significant generationally inherited sway in his settlement sends you on a quest to recover his missing daughter. The trail went cold a while ago, but she was recently reported to have been spotted passing through a trading outpost with the mercenary the man had hired to guard her. He never should have trusted that mercenary, he mutters. You follow a trail of raider bodies until a mercenary with a rifle pointed at you tells you to halt and come no closer. The daughter is with her. It becomes apparent through conversation that this is not a kidnapping case, but they are running away together. You can pass a speech check to convince them to return to the settlement, tell them you'll keep their secret and go back to the quest giver with the lie that they died, or insist you'll resolve this with force if you have to, prompting the mercenary to turn aggressive against you. If the mercenary is killed, the daughter will be despondent, and agree to come with you. If she returns to the settlement, she will only return generic NPC dialogue like "Yes?" and "Need something?" when spoken to, but otherwise walk around all day with a sad expression. The father will commend you for being such an effective hunting dog if you bring her back.

Sky COTL: Two figures were fleeing through the lands of Sky from a distant world, a knight and a princess, hunted by a dark creature (likely a krill). The season guide illustrates in an unfolding mural how they left the kingdom and were separated from each other, like an ancient fable - can they be reunited? You help the lonely princess, until the dark creature resurfaces into the story. At the final quest, the princess holds up a torch as the creature rushes her, or you hold up your candle, and the light razes its underside and strips it bare, and in its aftermath is the knight. The two spirits express their gratitude to you by bowing, and leave together.

Guild Wars 2: A live quest in the overworld where two human NPCs are fleeing from Point A to Point B, a woman in armor and a woman in noble attire. Along the way, they are routinely beset by waves of enemies such as beasts and bandits. If you help them to the end, they thank you, joyous that they will finally be able to have a life together. You weren't present for the first part of the escort mission, so you don't know who they are.

Final Fantasy XIV: After observing your activity in the main story, an NPC named Lonely Noblemaiden gains a sidequest marker. She asks if you could deliver a parcel to a guard with utmost discretion. It shows up in your inventory as a flower. You can walk up to an NPC named Solemn Guard, who will ask after your business, pulling up an item exchange window. When you hand over the parcel, the guard will express dismay, saying that it should not be accepted, but keeps it nevertheless. She exposits to you that regardless of how she might herself feel, a relationship like this is highly frowned upon in these lands, and would only condemn them both. The noblemaiden is destined for a prearranged marriage, besides. You can return to Lonely Noblemaiden, who will say, hopefully, "She took it…?" Reading the quest item description in your inventory before handing it over to the guard will tell you it is a flower that grows on the banks of a particular river, where forbidden lovers in a famous story convened to run away, before meeting an ultimately tragic fate together.

[ccruelgods]

[ stargazers]

the first sign that something was wrong was that the number of snarky remarks flores would usually make dropped drastically.

even reina made note of such, and she typically didn't show much regard for the other deities. throughout the entire conversation between marina, reina, and the Oracle, not one mean comment has snaked out of the mouth of the latter. it was..strange. even after the conversation had ended, flores had silently left to her own devices.

reina knew where she had went, it waa the same spot every time, she mentally noted, and, making her way to a small flower field, she stood behind the nature deity.

"flores." reina suddenly spoke, voice mimicking the hum of a thousand bees in perfect harmonization, with just a hint of sharpness, not enough to sting, just enough to make an imprint.

the young deity glanced up at her, a scowl playing on her lips as she lifted herself up from the bed of flowers she had been kneeling in. reina was quick to note that this was done much slower than usual.

"what did julius do this time?" the oracle sighed, weariness in her tone.

"nothing." reina replied with a hum, moving beside the other in one quick, fluid motion. flores shifted away, narrowing her eyes.

"then why are you here, huh?" she hissed, the air crackling for a split second with warning. "come to berate me? come to mock me? i know what i sa-"

"stop this. you are being immature." reina interrupted sharply. flores scoffed, standing up in a huff.

"there it is! was wondering when you'd insult me, you dick." she rolled her eyes, not bothering to give the other deity a chance to respond before stomping off.

there was a river that flowed with the cleanest, most clear water, leading to a cave that contained untold stories, a cave that would soon hold a dead prince, and a blue-haired goddess. the river itself, however, was where she was going. with a sharp huff, flores silently followed along the river, letting the sound of the water flowing drown her thoughts, and losing herself in the sounds of nature.

she followed, and she listened, and she let the river and the wind guide her to a rather secluded spot near the banks, hanging vines shielding her from vision. flores let out a quiet, delighted laugh, turning to the river with a short bow.

"thank you." it was only polite, after all, to thank someone for their services. but, frowning, she noticed the company of another deity crouching beside the river, and stiffened, thinking reina had arrived before her.

"...the water's running warmer today." a low, muffled voice intoned mildly, one hand dipped into the stream. around where he stood, the grass had wilted just a bit, and the flowers seemed to droop. face hidden behind a long mask, the young Lord turned to face the newcomer, who sighed in relief, making herself a spot beside him and subtly fixing the wilting grass and flowers, restoring them to their previous state.

"julie." flores whispered, internally cursing as her voice cracked. she couldn't focus on it, though, and she refused to. it was unprofessional. she couldn't help the tears pricking her eyes, and she buried her head in her knees.

"....flores?"

the younger deity didn't look up, and julius frowned, slipping off the mask and, without another word, sitting down properly beside her and carefully placing a hand on her head, messing with her hair affectionately. out of all the deities, the two of them were closest. julius never judged flores for being upset or her temper or her sharp tongue, and flores did her best to be supportive on reina's worst days, when she'd fly into a rage at julius, leaving him bloodied and bruised, be it mentally or physically. they understood each other, and enjoyed each other's company.

"i wish i wasn't a joke to everyone." she murmured, shifting unhappily.

"hmm." julius responded, a hum of acknowledgement. flores suddenly stood up, the vines around the two curling dangerously in her sudden emotion.

"its because im the youngest!" she exploded suddenly, not caring about the angry tears this time. "nobody takes me seriously! everyone just thinks im inexperienced, or don't know what im talking about. i hate it! i hate it! god damnit!"

julius was quiet for a moment, processing the information, but before he could respond, flores continued.

" and another thing! reina and marina always act like im stupid. they act like i don't know anything! they'll talk about something and then try to 'break it down further' for me as if im too stupid to understand it. THEY'RE the stupid ones!"

pausing, she glanced at julius, who was looking at her with an almost pitying look. instead of comforting her, this sparked even more emotion, and she pointed an accusatory finger at him with a hiss.

"dont! don't fucking do that! don't fucking pity me, julius. im not helpless. why do you all treat me like i am?! god! if its not forcing me to be an adult, you're all just acting like im a TODDLER."

the vines around them began to curl around the two tighter, the nearby plants also beginning to grow past their intended height.

"flores—" julius attempted, but the younger deity wasn't listening, still fuming.

"you just-you can't even stand up to reina! you're-you're so—ugh!" she broke off with a frustrated sound that mixed with a sob and collapsed to the ground in an angry heap, gripping the soil tightly as if it would help.

julius was quiet for a moment. her comment had stung, and it had stung bad, but it was the truth. as painful as it may have been, he couldn't stand up to the deity he called his sister. with a sigh, he turned back to the river, listening to flores' angry sobbing.

"you know," he began quietly, and he heard her breath hitch in surprise. "i don't think you're a joke."

flores scoffed, sitting up to glare at him with angry yellow eyes. "you're just saying that. i am not—"

"yes, i know, you're not stupid. i didn't say you were." julius cut her off patiently, pausing this time to see if he'd receive a reply, and when he received none, he continued.

"and im not 'just saying that'. you're not a joke to me. you're very important, miyabi. you've done...so much more than a deity your age should have." he sighed again, god, he did that a lot didn't he, and was caught off guard when a weight was suddenly pressing against his front. flores had silently climbed into his lap, clutching him tightly in a death grip.

he stopped talking, then, hesitating before wrapping his arms around the other in response. for a short while, there was nothing but the sound of flowing water, but the silence wasn't uncomfortable. when he felt the Oracle's body go slightly limp in his arms, he wasn't surprised to see that she had fallen asleep, eyes shut tight in her rest. he couldn't help but chuckle a bit, standing up carefully and, taking care not to jostle the little deity, laid her down in the bed of flowers by the bank, taking note of the fact that flowers seemed to automatically follow her, before putting his mask on, and leaving.

he knew that flores wouldn't want him to be there when she woke. she was independent, yes, but she was still...technically....a child. and similar to mortal children, every now and then, she needed to express things, whether they be negative or positive.

lost in thought, he bumped into marina, who scoffed with a sharp 'oh!'

"sorry." he murmured, meeting her cold gaze.

"its fine, julius. where's flores?" marina waved a hand dismissively, placing the other on her hip and waiting for an answer.

julius was silent for a moment, contemplating, before shrugging lightly.

"i am afraid," he began, smile safely hidden behind the mask. "that i do not know."

marina groaned loudly, spinning around and marching off, presumably to find reina and ask her. Julius let a laugh escape him, smile never disappearing.

flores was definitely going to be grateful for that.

[daevastanner]

A Court of Blades and Beginning Finale

Tomorrow the Epilogue releases :)

F I N A L E

 “You must know... surely, you must know it was all for you. You are too generous to trifle with me. I believe you spoke with my aunt last night, and it has taught me to hope as I'd scarcely allowed myself before. If your feelings are still what they were last April, tell me so at once. My affections and wishes have not changed, but one word from you will silence me forever. If, however, your feelings have changed, I will have to tell you: you have bewitched me, body and soul, and I love--I love--I love you. I never wish to be parted from you from this day on.”

Mr. Darcy in Joe Wright’s “Pride and Prejudice” 2005

Azriel was going to murder Cassian. On the night of his mating ceremony no less.

 And all for dancing with Gwyneth Berdara. A mild offense, all things considered… if Gwyneth Berdara were not Azriel’s mate. 

If Gwyneth Berdara had not been utterly resplendent in that blue gown.

If Gwyneth Berdara had not been laughing and giggling as his brother twirled her. 

But perhaps the most vicious offense was that unlike Azriel, Cassian had Gwyneth Berdara all to himself. A privilege that the shadowsinger had yet to be afforded. 

Then do something about it, his shadows urged.

Maybe I will.

With that, Azriel tossed back the remainder of his champagne flute, setting it back down on the banquet table with a bit more force than necessary. No one remained to witness his ire. His seatmates were all up dancing after all. Emerie with Morrigan. Elain with Lucien. Feyre with Rhysand. Nesta with Nyx.  Amren with Varian.

And fucking Cassian with Gwyn. 

Pushing out of his chair, uncaring of the way the legs scraped crudely against the marble of the temple floor, Azriel walked around the banquet table and straight for the dance floor. 

He maneuvered through the sea of dancing bodies, heading straight for Cassian and Gwyn.

The string quartet’s music wound down and the pair separated, just as Azriel arrived before them. When Gwyn rose from her curtsy and Cassian from his bow, they both noticed his fuming presence. 

Cassian chuckled. “Thank you for the dance, Berdara.” He nodded to the shadowsinger. “Azriel.” 

Gwyn turned and beamed at Azriel, her expression so breathtaking that his anger nearly dissipated. 

Nearly. 

He was unable to account for the cause behind the full extent of his anger. He knew it was mostly just the damned bond, paired disastrously with his own natural inclination towards jealousy.

“Would you care for a dance, Shadowsinger–”

“No, I would not,” he bit out. “Come with me.”

He took her hand and began towing her towards the exit as the band struck up their next number. The doors shut behind them muffling the sound of music and merrymaking, but Azriel did not stop. He continued towing her along the grounds of the river house, all the way to the moonlit bank of the Sidra, where he finally released her. 

Gwyn gestured to the water, then said meekly. “It’s lovely at night.” 

“The sound of the rushing water will prevent anyone from overhearing.” 

“And what might they overhear?” Gwyn asked, amusement coloring her tone. 

But her amusement only served to feed his outrage.

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