#Hunters in the Snow kindle

[diejager]

could you maybe do more of the Phoenix series or is that discontinued? But if you're still working on it can you maybe do something like monster TF 141 use hunter as a heater? Ik if it doesn't make any sense but like monster TF 141 are on a mission and its horribly cold and they're actually cold so hunter just walks up and turns into a phoenix? and just starts heating up the room 141 is in. idk I just have had this idea in my head for a while

Cw: human heating, tell me if I missed any. Note: Nope! It’s still on going, well, at least the original Au of the Phoenix hybrid!reader spinoff.

“I’ll have a bloody word with the tosser who sent us here,” Soap hissed, body wracked with tremors as he breathed into his mittened hands, hoping that the small bit of heat would warm him just a bit more than the failing heating system of their Siberian  safehouse.

They had planed to rest and warm up their temporary residence while Price took Ghost and you to survey the area, all warmly covered but mostly immune to such cold temperature. A dragon rarely needed anything other than the beating fire in their heart, kindled and powerful; a wraith, long since dead, had no worry about feeling cold or warm, only hunger and anger; and a phoenix, whose body was stuck in a perpetual cycle of life and death, had no fear of being cold when they were an embodiment of life’s fire. 

It was only natural that Price took the only people who could withstand the harshness of Siberia for a long and careful inspection when the others would freeze and shake in their thick boots and warm coats. They safehouse looked old, surfaces covered in a thin layer of dust, shelves filled with canned food - both expired and unexpired- and walls and floors as frozen as the loud winds blowing against the thick windows. It wasn’t much of a surprise that something would malfunction, the soviet era building left to appear rotten and forgotten to fit it’s intended use, and it seemed to lack any sort of upkeep. 

“We’re freezing our arses off in here!” Soap growled out, leaning closer to Gaz’s side to steal more warmth from under his wing, the soft feathers all ruffled, “Can’t even-”

Crunch

The two perked up, hands immediately reaching for their weapons, bodies tense and ready for a fire fight until your head popped in, huffing about the melted snow soaking your clothes. They jumped to their feet, running to your side for a lick of warmth that oozed off your skin. You froze at the grabbing hands, pulling you to the cold sofa and pushed under a mass of groaning and moaning bodies, happily soaking in your fire.

“Let me- ” you squirmed between them, shuffling out from under them to stretch your arms and back.

The four watched your neck crack with a wince, flames erupting from your feet, wild and bright embers licking at your skin until it engulfed you in a fiery blaze. It was both too hot to touch and too strong to approach, a fire that would threaten to burn if they touched you. It worked to protect you from an early death while you shifted into the majestic bird you were, a gentle flame in the form of orange and yellow feathers, softer than any silk and warmer than any suns. 

In your place stood a phoenix, lashes fluttering while your flapped your wings, stretched backwards to scratch the itch from the lack of use. You cooed, preening under their awed expressions before you flew back in your prior position, body heat growing hotter and hotter, strong enough to warm up the entire room. 

“Thank you, Hunter,” Gaz smiled at you, a sweet and grateful grin that made your feathers shyly ruffle up.

Taglist: @craxy-person @crowbird @dead-cipher @iwannabealocalcryptid @iizx7y @mxtokko @capricorn-anon @perfectus-in-morte @sae1kie @yeoldedumbslut @bvxygriimes @distracteddragoness @konigsblog @angelcakes-22 @ramadiiiisme @ramblingsofachaoticthinker @im-making-an-effort @love-dove-noora @jinxxangel13 @daisychainsinknots @h0n3y-l3m0n05 @mul-pi @danielle143 @beau-min @makayla-666 @urfavsunkissedleo @notspiders @brokenpieces-72 @luvecarson @petwifed @randominstake @heartelysia @jggykhug09090 @haven-1307 @shironasumi @sparky--bunny @bloobewy @call-me-nyxx @sans-chara @cod-z @sweetnanah @aldis-nuts @thigh-o-saur @evolutionarry @kaoyamamegami @cassiecasluciluce @sobbingnshtting

[harmonyrae]

A Christmas Kiss

Merry Christmas! This is the SFW lots of fluff version, I am tempted to spend my Christmas writing the NSFW version LOL

Synopsis: Sylus told you he never celebrated Christmas, it was never a big deal. But Christmas holds a special place in your heart. Maybe you can convince him?

“Luke, be careful!”

Just as you utter the words you hear something shatter. You close your eyes and try to steady your breathing. You pray whatever Luke just broke can be fixed or easily replaced. You hold your breath as you bring the last box into Sylus’s office. 

“Uhhh… Something may be broken.” 

Luke stands over the box, his hand kneading the back of his neck. Kieran kneels by the box and gently opens it. He pulls out a clear crystal wing.

“You didn’t have an attachment to the angel tree topper, did you?” 

You sink into the sofa and cover your face with your hands. Worst case scenario. That was the one thing you were excited to show Sylus. You knew he wasn’t big on Christmas, but priceless antiques? He would appreciate that. It was a gift from your grandmother when you moved into your first apartment on your own. 

You held your breath to try and stop the sob threatening to escape. You feel the sofa sink next to you. You finally pull your hands away and see Kieran has sat beside you. He gives you a gentle side hug.

“Luke will fix it. Right Luke?” Even with his mask on, you can tell Kieran gives his brother an intense glare. You can’t help but let out a tiny chuckle.  

“Uhm… yes. I’ll go find the hot glue gun. It’ll be good as new, promise!” Luke picks up the box and hurries out of the room.

“I’ll make sure he doesn’t make it worse. Sorry Ms. Hunter.” Kieran gets up and heads to the door.

“Thanks.” 

You can’t hide the sadness in your voice. You hear the door close and rub your hands together. Why is Sylus’s office so cold all the time when he has a fireplace?

You stand and approach the fireplace to toss in a few pieces of wood. Taking the matchbook from the mantle you light the kindling and watch the fire to flicker to life. As the warmth washes over your face and you finally feel yourself smile. You still have a lot of work to do and plenty of decorations that are not broken. Sylus will be back in a few hours and you want his office to look like Christmas threw up all over it. It’s time to get to work. 

You approach Sylus’s gramophone. You always found it funny how Sylus had such an old school record player, but the look he gave you when you suggested an upgrade told you it meant more to him than you realized. You pull out the Christmas Classics vinyl from one of the boxes. While you knew you should wrap it, you couldn’t let this particular present for Sylus go to waste. You place the vinyl on the turntable and gently lower the needle. The soft melody of White Christmas floats through the room and you shiver with excitement. 

Over the next two hours you carefully move folders and trinkets aside to make room for snow globes and tiny nutcrackers. You can’t help but giggle at the nutcracker you made just for Sylus. Tara dragged you to a Christmas crafting class and was teasing you the whole time as you struggled with the sheer red tool and ruby sequins. 

The nutcracker has white hair, red sequin eyes, a black suit with swirls of red. Of course, you had to include Mephisto somehow. Fortunately, someone in the class had a shifting evol and helped you shape the helmet to look like a crow. More red sequins and some silver and red glitter made Mephisto shine. You chose the nutcracker with the bent arm so you could wrap the sheer red tool around its hand to symbolize his evol. 

After the class, you were inspired to make more Sylus inspired Christmas decorations. But you also wanted to use some of your classic Christmas decorations too. You spent an hour packing some of your favorites before heading to the shop to buy some supplies for your crafting projects. 

The snow globe was filled with soft white snow and a replica of the pouch you made for him during your impromptu adventure to the grasslands. There were five stockings on the fireplace mantle. Sylus’s name in bold black letters against the bright red fabric with little crow pendants sewn in. Yours with bold purple letters and the plushie pins you won at the arcade over the summer. Luke and Kieran had stockings as well, but when you had told them your plans they begged to decorate their own. Luke went with pink letters and polar bear pins while Kieran went with blue letters and reindeer pins. You hoped they’d be put up every year, starting, hopefully, one of many traditions for the little family you’ve made here in the N109 Zone. The last stocking was a baby stocking with a single black crow painted on the baby blue fabric. Mephisto, once again, would be thrilled. 

The mantle was also adorned with garland wrapped with soft white lights, red candles in crystal Santa candle holders. The Christmas tree was delivered right on time and you made sure to take extra precautions to avoid the base leaking after watering. Sylus once told you the carpets in his office were handmade - you were not risking ruining those. It was a challenge to hang the lights and red and silver ornaments on your own, with the tree being over 10 feet tall, but you wanted it to tower over Sylus. Thankfully Luke and Kieran agreed to let you finish decorating alone after the angel mishap and found a stepladder. Luke was still trying to fix the angel, but you could tell it wasn’t going well from the updates Kieran was giving you. 

You hung the wreath made of dark red Poinsettias above his desk. Twinkle lights framed the bookshelves. Fuzzy Christmas blankets and pillows lining the couches and chairs. You sat on the couch admiring your work before looking through the box at your feet for any final additions. Sylus would be home any minute and you wanted to change into a Christmas sweater and be in the kitchen baking cookies when he arrived. You found a small box with a few floral pieces. One stuck out to you, it was a cluster of mistletoe. 

You wouldn’t need that. Or… maybe… You had been dating Sylus for a few months now, and while you were relieved he was taking things slowly, you were also wondering when he’d take the next step. Or was he waiting for you to take the next step? You were anxious and didn’t want to ruin anything. But this was your first holiday season together and maybe this was the perfect time to take that step. Staring down at the mistletoe in your hand, you square your shoulders and rise to your feet. 

You drag the stepladder to the door of his office, you confidently climb the steps and stretch your arm up to secure the mistletoe to the frame. Just as the mistletoe is secured, you hear it, the doorknob jiggles and you don’t have time to react before the door swings open. The stepladder tips and you feel yourself fall. But you’re only airborne for a moment before you land in someone’s arms. Sylus cradles you to his chest, the look of surprise on his face almost makes you laugh. You’ve never seen him caught off guard before. 

“What a surprise. I was wondering why Luke and Kieran were trying to keep me out of my own office. You’ve been busy, sweetie.” 

You watch as he takes in the room around him, still holding you close. You finally release a shaky breath and giggle as he blinks rapidly taking in the new decor. You dare to glance just above him to make sure the mistletoe is still secure. When your eyes flick back to Sylus’ he is staring at you. You can feel your cheeks warm under his gaze. He raises a brow and before you can distract him he looks up. 

“I have a lot to show you! I made some decorations just for you and I was going to bake some cookies. Tara also taught me how to make the best hot chocolate, I thought we could make that. And I brought some Christmas movies, did you hear the music? I got you a record and --”  

You were rambling, you couldn’t stop yourself. Sylus looks down at you in his arms, a smirk forming on his lips and a brow raised. He finally cuts you off.

“Mistletoe? Are you trying to tell me something?”

You are absolutely trying to tell him something, but you didn’t want to be this obvious. He wouldn’t have seen it immediately if you hadn’t fallen from the ladder.

“Of course not! It’s just a decoration!” 

Sylus smiles at your rushed explanation. You wonder if he’ll read between the lines and take the hint. You hung it up, you are ready for the next step, for your first real kiss with him. And if you’re honest, so much more. You held his gaze, falling silent. But instead of leaning in, he drops you to your feet. And he turns to walk further into the room.

Your heart hammers in your chest. He knows. He has to. You tried to make it seem like it wasn’t significant. But you knew he preferred it when you were direct with your intentions. He was punishing you. Your hand moves on its own and you grab his arm before he can move further away from you. He turns back to look at you and you stare at him silently, trying to convince yourself to just do it. Just be bold. If you see something you want, take it. 

“Something you want to say, kitten?”

You’re done waiting, you push up onto your toes and put your arms around his neck. Your lips press against his, gently at first. You’re not sure what washes over you, but you feel brave and powerful. You take his lower lip between your teeth and pull him to you. His hands find your hips and he pulls your body close. You feel his chest vibrate as he grunts in approval. You feel nearly delirious when you finally pull back. He must feel the same, with his ears turning red and his eyes misty.

His arms wrap around you and he pulls you back to him. His lips crash into yours now, you could tell taking it slow was the last thing on his mind. You thread your fingers through his hair. His hands move down to the back of your thighs, he lifts you and you wrap your legs around his waist. You hear the office door close behind you before you are carried into the room. You feel heat across the right side of your face and you turn your head, allowing Sylus to dive into your neck placing kiss after kiss. You’re in front of the fireplace, the heat from the flames damn near suffocating as you try to catch your breath. 

Sylus lowers to the floor, he positions your legs over his lap. One of his hands holding you upright while the other caresses your cheek, explores your thigh, your ass… He kisses you fervently, his tongue tracing your lips begging for permission. You can’t help but smile as you finally let him in, his tongue tangling with your own. It feels like hours before he finally pulls away and rests his forehead against yours.

“I knew you put that up for a reason…” His voice is breathless and raspy, making you giggle. Let him be cocky about being right, you know now more than ever, that you have this man wrapped around your finger.

“I didn’t realize we’d end up making out in front of the fireplace, I would have put some pillows down here.” 

“Use me as your pillow then.” 

He shifts and lays back on the floor, settling you on top of him. Your hands placed firmly on his chest, his hands rubbing your back ever so slightly sending tingles down your spine. You feel your stomach tighten as you stare at him. This man, he is feared by so many, but you have never felt safer. You want to stay here, laying on top of him in front of the fireplace, forever. No one vying for his attention, no Wanderers to fight. Just the two of you. 

“Sylus…”

He puts a hand behind his neck, lifting his head to look at you better. You almost choke on your words, you were just thinking about how you two were taking things slowly and now… You wanted more. But would he want to?

“Yes, my beloved?” 

You loved when he called you that. He started using it more often after getting back from the grasslands. And every time you catch yourself thinking about what life would have been like if you both had stayed. What would you be doing right now?

“I know what I want for Christmas.”

“Oh? But you said ‘No presents Sylus, I mean it’ just two days ago.” You roll your eyes to avoid blushing at his impersonation of you. 

“I changed my mind.”

“Alright, what do you want?”

“You.” 

He stares at you, his eyes wide with surprise. His ears start to turn red and you know he’s thinking up a snarky comment to make you just as flustered. But not this time. You weren’t going to lose your nerve, you were on cloud nine and didn’t want to let this moment slip away.

“You. Your time. Your space. Even your silly comments that drive me crazy. I just want you. And only you.”

You’ve never known him to be speechless, but he doesn’t even try to say another word. His lips pressed together, his jaw clenched. His eyes burrow into yours and you watch as every wall he built up comes crumbling down. Just like you feel entirely safe with him, he feels entirely safe with you. He caresses your face and you drop your gaze, feeling the weight of your confession hit you like a tsunami. He lifts your chin to look at him. 

“You’ve always had me.”

His lips find yours once more. You hold his face with your hands, sighing deeply as his hands drift from your waist, to your hips, lower and lower…

“I FIXED IT!”

You pull away from Sylus in a rush and you both look over to the door of the office. Luke and Kieran stand in the doorway, it seems they are frozen as they take in the scene before them. You, laying on top of Sylus on the floor in front of the fireplace. They start to slowly step backwards out the door when you spot the angel in Luke’s hand. 

“Wait! Oh my god! You did! You fixed it!”

You roll off of Sylus and stand up. Eagerly jogging around the couch to them. 

“Yeah, it wasn’t easy and it, ughh… might not be like it was.” He hands you the angel timidly.

You inspect the angel. The bumps of the dried hot glue and the tiny cracks and chips that couldn’t be repaired. You hold it up to the light and glance behind you, spotting a tiny rainbow square on the floor.

“It’s perfect.”

Luke sighs, relieved. Kieran pats his shoulder and tugs at his jacket urging him to follow him out of the room. Luke nods his head and skips out of the room behind Kieran, closing the door as he goes. Sylus walks up behind you and wraps his arms around your stomach.

“An angel?”

“A tree topper. An antique from my grandmother. I thought you might appreciate it being, well… unique, vintage? It’s my favorite.” 

“Then it’s my favorite too. Let’s put it on the tree then?”

You nod, not bothering to hide the smile on your face. He lifts you and places you on his shoulder. He holds onto your legs as you lean to settle the angel on top of the tree. Once it is secure, Sylus bends to let you hop off. You look up at the angel as Sylus wraps his arms around you once more. You hold onto his arms at your waist and lean back against his chest. You feel his heartbeat, always racing, but steady. Sylus leans down and places a kiss to your temple before whispering into your ear.

“Merry Christmas, my love.”

Tag List (comment if you wanna be added!): @trishiepo0 @not-so-quite-human @kitsunetori @babyx91 @libriomancer @lilyadora

[papasbaseball]

The Wizard x Reader (Wonderful Wonderful Girl) | Chapter 13

Pairing: Wizard x F!Reader

Rating: !!!Explicit!!!

Warnings: Power Imbalance, Boss/Employee Relationship, Graphic Depictions of Violence, Sexual Content

Summary: Being a maid in the Royal Palace of Oz is not half so bad. Despite the meager wages, everything else is provided for you for an honest day's work. It can be unnerving working for the most powerful man in Oz, but you are able to avoid him most of the time. This changes during Lurlinemas, your paths soon becoming inextricably intertwined.

Word Count: 2,697 of 34,907

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AO3 Link

The cabin is just as small inside as it looks outside, if not smaller. Whatever poor hunter owns this lodge has seen fit to only furnish it with a small, hard-looking bed, a burnished black cookstove, a chamberpot, and a straight-back wooden chair. Pelts of past kills litter the floor in front of the fireplace, different hues of fur making a motley. One of them has strayed to the bedside, a makeshift rug for cold feet on a frozen morning. I don't notice any of it at first as we fumble our way into the cabin, my lips pressed against the Wizard’s in a kiss, eager to get warm.

While the shack provides shelter from the wind, it is just as freezing inside as it is without. I break from the kiss, gasping for air.

"It's cold," I whisper. Our breath steams the air between us.

"Yeah," he says. "Yes, yes... I can fix that." He breaks from the embrace and we make our first assessment of the cabin. Amidst our bad luck, it seems serendipitous that there is already cut wood by the fireplace and matches on the mantle. Up here, one didn't rely on someone else to chop their wood and ship it in. The cabin's owner probably had the foresight to keep some stocked to save labor after a hard and cold hunt. The Wizard tosses some on the fireplace grate and I come over to rearrange the logs.

"It's better this way," I say as I stuff some kindling in between the rough wood.

"I've built fires before," he objects, grabbing the matches for me.

"Yeah?" I say. The match strikes easily and I hold it to the kindling until it catches.

"When I was younger," he says, "traveling with the fair. The little kids... they'd make us go pick up sticks and branches from nearby woods… or dry corn husks if there were no woods."

I get up from my crouched position, satisfied that the kindling is now catching some of the larger pieces. "When was that?" I ask. "The dark ages?"

He chuckles at that but takes me in his arms. “C’mere,” he says. His hands already feel warmer from the fire. One grips my jaw as he bends down to kiss me. There is a pleasant hunger to the kiss – a hunger that had been simmering for the past month, waiting for me to come and feed it – one that I hadn't noticed before. My own warming hands slide up and around his neck – or at least the one good hand I had. He gets the message, scooping me off the floor so I can wrap my legs around him. If Esmet or Emily had caught us like this, what kind of scandal would it have caused? I can picture them there, in the doorway of the Wizard’s bedroom, mouths agape, having the misfortunate timing to come in and tidy something that could have been left for later.

"You taste so good," he says between kisses. "Do you know that?" His kisses stray from my lips, up my jaw, and down to my neck. I gasp as he sucks gently on a tender spot of skin that makes me aware of how my core was pressed against his hips.

"Fuck," I whisper.

He groans as he brings his face back to mine. There is a hint of laughter in his voice as he says, "Yes, I am trying to get to that." He kisses me again. "If that's alright with you? Don't want to get slapped again."

The memory of him lying in the snow ready to give up and die almost seems funny now as the fireplace is heating us through. Even the Lynx that tried to kill me lying dead outside has me laughing. "You didn't like it?" I tease, caressing the cheek where I had smacked him. A smile spreads across my lips.

"Why don't I show you what I do like?" he says, giving me a quick peck.

"Okay."

He lowers us to the animal-pelt-covered floor, carefully laying me beneath him. In the glow of the firelight, I see how his carefully styled hair has become a mess from the wind and snow and all the awful events of today. What once had been styled to perfection – a bit of the Emerald City that had never left him – was now returning to its natural texture with white strands stuck to his temple from melted snow, pieces in disarray like a wild animal. The fire lights the amber of his tiger eyes and warm skin as he pushes my snow-damp skirt up to reveal the cold flesh of thighs and legs. He removes his overcoat, keeping the predatory look on me as he shrugs out of it, less weighed down. I do the same, glad that the flames are there to replace the warmth.

His hands hook around the tops of my thighs, dragging me closer. Even after jumping from a moving train and walking a mile in the snow, he is still able to drag and move me as if I were a rag doll. The thought causes me to press my thighs together, but he quickly pulls them back apart. His fingertips skim up my legs and hook into the hem of my underwear. He pulls them off with quick jerks under my hips and down my legs. They vanish into the darkness of the cabin near the bed where he throws them.

I press my thighs back together again. There is a warning look of frustration in his eyes as he forces them apart again, splaying palms that cover the entire inside of my thighs and pressing down into the soft fur of the pelts. His head ducks below the folds of my pushed-up skirt and I yelp at the shock of lips and tongue that places a sharp kiss against my sex. The sensation is foreign as he licks and kisses and bites, obscured by the pile of skirts on my stomach, every move a surprise. I want to squirm away, thinking how lewd I must look naked before his eyes, but he presses harder, creeping his hands up until my hips can't even leave the floor.

"Your Wonderfulness," I breathe. I squeal as he latches onto my clit, letting his tongue flicker over the sensitive bundle of nerves. Obscenities flow freely from my mouth as I endure the torture, my hips locked under an iron grip. With each flick of his tongue I can feel myself becoming wetter, whether from his mouth or my arousal, I cannot tell. He pulls away from his onslaught to lap at the fresh nectar of his work and I moan, begging for the cruelty of his tongue against my clit again. He’s unresponsive to my pleas, taking his time to penetrate and tease in ways that won't satisfy.

I lay there groaning, writhing my upper body and gripping handfuls of fur, begging him as he wracks pleasure from me. It is pleasurable, yes, but it never gets me close enough to coming. What he likes most seems to be the way that I cry and thrash under his tongue and teeth and eventually, fingers. Sweet Oz, those fingers. They're so much thicker than they look. It only takes two of his to stretch me to the fullness that three of mine would. I think I might be able to endure it if it was just his fingers filling me up, but he takes sadistic pleasure in letting his mouth continue to work on the sensitive bundle of nerves while his fingers press so far into me, taking their time to caress as if in no particular hurry.

"Your Wonderfulness," I groan.

He surfaces for air, his fingers still dragging lazily within me. "Just, Oscar, doll."

Blood rushes to my cheeks as I try out the inappropriately familiar name. "Oscar," I breathe.

"There's a good girl," he grins. "Was there something you needed?"

"Please," I beg him.

"Hmm?" he asks. "Please what? I am trying here… to please." His fingers crook up fluttering rapidly into a sensitive spot that makes me cry. They stop just as soon as they start, going back to sliding in and out languorously. Oh! I could smack him again just for that!

"I need more," I say.

"Yes? More like this?" his thumb teases against my clit with the two fingers anchored against the pleasurable point within me. "Or more?" His hand stops just when I think that I'm close to the tension building.

"Fuck! Yes! All of it!" I whine. "I need to come! I want to come!"

"You’re really needy, you know that?" He sighs. "And what about me? What do I get out of it?"

"Oscar, please. Please fuck me." I'm starting to think that he's going to get up from the furs altogether and leave me aching with need, but those words set something off in him.

His eyes go cold, and he straightens himself into a kneeling position. Belt is undone, followed by pants, none of them tossed aside to preserve body heat. When he pulls his cock free I can feel my stomach drop just looking at the size of it. He strokes it once and then twice, covering it in my juices from his fingers, and then pulls me beneath him.

There must be a glint of fear in my eyes because he shushes me, saying, "Hey… We'll go slow. I'm not going to hurt you." With one arm propped up, he uses the other to guide the tip, pressing it against my entrance. It's big enough that with the first push of pressure, nothing happens. His free hand has to spread me, taking time to play with my clit in between pushing so that the pain doesn't become too much. It still stings, and I can feel every vein and inch of him as he slides deeper and deeper. True to his word, he goes slow, and after what feels like an eternity, I groan as the head of his cock nestles behind my cervix, bottoming out within me.

He kisses me, letting us rest in the burning stretch as I feel myself clench around him, desperate to regain any ounce of comfort. "You're doing so good," he whispers against my lips. "My wonderful, wonderful girl." He rocks his hips against me to test the depth. "You are so tight, I could just-" his right arm hooks under my knee, pressing my knee to my arm. Like magic, I feel him slip even deeper into me.

"Oscar!" I gasp. He pulls out just enough to give a shallow thrust and as he bottoms out again. I can feel it in my stomach, a sort of sickly but delicious feeling of being stretched and claimed so thoroughly.

His rhythm is gentle at first, allowing me to get used to the feeling of being torn open again and again. I wrap my good hand behind his neck, pulling him in to kiss sweetly in return for his gentleness. Biting his lip earns me a harder thrust and a moan as he presses my left leg up to my chest. Our tongues mingle as he picks up speed, muffling my cries caused by the way his hips are now snapping into me.

"I should have fucked you the day I lost my cufflinks," he says, his voice uneven from the effort. "Thought about it. You... You would have looked so pretty on my bed, bent over for me."

I moan at that, picturing one of his large hands tangled in my braids while mine twisted and ruined his fresh mint sheets. The way that I’m wailing now, I can only imagine he would have had to cover my mouth to stop half the palace from hearing us.

He dips his head to nip and suck at my collarbone and I can't help but to yelp as he picks up speed. "Or on the dance floor. Should have taught Fiyero a lesson about who you belong to. Had you scream my name." He changes the angle of his hips and every thrust now seems to focus in on the hazy pleasure.

"Oscar!" I cry.

"Yes, doll," he says. "Just like that. You're doing so good. Just for me. Only me."

I can feel the tension within me winding, the lust of being claimed by him only hastening the climax. Him. Only him.

He must feel the way my walls are tightening around his cock, because he slows his pace. His hips angle back and the thread of tension is lost. "Not yet,” he says.

I groan, pleading with him to satisfy the gnawing hunger. He responds by pulling out and flipping me onto my stomach, pulling my hips up into the air. I try to prop myself up, but the sting in my right wrist collapses me, my collarbone and cheek thumping into the soft fur of a pelt, the fire warming my face. He lines himself up and pushes in making me squeal. It was as if he had started all over again, my pussy as tight as it was when we started in this new position. His grip is firm on my hips as his cock sinks into me again and again, claiming my body. Between the clinking of his belt buckle and the rustle of my crinoline, I can hear the obscene echo of his hips rhythmically meeting mine. The clapping lands thickly on the ears, skin meeting skin down to the bone, so deep that I am being stretched beyond what I thought was possible.

He lets go of one of my hips, wrapping his hand around my throat to bring me upright. His lips crush against my ear, mustache prickling the sensitive skin, and I can hear his breath coming ragged. "I'd do this every night... Make you mine... Is that what you want? To be my wonderful girl and take this cock?" The change in angle has him hitting the spot within me that makes my vision go spotty, the tightness nearly unbearable.

"Yes," I gasp. "Yes... Fuck. I want to be your wonderful girl, Oscar. Please..."

As if reading my mind the hand that was on my hip travels down the crease of my thigh until it finds my clit, swollen and wet. He presses lightly on it, careful not to overdo it and I feel so close to the precipice. "Beg," he says.

"Please, Oscar. Please, Please, I've been a good girl."

He angles my head to the side, crushing my lips into a kiss as he circles the swollen bundle of nerves with his fingertip. The band within me snaps and waves of pleasure breaks over me. If it weren't for the fact that he is holding me up by the throat, I would have collapsed from the way my legs are shaking. His thrusts falter and soon I can feel the warmth of his seed spilling into me. He pushes into me a few more times, fucking his spend deeper, and then we both topple onto the furs, his chest pressed against my back.

"Christ..." he pants. "Fuck... God, you're beautiful." He kisses my neck, struggling to breathe between each one.

I cling to his arm that is holding me to him with my good hand, savoring the tight embrace that I had so long denied myself. "I'm sorry I slapped you," I say.

"No... No... That's okay. If I’d known you wanted to do this… Well, I would have gotten out of the snow sooner," he laughs.

I place a kiss on his wrist as a thank you and then turn in his arms to face him, pushing him so that he lays down on the pelts. Resting my head against his chest, I say, "We're going to have to find some way to get out of here."

I can hear the lullaby of his heartbeat and the rumble in his chest as he shushes me and says, "That's a tomorrow problem, sweetheart… And I still need to fuck you a few more times before we leave."

[heartfullofleeches]

Maybe you can do Snow White for the fairytale thing where the hunter reader is walking in a forest and trips on one of the dwarfs and accidentally kisses Snow White which makes Snow White think they are their true love

The forest was a mystical place.

Anyone with functioning eyes and a boundary with reality would agree. As the sole human resident of the land, you have bore witness to a plentiful share of oddities, but nothing could ever prepare you for what was to come the day after. Mermaids and winged creatures. Giants and fairy folk no bigger than your palm. You developed a tolerance to these beings, but all paled in comparison to the utter headache you gained that fateful day.

The day had begun with you scouring the forest floor for stray branches. A good source of kindling for fires, and keeping out trespassers with varying warning signs and contraptions. With your eyes in the dirt, the events unfolding around you go unnoticed until its too late. Twisted, gnarled trees with hides the color of burnt lumber shooting upright and flourish with a radiant, pinkish glow. The sudden abundant growth of flowers and wildlife. Two harrowing signs of what you were soon to come across.

You start to realize as a squirrel runs by your foot. Narrowly avoiding stepping on the rodent's tail by a hard, you watch the rodent carry the flower in its mouth up a tree and drop down onto a glass container in the middle of the field. It drops the plant over the slumbering face in the coffin and joins the rest of the animals in mourning for the lost soul. As literal tears fall from their eyes you step back - looking for an exit that's already gone. You were not prepared for this.

Every now and again there existed those who didn't heed the warnings. A young woman on her way to her grandmother's. Children abandoned by their parents and taken in by a witch. The forest centered around these individuals and made their lives something out of a picture book. You've experienced this before and they're nothing short of living through a nightmare. You can't return home until their stories are over and sometimes that can take up to years. You never age, but you feel every waking moment to this day.

Who knows how long this time will take? The time isn't a major factor, but you rather not waste a second in this hell. If you wanted to leave on your own accord, you had to do things yourself.

You walk over to the coffin. A young person rests within. Their skin is as pale as fresh snow, rose kissed cheeks the only drop of color to their frozen face. They wear commoner clothing, but the crown tucked into their hair and necklace around their neck tell a different tale. There's a strange lump in their throat, flexing with every minor breath they take. Their lips hang open with the ragged draw of air they suck in, airways clearly blocked.

The forest animals tear into the safety of the trees as you toss your axe aside and shove the lid off the coffin. You drag the unconscious figure onto the forest floor and bend them forward, patting their back with pressured blows that increase in force as they spit and wheeze. When that doesn't work, you get behind and wrap your arms around their chest - thrusting upwards with your forearms. The blockage flies out with the fourth push, the stranger limp in your arms as their breathing controls to a stedy flow. Their eyes flutter open with the most doe like expressions as a faint smile creeps onto their face.

"My love?..."

You shove them off you and try to stand, but they ground you to the floor with surprising strength. Their cold hands grip at your face, moving stray strands of hair and wiping at the dirt that coated your skin. It's never been more clear to you how callused your hands have grown until their porcelain flesh comes into contact with your own.

"I knew you'd come for me... As the apple's curse took hold I didn't fear for a single moment because I knew you'd be there."

You shove their hands away as they ghost over a scar beneath your right eye. "Listen, I'm glad you're okay, but I'm not your lover."

"Oh, but you are! My family always told me true love's kiss is the only-"

"I didn't kiss you. You were choking on something and I got it out. This should be over soon so I should be going."

You try to get up again - this time their nails stop you.

"It may not have been a kiss, but there still is a contention between us. I feel it. It was fate that led you to me... Don't throw our chance at true happiness away."

"I told you- I'm not interested!" In an attempt to distance yourself from their claws, you reach for your weapon that was no longer in the vicinity. A short man with pointy ears wields your axe instead. The tool is bigger than his whole body, but he handles it well with the help of another. There's about seven of them in total. When they notice your puzzled stare, they point it at you.

"What are you doing with our Snow?"

"I'm not doing a thing. I'm trying to get home."

The formerly unconscious individual deem as Snow pins you in a chokehold to their chest. "Everyone! My spouse has found me. Like the stories go, true love's embrace has healed me. With their aid I will be able to return home and take the throne from my step mother, and we will bring a new era of peace to all."

The dwarfs break out in cheer which you quickly shoot down. "I am not who you think I am. I'm sure your real prince or... princess is on their way as we speak."

Snow gasps. "Oh no. I think the curse has been transferred over to them! We must return home as soon as possible and get them rested. I fear they might hurt themselves if they are unbound..."

The dwarfs pick up on their message with ease. The near dozen creatures work together to tie you by your wrists and ankles. Their sheer number and Snow's arm around your neck makes it an easier task. As more fuel to the fire, they kiss you when you are completely unable to defend yourself - giggling as thei cohorts pick you up.

"Don't worry, my love. True love's kiss will make you all better. No matter how many it takes."

[sinfulsalutations]

𝕔𝕒𝕥𝕔𝕙 𝕒 𝕗𝕚𝕣𝕖𝕗𝕝𝕪, 𝕝𝕖𝕥 𝕚𝕥 𝕘𝕠 ⋆*･ﾟ 𝕤𝕖𝕣𝕘𝕖𝕒𝕟𝕥 𝕙𝕦𝕟𝕥𝕖𝕣

ᴘᴛ ɪ ꜱᴛᴀʀᴇ. ᴘᴛ ɪɪ ꜱᴛᴀᴠᴇ. ᴘᴛ ɪɪɪ ꜱᴛᴜᴅʏ. ᴘᴛ ɪᴠ ꜱɪɴ. ᴘᴛ ᴠ ꜱᴇᴄʀᴇᴛ. ᴘᴛ ᴠɪ ꜱᴇɴᴅᴏꜰꜰ.

➼ ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ ☆ ꜱᴇʀɢᴇᴀɴᴛ ʜᴜɴᴛᴇʀ x ꜰ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

➼ ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ ☆ ʏᴏᴜ ꜰɪɴᴅ ʏᴏᴜʀꜱᴇʟꜰ ᴇɴᴛᴀɴɢʟᴇᴅ ɪɴ ᴀ ꜰʟᴇᴇᴛɪɴɢ ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴇʀ ꜰʟɪɴɢ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴀɴᴏᴛʜᴇʀ ᴄᴀᴍᴘ ᴄᴏᴜɴꜱᴇʟᴏʀ.

➼ ᴄᴏɴᴛᴇɴᴛ ☆ ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴇʀ ᴄᴀᴍᴘ ᴀᴜ, ꜱᴏᴍᴇ ꜱᴛʀᴀɴɢᴇ ꜱᴛᴀʀ ᴡᴀʀꜱ ʀᴇꜰᴇʀᴇɴᴄᴇꜱ ʜᴇʀᴇ ᴀɴᴅ ᴛʜᴇʀᴇ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ᴅᴏɴ'ᴛ ʀᴇᴀʟʟʏ ᴍᴀᴋᴇ ꜱᴇɴꜱᴇ, ꜰʟᴜꜰꜰ, ꜱᴛᴇᴀᴍɪɴᴇꜱꜱ, ʀᴇʟᴀᴛɪᴏɴꜱʜɪᴘ ʙʟɪꜱꜱ, ꜱᴇᴄʀᴇᴛ ʀᴇʟᴀᴛɪᴏɴꜱʜɪᴘ, ʙɪᴛᴛᴇʀꜱᴡᴇᴇᴛ ᴇɴᴅɪɴɢ, ᴀʟʟᴜꜱɪᴏɴꜱ ᴛᴏ ᴀɴɢꜱᴛ ᴀɴᴅ ꜱᴀᴅɴᴇꜱꜱ

➼ ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ ☆ 1.8ᴋ

➼ ᴘᴏᴠ ☆ ꜱᴇᴄᴏɴᴅ ᴘ��ʀꜱᴏɴ

⋆ ★ ʏᴀʏ, ɪᴛ'ꜱ ᴅᴏɴᴇ! ᴛʜᴀɴᴋ ʏᴏᴜ ᴀʟʟ ᴡʜᴏ'ᴠᴇ ʀᴇᴀᴅ ᴀɴᴅ ᴇɴᴊᴏʏᴇᴅ ᴛʜɪꜱ ꜱᴇʀɪᴇꜱ, ɪᴛ'ꜱ ʀᴇᴀʟʟʏ ᴏɴᴇ ᴏꜰ ᴍʏ ꜰᴀᴠᴏʀɪᴛᴇ ᴛʜɪɴɢꜱ ɪ'ᴠᴇ ᴡʀɪᴛᴛᴇɴ ᴀɴᴅ ɪᴍ ᴏᴠᴇʀᴊᴏʏᴇᴅ ᴛᴏ ꜱᴇᴇ ᴀʟʟ ᴛʜᴇ ᴄᴏᴍᴍᴇɴᴛꜱ ʏᴏᴜ'ᴠᴇ ʟᴇꜰᴛ. ꜱᴏ ᴛʜᴀɴᴋ ʏᴏᴜ ᴀɢᴀɪɴ, ᴀɴᴅ ɪ ʜᴏᴘᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ᴇɴᴊᴏʏ ᴛʜᴇ ꜰɪɴᴀʟ ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ :)

⋆ ★ ʀᴇᴀᴅ ᴏɴ ᴀᴏ3 ⋆*･ﾟ ᴛᴀɢʟɪꜱᴛ ꜰᴏʀᴍ

Bubbling laughter echoes off dimly lit trees in the wake of dusk, firelight dancing in your peripheral vision as you gather your cabin to their designated logs. Omega and the rest of Maple Cabin avidly talk about their plans when they return home the following morning, then proceed to reminisce on all the good times they’ve had and how much they’ll miss each other. 

You try to tune it out, suddenly solemn and rather unenthusiastic in having these moments become memories. Have Hunter’s face no longer as deeply and freshly etched into your mind. Having his touches fester and linger with no ability to regain the feeling. It’s not an unfamiliar notion, yet despite that comfort, it doesn't help sedate the ache in your chest.

With the way Hunter slumps his shoulders and doesn’t even attempt to hide the placid, fatigued misery in his eyes, you can tell the same thoughts are crossing his mind.

As the night lingers on and the remaining splashes of sunlight bleed out, it feels as though the air grows heavier. Hunter’s face is only illuminated by the warm kindling of the fire, and the space between you grows colder by the minute. The sweet, gracefully good-hearted and enthusiastic counselor that Hunter is known to be grows somewhat silent, even though he still leads the camp in songs until Tech calls for everyone to return to their cabins.

You blink out of your state of dissociation when Omega shakes your arm.

Snapping out your dizzying trance, you turn your head and blink. Omega smiles.

“Are you alright?” She asks, remaining sitting beside you even as the rest of your cabin begins to get up and surround you, waiting for your next action.

“I’m fine, Omega,” You assure her, taking a deep breath before standing up yourself. “Just tired, is all.”

“Okay!” She takes your measly answer well. Pushing up to her feet, she awaits for you to stand up as well and begin walking over to the cabin before politely continuing the conversation she was having with the rest of Maple cabin.

“I’m so upset that summer’s almost over. It’s my favorite season.”

“Really? Mine is winter.”

“What? Why? It’s so cold and sad.”

“I like the snow!”

“I guess.”

“Winter’s too cold. My favorite season is fall.”

“Fall is cold too!”

You keep your lips pursed together curtly and your eyes drift downward as you guide them back to the cabin.

As you’re fluffing your pillow absentmindedly, you search and successfully find a neatly folded note ruffled between the sheets underneath where you lay your head.

After lights out.

By the foot of the east hiking trail.

A proper goodbye? 

- Hunter

- The moment your eyes catch each other, you lurch forward and slot his lips to yours.

Hunter’s mouth is just as ever inviting and warm, lips warm and soft when they glide over yours and part as he trails them down to your jaw. He peppers light kisses across the skin, eager to touch and dote on any part of you he can reach; you allow him eagerly and hold the back of his head, fingers slowly running through strands of his locks and tugging it hard to keep yourself sane.

Suddenly aware of your state, he angles his head to attack your neck with even more fervor.

“H-Hey there,” you finally sigh a proper hello and pet his hair softly with one hand that unlatches from his hair. 

Hunter pulls away, but not very far.

“Hey,” he whispers back into your skin, before returning to the task at hand.

The rumbling of his voice makes your knees buckle. You feel your legs giving out, but so does he, and his hands dive around your waist and he pulls you down into his lap, bodies landing into the grass with your knees on either side of his thighs.

You spend the next minutes gripping onto each other like it’s the only thing keeping you afloat, your hands digging into the bare skin of his shoulders and his gripping the soft curve of your waist. It’s almost torturous how he lets them stay put, only occasionally letting his fingers drift further and rub the waistband of your pants between his thumb and index, but you can’t, won’t take your lips off of his for even just a split moment. Every moment not relishing in what you can get while it’s still yours is one wasted.

You didn’t even bother to check the area surrounding you before you’d jumped right into Hunter’s arms, barely spent time coming up with a feasible reason to the Maple Cabin as to why you were leaving after Tech had come to check on the sleeping campers. It all came secondary, no matter what, to getting to feel Hunter’s lips on yours one last time.

“I’m gonna miss you,” his voice manages to croak out as he kisses your neck, bringing your shirt down slightly to reach more skin. “`Gonna miss this.”

“Y-yeah,” you stammer, voice weaker with each kiss and nibble to your soft skin. Hunter rumbles against you, whether it’s a groan or a chuckle remains unbeknownst to you as you continue to buck into him feverishly. 

You do manage to speak, and tell him,

“Kriff, I don’t want you to be just a memory.”

Hunter pulls away from you, mirth in his eyes, and smirks.

“Didn’t know you could be so poetic.”

Scoffing, you slap him lightly and Hunter yelps playfully. You giggle.

“Shut up. I know it’s cheesy.”

With a hum, he places a firm kiss on your open mouth and pulls you closer by the waist.

“I’ll allow it,” He teases, smirk and eyes hanging low. “‘Just cause you’re so pretty.”

You frown.

“Is that really the only reason why?”

“Hm, maybe not,” Hunter smooths your hair over, though it may just be an excuse to hold the back of your neck to angle you better into his kiss. A new, unfathomable stare swells in his eyes, one almost melancholic yet still adoring, and you lean over to press your lips in the space between his eyebrows.

“Definitely not,” you retort, before slotting your lips back together once again. You can feel how his lips curl up and his hands grip your waist tighter, pulling you flush to him in an act of hope, desire for you to remain in his arms for as long as possible. Or at least, it feels so. What truly might be going through his head remains a pondering thought.

The night falls heavy on your shoulders. A cricket chirps. A cool summer breeze whistles and winds between the trees.

A twig snaps.

You hear the tiniest gasp.

Not from you, nor from Hunter.

You pull away from Hunter’s arms and turn to the root of the noise. Omega stands just a few feet in front of you with wide eyes and a slacked jaw.

-

As you expect, she doesn’t keep her mouth shut. Though the fallout afterward ends up being less… raucous, than you anticipate.

Tech is forced to take you aside that noon and give the two of you a ‘stern talking to,’ his demeanor unenthusiastic about the whole ordeal. You and Hunter stand and listen obediently, though neither of you seem to process his words much. There’s little anyone can do about it at this point; the summer’s over, isn’t it? Anything the two of you have been doing must come to an end anyway. Any point of Tech’s lecture fleets past in a matter of seconds.

The camper’s reactions ranged from sly ‘I knew it’s, to surprised ‘Really? Them?’s and ending in devastated ‘It’s not fair! Hunter’s my dream man!’s. The older girls all flash suspicious, thinly-veiled judgemental looks as they see you conversing with all the counselors together, and you then proceed to watch as some of the older boys try to give Hunter high-fives and fist-bumps for his ‘achievement.’ The difference in reactions makes you chuckle almost pitifully, both for yourself and him.

The day trudges on faster than you would wish. The final day activities and wrapping up take up the majority of your energy. By the time the sun begins to set and people begin to leave you’re too strained to be too enthusiastic in your goodbyes.

You manage to find some energy as Omega and her brothers finally stand up to leave.

“Maple.” Hunter’s voice interrupts your gentle wave to his sister and you look over. He gestures for you to walk toward him, eyes crinkling at the corners as he grins.

“Come here,” he mouths.

You ignore the sounds of suggestive ‘ooh’s and hushed whispers and giggles as you push yourself up and stroll towards him.

Hunter guides you by the wrist to a more discreet area by the totem pole and you giggle at the seriousness of it all. 

“What is it?”

“I have something for you,” he says, reaching into his back pocket with his free hand. Raising an eyebrow, you bite the inside of your cheek to disguise how wide your smile wants to spread across your face. It’s almost disgusting how sweet he is.

As he reveals what he had stuffed in his pocket for you, your jaw slacks. In his hands, he softly rubs his thumb over the soft fabric of one of his bandanas, and he slowly moves it to your wrist still gripped in his hand. 

“So you don’t forget,” he explains while he ties it snugly to your wrist. You sigh longingly and look up at him. 

“I’ll tie it to my bedpost,” you remark cheekily before you reach out to wrap your arms around him.

Hunter’s hug feels ever inviting, warm, like a final, nonverbal, sealed promise; what that promise is, you’re not sure. Either way, you gladly accept it, nose scrunching as you feel his arms wrap around your waist to pull you closer to his body and lift your feet a couple of inches into the air.

Yet as you look into his eyes for the last time, something feels wrong as though your universes and planes of existence sever once again and take you on different paths. That if in a week or so, if you tried to reach out and use his frequency, it would send back absent noise with no sound of the voice you seek out.

“Goodbye, Maple.”

His voice melts through your frosting worries that threaten to overwhelm the moment. You smile softly.

“Bye, Hunter.”

He turns his heel and lets you watch him leave; oddly enough, it feels more comforting than it might be to leave first.

“New bracelet?” Mona’s smooth voice and devious grin elicit a breathy huff and a roll of your eyes as you join to stand beside her again, now adorning the bandana tied to your wrist.

“Yeah, yeah,” You mutter, eyes still set on where Hunter stood before he turned on his heel.

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[fiddleabout]

(more grishava here)

There’s a town on the horizon, windows glowing in the fading sunlight as they crest a ridge.

Ava draws up to a stop, burrowing further into Beatrice’s cloak.  They’ve been trading off time with it since yesterday, since Ava fell and Beatrice caught her, since Beatrice pulled her out of a crevasse and offered her hand and her name.  

Beatrice stops next to her, hands folded together in front of her.  Ava glances sidelong at her, then back to the first town they’ve found since crawling out of the ocean.  The buildings are utilitarian dark wood and plaster, Ravkan in their dourness, with none of the bright colors Fjerda favors for their homes this far into the north where the days are shorter and nights longer.  

“We passed another hunting cabin,” Ava says eventually.  It’s not safe for her anywhere, in Ravka or in Fjerda, but it’s just as unsafe for Beatrice and the wolf’s head on her shoulder and Fjerdan accent here as it is for Ava. 

“I know,” Beatrice says.  She doesn’t look away from the town for a long moment, and Ava turns more fully towards her, follows the line of her profile against the twilight.  Last night, they had found an hunter’s cabin, and Beatrice had dug out a rickety bow and splintering arrows and disappeared while Ava built up a fire, returning half an hour later with a rabbit for dinner.  Ava had filled the quiet like she so often does, rambling about Diego and Keramzin and all the places she’s ever wanted to see, and then had started flinging questions rapid-fire at Beatrice.  It’s not the first time she’s tried to pry information out of Beatrice, but the first time she’s gotten a response, and she tucked away every new piece of knowledge like a gemstone.

Beatrice, Ava had learned, is two years older than her.  Her mother’s family was Fjerdan as far back as anyone can trace, but her father’s father was Shu, and Beatrice had entered the world looking more like him than anyone else and it had set her in her parents’ poor esteem from the day she was born.  She had been recruited into the druskelle when they came to the smoking husk of her village and found her burying her parents, quiet and contained and bursting with anger.  She’s a crack shot with a gun and a bow, excellent with a sword even by her own modest admission, but prefers hand to hand combat: the close quarters mean she’ll never forget that her opponent was a person just like she is.

(“Even grisha?” Ava had said, the last of her bland unseasoned dinner forgotten, captivated instead by the soft sound of Beatrice’s voice.

Beatrice had paused, gaze drifting towards the fire between them, teeth closing around her lower lip, a flash of white in the flickering dark of the cabin.

“Especially grisha,” she had said after a long moment.”)

“We should probably go there,” Ava says when Beatrice stays quiet.  “We wouldn’t make it to the town before it got too dark anyways.”

“You’re the sun summoner,” Beatrice points out.

Ava’s fingers clench, the sunlight burning in them aching to burst out.  “We should get going,” she says, turning and setting off towards the cabin they’d passed.

She determinedly doesn’t look back to see if Beatrice is following her, but the sound of arrows rattling in a quiver and boots crunching in snow tell her that Beatrice has set off after her.

Beatrice shoots another rabbit just before they make it to the cabin, and stays outside to dress it while Ava disappears inside wordlessly.  There’s wood but no tinderbox or flint, and she has to root through a dusty chest until she finds a dustier roll of maps and a magnifying glass wrapped up in them.  

The door opens just as she’s called the light to her palm and fed a stream of it through the glass, the magnification heating the light until the kindling catches.  She glances over towards Beatrice, mouth opening to crack a joke about honey, you’re home, but it snaps shut at the way Beatrice’s lips are pressed tight together as she stares at Ava’s hands, her own hand clenching around the bow and the dressed rabbit hanging from it.

“It doesn’t make me a witch,” Ava says carefully.  She likes Beatrice, with her quiet careful way of speaking and how she offers the cloak to Ava more often than not even if it means she’ll be cold; it had been easy, in the last day, to almost forget that they’re here now because Beatrice was part of the druskelle unit that captured Ava.  “Or a bad person.  Any more than being a druskelle makes someone a bad person.”

Beatrice stares for a long moment, jaw clenching visibly even across the dusty expanse of the cabin, and Ava can’t help but flick a ball of sunlight into her palm.  She twists her hand slowly, flexes her fingers as the light dances from one fingertip to another, curling and lazy, and straightens up from where she’d been crouched by the fire, turns to face Beatrice more fully.

“We’re not monsters.”  She halves the distance between them, bringing her other hand up and letting the light flow to it.  “Just people.  Grisha can be good or bad or anything they want to be, just like Fjerdans.”

Beatrice’s mouth twists, pulling to one side momentarily, and there’s a creak over the sound of the growing fire when her fist clenches around the bow still in her hand.  Ava stops an arm’s length away, hands out between them and sunlight winding around her fingers.  There’s still so much she hasn’t learned about her power, so much that no one could teach her because there’s never been anyone like her, but she knows how to control it, how to let the light play around her, and it paints Beatrice in soft warm light that gentles the dangerous black of her uniform.  There are crystals of ice in her hair that haven’t melted, glinting and shimmering with Ava’s light.

She reaches out with her free hand, hesitant, slow, and Ava’s breath tangles in her throat.  Beatrice’s hands pulled her out of the crevasse that nearly killed her, swam them to shore, fastened the cloak they’re sharing around Ava’s shoulders gently; her hand reaches, now, for the light that upended Ava’s entire life and Ava tilts towards her and the light follows, winding its way in bright tendrils between Beatrice’s fingers, along the lifeline on her palm, over the barest inch of wrist exposed from her sleeve.  

“When I was a child,” Beatrice says, quieter even than usual, eyes locked onto the sunlight in their hands.  “I was fascinated by grisha.”

Ava wants to step closer, wants to close the distance, wants to curl into Beatrice’s side without having to wait for the excuse of cold to justify it.  The want of it aches in her chest and nearly sends her power spiraling out of her control, a slip she hasn’t felt since her first days after the fold.  

“We’re taught that they’re dangerous, soulless, terrible.”  She turns her hand slowly within the light and Ava swears she can feel it deep in her chest.  “But I wanted to know more about them.  To understand what it was to be so connected to the world that I could control it.  I wanted to be grisha.”

Ava’s control slips, the light flaring and then fading away, leaving them both squinting and Beatrice’s hand hovering an inch over Ava’s palms.  “You what?”

Beatrice frowns, pulls her hand back, stares at it intently, as if touching Ava’s power would have marked her irrevocably.  

“It’s why my parents left me,” Beatrice says, still staring at her hand.  “I’d tried to go south, to find Ravka and the grisha there.  They caught me, and took me north to the woods and left me there.  By the time I made it home, an inferni had set the whole village on fire.  The druskelle took me in.”

“I’m sorry.”  Ava takes a half step closer.  Her palms burn from where Beatrice’s hand had been so closer, and she wants to reach for her, to feel the steady thunder of her pulse in her throat, the line of her cheekbone; she settles instead for settling her hands on Beatrice’s shoulders.  “For your parents, and for your village.  But that doesn’t make all grisha evil, or dangerous, or worth hunting.”

“The darkling is evil,” Beatrice says, shoulders tense in Ava’s hands.  

“The darkling is one person,” Ava counters.  “And he’s a particular brand of jackass that has nothing to do with him being grisha.”

Beatrice almost cracks a smile, and Ava’s fingers tighten at their hold.  She wants to reach for Beatrice’s smile, to make her laugh, to coax more of her-- not the druskelle, not the soldier, but Beatrice-- out into the open.

Beatrice clears her throat, shakes her head, half lifts the rabbit.  “We should--”

“Yeah,” Ava says.  Her hands don’t move for a protracted moment, not until a log pops in the fire and she yanks back.  “For sure.”

It’s only been just under a week, but it’s a familiar dance, Beatrice setting to spearing the rabbit on a spit and Ava hunting for anything resembling plates they can eat off of.  She pauses, head half in a crate that seems to be full of nothing but broken arrowheads, and stares across the small cabin to where Beatrice has shed her cloak and rolled up her sleeves to crouch in front of the fire.  The light from the fire dances across the sinewy lines of her forearms, flickering in the dark against her profile: the solemn slope of her brow, the stubborn sweep of her jaw, the freckles that Ava’s started to see behind her eyelids when she tries to sleep and dark hair rebraided loosely over her shoulder that Ava’s fingers itch to touch.

She’s in trouble, Ava realizes.  As if she didn’t have enough to worry about with the darkling hunting her for who-knows-what horrifying purpose, Fjerda hoping to assassinate her to keep Ravka crippled, a mystical stag she somehow has to find on her own; no, now she has to start developing feelings for a solemn, quiet, kind Fjerdan who’d been trained since she was ten years old to kill people like Ava.

She’s in so much trouble.

[altarfates]

The hostile, gelid winds of snezhnaya were as belligerent as those in the midst of his smoldering ire. Unlike the convivial breeze drifting through the towering, verdant trees of mondstadt these were strange, ravening mouths. Recognizing him, an apoplectic apparition of blazing crimson and undulating black, as a trespasser to those desolate expanses of white, they besiege him. He is unperturbed by it, even as rime gathers at his lashes, restricting his vision, he trudges on, bracing against the vengeful, oppressive wind. Within that panorama of hibernal white Diluc’s perspective is a constricting, malevolent serpent, the pernicious echoes of his hatred tinging everything a gruesome sanguine. A solemn silence settles around him and with the practiced grace of a hunter tracking quarry he stills, the dark cloak fastened around his throat surges back and forth with the wind, billowing outwards, accentuating it. His penetrating gaze affixes to them, two inconspicuous silhouettes marching through the snow. Unlike him, they were acclimatized to these conditions, negotiating the glacial landscape is a skill indoctrinated into them from the time they could perceive the world around them. It had taken Diluc days to anticipate the cold smarting of ice as he laboriously dragged his boots through the snow, slightly longer to disregard it entirely. There was something about the incessant heart-beat of pain that augmented the fire within him, the thought of numbness partitioned from his other, more exigent thoughts and buried. His muscles keened, his eyes stung but all of his senses were sharp, fatigue and discomfort set only in the tense line of his jaw. It is only when they pass below him, their voices distant, swallowed by the wind, that he descends upon them. He is an incarnation of violence, a methodically devised approach at inflicting the most pain before the eclipsing darkness of death surged in. His claymore’s blade carves through sturdy leather and pelage intended to conserve warmth, the moribund gurgle of a mouth flooding with blood elicits a monstrous sense of gratification in him. Veering off the steep precipice into unconsciousness the fatui-subordinate, nondescript but abhorrent all the same, sinks to his knees. It takes exertion to wrench it from his contorted back, slick skin adhering to the blade, descending upon the snow like a death-knell his comrade, a coward, turns to flee. The precipitous act of desperately clambering through the snow, the loom of death casting long, preternatural shadows, forgoes all prior proficiency in navigating it. It’s auspicious for Diluc who, rising from the blood-soused snow, tracks him through the mantle of white. The unabating chorus of the delusion punctuates each laborious step, desiccated sticks and viridescent leaves cast into the fire of his incandescent rage, kindling for this single-minded purpose. There is no dignity for the fatui before him, writhing like a wounded rabbit caught in a snare, only the censorious gaze of fire boring into them as the weapon plummets down, down, down. The agonized screams grow quiet and for a long, stagnant moment there is nothing but the raucous beat of his heart and the acrid tang of death in the air. As if to offer him a reprieve or to compensate him for his tenuous grip on his lucidity the delusion’s whisper recedes into silence. In that moment there is only Diluc Ragnvindr an amorphous streak of crimson against white and the winds which shall never favour him. 

[hawksblooded]

↣ ITS RED AND DEADLY BITE. //@fishermcn

IT IS OFTEN WHEN one is devoid of them that one recognizes the makings of luxuries. Here, in the wilderness, they are without beds, without cooked meals, without much of the markers of civilization. It would be quicker to list what they do have - bedrolls, a dead campfire, a few day’s worth of rations and the clothes on their backs. But Soot isn’t missing any warm meals or the comforts of a bed. No, he’s missing a workshop. Hells, even a table would do. He mutters another curse as he tries to work, sitting cross legged on his bedroll placed in a snowless spot of the forest floor. 

They are camped beneath a verdant canopy, sunlight streaking through the branches, drawing mottled clouds over their small tent. The calm birdsong of the wilderness is only interrupted by the occasional echo of an axe’s chopping. Alizebeth’s breaths leave clouds of mist about her black hair, but she’s still shed her armor in favor of a mere tunic, the bear-skin cloak around her shoulders for only source of warmth. It’s comfortable for a winter day, and so they have left no fire going, but the night will be long, and it will be cruel, so she busies herself with the preparations regardless. Soot is too occupied to help, anyways. 

“Where’s that bloody screw at-” he says, more to himself than to his travel companion. Before him lies the dissected remains of Svetlana, Alizebeth’s dearest crossbow. Damaged in a fight, the hunter had insisted on stopping their travels until it was fixed, or turn back to the nearest smithy. He’d been entirely unwilling to waste four days’ walk, and elected to fix the damned thing himself. He knew full well how much the hunter’s weapon meant to her, and had felt a surprise that bordered on shock when she, with some reluctance, had handed it over to him. It had taken him some time to take the thing apart, being not of his own design, but he’d quickly figured out the core mechanism, and now works at putting it back together after some tweaking. More cursing hissed through teeth as he fails in his endeavors. “Build me a desk with that axe o’ yours, would ya?” Soot sighs, rummaging through fallen leaves and underbrush for some tool or other. He stifles a cough, briefly leans his head on the tree trunk he’s resting against.

He doesn’t notice the lull in the noise, Alizebeth’s axe firmly planted in a log, her hand resting upon its handle as she looks at him. Doesn’t notice her eyes run the length of his jaw, of his fine face framed with straw-blonde hair, down lean arms and towards his hands, still holding the bones of her beloved crossbow. He doesn’t notice anything, except that he still hasn’t found that damn screw. When the hunter’s work resumes with the crack of split wood, he jumps.

It’s dusk, now, and the chopping has stopped. When Alizebeth returns to their encampment, kindling and trapped rabbit in hand, she finds him half-asleep. Svetlana rests in his lap, diligently reassembled, as he rests against the wide trunk. The shift of its weight as she picks it up wakes him from near slumber. “Rabbit? Lovely,” he mutters, voice raw with disuse. “Y’should try her out. Should be tuned to your liking, but y’never know. Maybe I got it wrong.” “You never get it wrong,” she states matter-of-factly, hanging her quarry upon a branch before loading the massive weapon with a bolt. The hunter looks around, finds a suitable target in the winding branches of a tree. With a loud whistle the bolt flies; a soft thud as a frosted apple falls to the snow below. She hums.

 “So?” Soot asks her, pleased grin on his sharp features. She looks down, crouches by his side as she places the crossbow back into his lap. He cocks an eyebrow. “Seems I got it wrong after all,” he sighs, reaches for Svetlana. He’s stopped by her hand, wrapped first around his wrist, then draped across his own hand. Alizebeth’s fingertips drag over its rugged surface, stroke fine digits reddened with the cold and blackened with the soot that gives him his name. She can feel his callused skin, just as worn as her’s, as she caresses prominent knuckles. They’re miracle-makers, those fine hands, she thinks. If he died, they should become as relics, and every would-be tinkerer, craftsman and smith should be made to kneel before them in prayer. But he will never die. Not as long as she lives. “Well, well. That’s new,” he begins to say, but the words lose their meaning in his throat. There’s a light in her eyes, hot and intense. It’s that same look she wears in the throes of battle, and it boils his blood in turn. She closes his cold fingers over her own, turns his hand over as she brings it to her. He watches, stunned, as she wordlessly kisses the heel of his palm.

Then, just as silently, she leaves. He hears the knife at her side unsheathed as she begins to gut the hare that will serve as their supper. Her lips will taste of oil and soot until she partakes of the meat. Above him, swaying in the cold wind, white berries hang from their evergreen boughs.

[stellrn]

*~Rules are made to be broken! 

ᯓ★Name: Receptacle X (Goes by the name Stelle.) 

ᯓ★Also goes by:  Trailblazer (General) , Big sister (by Clara) , The Galactic Baseballer (Self-proclaimed) , “friend” (passive-aggressive name given by Aventurine.) 

ᯓ★Rarity:  ✦✦✦✦✦

ᯓ★Path: Adaptive. 

ᯓ★Element: Adaptive. 

ᯓ★Gender: Cis female (She/her) 

ᯓ★Physical Age: 23 

ᯓ★Actual Age: Unknown

ᯓ★Sexuality: Bisexual/Pansexual (?)

ᯓ★Ships for this character: No one in particular, everyone’s cool. (except illegal ones ofc.)

ᯓ★Race: Human (?)

ᯓ★ Current Location: Penacony 

ᯓ★Faction: Astral Express , The Nameless

ᯓ★Moral Alignment: Chaotic neutral

ᯓ★Likes: Video games , exploring , seeking interactions   , monetary gains (credits, stellar jades etc.)

ᯓ★Dislikes: Manipulative and annoying people  , The Stellaron Hunters (except Silver Wolf, she’s cool.) ,  people that pose a danger to the Astral Express (whom she considers her family) and her friends 

ᯓ★Weaknesses: Clueless about most things, easy to bait through trash cans, stellar jades, any form of monetary gains etc, a bit stupid at times. 

*~APPEARANCE.

— The female Trailblazer, Stelle, takes the resemblance of a human with gray-silvery hair. Stelle, wears a white inner shirt, a long black-sleeved jacket (rolled up), a black tight skirt, and a light blue garter on the left thigh.

Extra info about appearance: 

ᯓ★Height: 5’7’’ - 5’8’’

ᯓ★Build: Slender , curvy

ᯓ★Hair: Medium-length gray hair that stops just past her shoulders.

ᯓ★ Eye colour: Golden yellow 

*~PERSONALITY.

ᯓ★Stelle consistently upholds a composed and impartial demeanor, yet occasionally interjects with irrelevant or humorous remarks, even in the face of serious situations. It is implied through March 7th's memories that she doesn’t talk much.

ᯓ★Furthermore, Stelle demonstrates a keen inclination for exploration, actively seeking interaction with a diverse range of objects. This often results in perplexed reactions from their fellow teammates or nearby outsiders. These idiosyncratic behaviors include aimless wandering, an inclination to inspect trash cans, or even pranks like hiding in a closet in Goethe Hotel to scare the room service worker.

ᯓ★When embroiled in combat, however, Stelle’s personality undergoes a notable transformation, revealing an intense and ferocious disposition. It has been noted through her ultimate animations that Stelle seems to be colder and stoic.

*~LORE OF RECEPTACLE X. 

—> A girl who boarded the Astral Express. She chose to travel with the Astral Express to eliminate the dangers posed by the Stellaron.

ᯓ★The Voyage Continues: Character Story 1.

“Stelle doesn’t remember much. She’s not from around here, nor did she come from elsewhere. She’s not really going anywhere— Just then, that indistinct voice whispers into her ear. That sorrowful and tender persuasion, that deceptive goading... The seeds take root. She opens her eyes, and the speaker is no longer there. But there are more and more voices, and they are getting clearer and clearer. Some give easygoing care, some calmly provide advice, some speak firm support, and some gift gentle direction… She sees the silken thread being woven to form tomorrow. A huge beast descends from infinity, Golden pupils stare down from the darkness, and she is no longer abandoned by the past. She will also set upon a long journey, and the thorns she has stepped on have become her path. The train whistles, wishing her a successful journey to the coming future...by her own will.” 

ᯓ★Silent Galaxy: Character Story 2. 

“She has arrived at the "City of Preservation." Behind the snow curtain, the wind lashes like steel blades, but the kindling burns on. Distant lands won't hear them, and the earth trembles in kind, with only the wailing crowds braving the wind. After facing foreign enemies, the Eternal Freeze, and reality's fissures, a rot begins to fester within the fort. She tries lending a helping hand, but is forsaken. Some once looked down on her and misunderstood her, but still she stood by their side and helped them find their way. More care about her and worry about her. They face their suffering, and find the cure for the distressed. Eventually, they come to her side. In the ice and snow, she is like a fire, protecting the soul of this world...Even though she must scorch herself day and night.” 

*~PERSONAL HEADCANONS. 

ᯓ★Stelle is naturally very warm, due to the Stellaron and the fraction of the power received by her from the Aeon of Preservation, Qlipoth during her battle with Cocolia (The previous Supreme Guardian of Belobog). As such, her friends, March 7th (because I also headcanon that March’s body temperature runs colder than the average human because of her being trapped in six-phased ice for a long (?) time.) and Dan Heng, (He is a Vidyadhara. Vidhyadhara=dragon-like species. Dragons are basically reptiles, and reptiles are cold-blooded animals. Also a headcanon btw hehe.) hugged close to her when setting foot upon the cold planet of Jarilo-VI. 

ᯓ★Due to the symbiosis between her and the Stellaron, the Stellaron now functions as her heart in a way. Say, if it were forcibly removed, somehow, she would die. 

ᯓ★Stelle uses the username “the-coolest-galactic-baseballer” on social media. (This may be updated.)

ᯓ★She is a synthetic human. (Basically something like Xueyi or the 2 million Herta androids present on the space station.) 

—>(CREDITS to: yourdarlingness and embracekiss on TUMBLR for the STELLE ICONS and HSR WIKI for the info~!)

[libertyreads]

September 2024 TBR--

I am DETERMINED to make September a good month. Just a good month in my life (I need it). And that's starting with the books. I'm having to roll over my reread of Catching Fire from last month due to life but I'm also so excited for all of the romance reads coming to me soon. (Also, a non-hockey sports romance? Let's all take a moment to reign in our surprise.)

The Hunting Moon by Susan Dennard (Reread)--I'm prepping for the final book in the trilogy to come out this Fall. The general synopsis for the series is this: Hemlock Falls has a forest that fills with monsters every night when the sun sets and the mists rise. Which is why the town is full of hunters. But Winnie and her family are outsiders due to her father being outed as a witch and a traitor ten years ago. Until she creates a plan to be welcomed back with open arms.

Catching Fire by Suzanne Collins (Reread)--This is my other reread for the month. I’m planning on reading all of the books in the series this year. We follow Katniss and Peeta as they complete the district tour following their win of the games. But then they’re forced to go back into the arena when the Quarter Quell is announced.

First Down by Grace Reilly--A sports romance that isn't hockey? Who is she? In honor of football starting up, I'm reading this football romance I found in the Chicago airport a few months back. This follows Bex as she struggles to make her ex realize she doesn't want to get back together and James as he struggles with a writing class he needs to graduate. They decide to trade: tutoring for fake dates. But what happens when the dates don't feel so fake after all?

Five Broken Blades by Mai Corland--The king of Yusan must die and the five most dangerous liars in the land have been mysteriously summoned to work together in order to kill him. Each of the five blades will come for him. They can agree on murder. They can agree on treachery. But for these five killers it's not enough to forge an alliance. To survive, they must find a way to trust each other, but only one can take the crown.

Happy Place by Emily Henry--This is my first attempt at Emily Henry and I'm not sure how I want this to go. This one has fake dating so I'm excited to give it a shot. A couple broke up 6 months ago but never told their friends and now they're all going on vacation together. And this will be their final year to vacation at this cottage so they think it'll be easier to pretend they're still together. That will be easier, won't it?

Blindsided by Victoria Denault (Kindle)--This is an enemies to lovers hockey romance. I'm keeping my streak of reading one hockey romance a month going with this one. I read book one in this series a while back and decided to pick up the next one. It seems like this series is written by a bunch of different authors so I'm not sure how this will stack up with the first but I'm ready to give it a shot. (Pun intended.)

The Bitter End by Alexa Donne(NetGalley)--A winter storm traps eight students of LA's elite Warner Prep in a remote ski cabin. They're stranded with a killer--who may just be one of their own. I've never read from Alexa Donne before, but I've heard of them so I'm excited to try out one of their books. I'm always down for a locked room mystery. One that deals with snooty rich kids? Let's go.

Christmas Sweater Weather by Jaqueline Snowe(NetGalley)--While at a snowy ski resort for her brother's festive bachelor party, Charlotte is thrown together with her bother's best friend Hayden--the same best friend who rejected her long ago. She can tell herself to get over Hayden, but holiday cheer is turning to holiday lust every time they're within ten feet of each other.

I'm hoping the romance helps lift my spirts this month. I'm also really hoping to enjoy the fantasy and mystery novels that are coming to my eyeballs soon.

[argyrocratie]

"There is not a single European country in which the traditions of the old communal property have entirely disappeared. In certain areas, notably in the Ardennes and in the steep mountainous regions of Switzerland, where the peasants did not have to submit to the kind of oppression to which the German villagers were subjected after the wars of the Reformation, communal property is still widespread enough to constitute a considerable part of the territory.

In the Belgian Ardennes, the collective lands are composed of three parts: the woods, the freshly cleared ground [sart], and the pastures. They also often include arable land and quarries.

(...)

These customs clearly influence the moral character of individuals and greatly develop their spirit of solidarity, mutual kindness, and heartfelt friendliness. Thus it is customary to form voluntary work crews for the benefit of those who need work done. The latter need only to state their request by proceeding noisily through the village, calling out, “So-and-so needs something done! Who wants to help out?” Immediately a group appears and its members put their heads together to figure out who can best undertake the job, and the service is rendered. Such stories also come to us from the Queyras.

In all of Switzerland, two-thirds of the alpine prairies and forests belong to the communes, which also own peat bogs, reed marshes, and quarries, as well as fields, orchards, and vineyards. On many occasions when the co-proprietors of the commune have to work together, they feel as though they are at a festival rather than at work. The young men and women climb to the high mountain pastures, driving their herds before them to the harmonious clinking of the bells. At other times, the work is more difficult. While the snow still covers the ground, the woodsmen, armed with axes, cut the high pines in the communal forest. They strip the sawlogs and slide them down the avalanche corridors to the torrent that will carry them away in its bends and rapids.

Then there are the evening gatherings on winter nights, in which all are summoned to the home of whoever has the most urgent work, whether it is to shell corn, hull nuts, or make wedding gifts for a woman engaged to be married. During these gatherings, the work is a pleasure. The children want to participate, for everything is new to them. Instead of going to bed, they stay up with the adults and are given the best of the chestnuts roasting under the hot embers. When dreamtime is near, they listen to songs and are told stories, adventures, and fables, which are transformed by their imaginations into marvelous apparitions. It is often during such nights of mutual good will that a child’s being permanently takes shape. Here, one’s loves in life are kindled, and life’s bitterness is made sweeter.

Thus the spirit of full association has by no means disappeared in the communes, despite all the ill will of the rich and the state, who have every interest in breaking apart these tightly bound bundles of resistance to their greed or power and who attempt to reduce society to a collection of isolated individuals. Traditional mutual aid occurs even among people of different languages and nations. In Switzerland, it is customary to exchange children from family to family, between the German and the French cantons. Similarly, the country people of Béarn send their children to the Basque country, welcoming in turn young Basques as farm boys. In this way, they will all soon learn the two languages without the parents having to spend any money. Finally, all individuals with a similar trade and common interests—whether they be coal merchants, hunters, or sailors—have established virtual confraternities having neither written constitutions nor signatures, but nevertheless forming small, close-knit republics. Throughout the world, carnival performers who meet by chance on the road are allied in a sort of freemasonry that is far more solemn than that of the “brothers” who gather in the temples of Hiram."

-Elisée Reclus, "Culture and Property" (1905)

[ssatxr-archive-2]

MEETING | closed.

with @blueycsamurai.

To be perceptive, one would have to be...open minded, and concise with why they are. Midnight knew it well, and when she was thrown across time and space once more...she expected it to be the same for others. Yet...the place she had come now, covered in thick snow and deeply tinted grass was not even a place her people had touched.

The East was a place that Satyrians seldom visit--why would they? It wasn't theirs to begin with. There had to be a reason why she was sent here of all places, however--something dark was a foot. Something she needed to find before the humans did--but she didn't know how. She was already sensitive to the towns she had passed by in-- how the people rumor that a Okuri Inu haunts the hills. Whatever that was...she knew she had to keep away from the people.

The ordinary people, that is.

In her week of being here, trying to navigate unfamiliar territory, she had heard of a different rumor. Although the dialect they spoke was strange, one word always stuck in her head... Onryō. And even now, at the stroke of Midnight-- she heard the stroke of kindling in the brush nearby. For once, with her ears up high, she decided to get a closer look.

Hiding behind a tree, Midnight stalked the man by a fire, trying to get a good glimpse of him. Blue oceans watched over closely, as if trying to gauge him carefully--after all, he could be a hunter, sent for the death of whatever than Inu thing the folk called her. As if on some will, she stepped into the snow a little too loudly, causing her to crouch with a surprised look on her freckled face...

...That was too close. Too loud-- all she could do was keep her hand open for her own sword incase of anything now. The woods were too quiet at night too...usually a crickets chirp could mask her deep breaths and shuttered speech.

"...Hah...shit...."

[fountainpenguin]

"I learned quickly that perseverance stood between a cat and her new best friend- (Me!)" (x)

---

New Dog's Life chapter today! ~ 3rd Life series fan-season

Chapter 14 - “Kindle (Pearl, Impulse)”

❤️ Read on AO3

💛 Start from Chapter 1

💚 More Pixels Imperfect fics

---

Pearl's barely begun playing Session 2 when Scott calls her back to the portal hub. See, she's on the buddy program list, and there's a new refugee in New Star Station who's a little... Well. Different. His name is Rhetoric, and in the eyes of the game, he doesn't exist.

While Pearl sorts that out, Impulse mines the ore to craft a clock...

(First 1,000 words under the cut)

PearlescentMoon - Bat

Quarry: Etho

Hunter: Unknown

Allegiance: Lush Cave Alliance

💚  💛  ❤️

Pearl is on-server for what feels like eight minutes and eleven seconds before Scott logs onto Dog's Life, pleads for her, Ren, and Martyn to log out, and jumps off again. Pearl relays this information to Tango, who turns his head. He, uh… He doesn't push away from the thin ring of basalt that stands between them and a drop to certain splashy lava death. He's leaning over it pretty far. And that's fine! To each their own, y'know?

Still kinda stresses me out, though. Since ghasts can die from their own fireballs, I'm not sure they're fireproof… so I'm glad I'm not the one carrying those hybrid traits right now.

A ripple passes down Tango's white-tipped tail, though his expression is curious, not annoyed. Several ghast tendrils lie long and coiled around him. A few of them ripple too, and Pearl is grateful for the new mod she put (with Grian's blessing) that spells the word Ghast above his head. Finally, Tango does flip around, though he braces his elbows on the wall. "Well, I mean… He must need you for something pretty serious if he's pulling you away this early. C'mon, though… It's only been a couple seconds for him since you came on, right?"

That is weird… Pearl glances over the rim of the basalt drop. One relatively small ghast bobs below. It's one of the little ones translucent enough to show its massive beating heart. "I guess so? I've not actually taken the time to experiment with the way it works. It's so confusing living in Simmers' Quarter-"

"Oh, yeah… Yeah, they play around with time a lot over there, don't they? That'll really mess you up. Some of your neighbors pop back the next day zoned out of their minds like they've been gone for years, right?"

Pearl chuckles. Sort of. It's mostly drowned in the distant, warbled mews of ghasts and the crackle of the lava. The Nether air is thick with smoke. The oxygen is thick here. She really needs a drink. At least this should be a quick visit… She doesn't plan to stay here with Tango half as long as she did with Martyn back in Double Life. But if they get carried away… Cleo and Jimmy will understand. Probably. At least they have each other.

Actually, given Cleo's track record, maybe I do want to be careful.

She checks the comm again. You know, there's something pathetic and cruel about all this. The irony is omnipresent and its laughs tickle at her ears. Scott certainly wanted nothing to do with her in Double Life, even though they got along well the season before. They thrived, actually, back in Last Life. He won the season and Pearl made it to the final four. They faced each other in the finals of Double Life with snow up to their ankles, Scott clutching Cleo's limp body in his arms and Pearl holding a panting wolf by the collar, fingers wedged beneath the leather strap.

How fitting, y'know… all the snow. Wind whistled, swishing snowflakes through the air. Few words were exchanged. Mostly staring eyes and heaving chests. Puffing breaths, visible in the air. Wolves growled, Scott bent his head over Cleo's unmoving form, and splintered sparks curled down both their cheeks. It always ends like this, in Grian's games. They always start of fun and full of life, then tear her to her core.

She loves the rush. She really does.

Double Life ended in a burst of TNT, set off at Scott's own hand. And maybe they didn't get along, and maybe it had its miserable and lonely moments (especially where roleplay and Between interactions blurred into bitter avoidance, like he didn't want to see her at all).

Two seasons later, here he is… come crawling back to coax her from the dark. What's she to do with that information? Scott probably wouldn't taste his own medicine even if she poured it in a sugar spoon and shoved it straight down his throat. He'd cough it up and squirm and spit it right back in her face.

Well, maybe I could do a little better at inviting him out in Between… Without regular Empires interaction, she sort of fell off the map where Scott's concerned. Maybe she likes it that way.

And maybe I don't.

It's… difficult (hanging out with Scott) because it's easy (for Tango and Jimmy to get along; for Martyn and Cleo to have clear lines of disinterest in the sand; for Etho and Joel to tumble twinkle-eyed into mischief even after all this time). This feeling swishing inside her soul isn't even jealousy. Seriously, that is not the issue. Muddlement might be the better word. Confusion and muddlement.

And it's not hard because of Double Life, exactly, because roleplay isn't supposed to cut this deep. It's difficult for reasons undefinable. It's difficult because it doesn't have to be. Scott never meant to, but he made the rejection hurt a lot more, y'know? To do this so soon after he came out to her about the whole 'allay' thing and pressed forward, practically pleading for an extension of their queerplatonic relationship to cross from Last Life into Between. He was coming off a break-up with Jimmy. He probably wasn't in his best frame of mind, and the emotions of Last Life were still tangled and raw for both of them.

She did turn him down, though. You know, that's what really stinks. Why does she feel so much guilt about it, even after all this time? She really handled that information overload as best as she possibly could. She didn't do it over comm. She didn't drag it out. It was all in private, too, though maybe she could've waited for him to put his jacket on again. And she looked him in the eyes (most the time), and saw two little hearts break inside his pupils like shattered snow globes dumping liquid to the floor.

"I'm sorry, Scott… I'm not really interested…"

[Full chapter on AO3 - Link at top]

[apollos-boyfriend]

new life smp: third origins

scott: TBA

fwhip: trickster

gem: TBA

joey: TBA

katherine: TBA

lizzie: TBA

sausage: TBA

seapeekay: TBA

shubble: TBA

joel: kindling

jimmy: penguin

stacy: TBA

strawburry: TBA

oli: TBA

owen: TBA

scar: TBA

pearl: copper golem

pix: TBA

martyn: TBA

full origins descriptors under the cut!

fwhip: trickster [impact -  •••]

as a master of confusion, you harness unique abilities to disorient your foes.

compression [+]

compress yourself into a smaller state of being.

quick blink [+]

quickly relocate to where your cursor is-

note: fwhip didn’t show all the descriptors for his origin. he has more abilities, but these are the only ones with the official description shown.

joel: kindling [impact - •••]

the kindling is a lesser fire spirit born from the sparks of powerful hell forges in the fiery nether.

arcane flames [-]

you do not exhaust. instead you have a heat meter which affects your other powers.

nether inhabitant [-]

your natural spawn will be in the nether.

fire immunity [+]

you are immune to all types of fire damage.

flaming dash [+]

you can dash in any direction, damaging nearby mobs and consuming fuel while launching you forward.

overheat [+]

consuming high energy fuel with full heat will overheat you, making you lose fuel to gain health. you're also faster while overheating.

crackling fuel [+]

if you take damage after overheating, you lose heat and hurt nearby targets.

firestarter [+]

while overheating, you occasionally ignite the block you're standing on.

fire's bane [-]

water extinguishes you, causing you to take damage and lose heat while wet.

burnout [+][-]

you become extinguished when your heat meter is empty, gaining various buffs and debuffs.

heart of flame [-]

made of pure heat and fuel, you cannot eat and you do not naturally regenerate health.

ancraophobia [-]

you cannot stand high winds or avoid burning elytra, so you cannot wear them.

jimmy: penguin [impact - •••]

furry, sea-faring birds that enjoy the ice, snow, and the murder of fish!

happy feet [+][-]

you’re a 0.25 blocks shorter than a human. your flightless wings provide more attack speed, but less reach.

cold embrace [+][-]

you’re quite resistant in snowy biomes, but weaker and slower the warmer the biome. 4-8 levels of fire protection will grant you safe passage through any biome.

belly sledding [+]

your belly is frictionless in colder environments, allowing you to flop onto your belly and slide!

fragile [-]

you have 3 less hearts of health than humans.

fuzzy fur [-]

the nether sets your fur aflame, unless wearing eight levels total of fire protection armor. you take double the damage from fire-based sources, unless wearing four levels of fire protection.

aquatic diet [+][-]

you can only eat seafood, and it sustains you much farther. you don't suffer any effects from seafood, and consuming a pufferfish pumps you full of air.

webbed feet [+][-]

you can swim much faster and take less damage from a fall, but move slower when not in a very cold biome. alternatively, you can equip frost walker boots to maintain the same speed regangless of biome.

aquatic lunge [+]

every 10 seconds, you are able to berform an underwater lunge.

fish hunter [+]

you have an exceptionally high oxygen capacity, and deal far more damage while underwater.

pearl: copper golem [impact - •••]

the copper golems are a curious automaton, designed to improve the lives of others. since they were initially prototyped, they have gained a greater knowledge of redstone components and ways to utilise them.

repairs available [-]

your body cannot be naturally or magically mended. you instead repair by consuming copper ingots.

oxidation [-]

your copper body makes you susceptible to the elements, oxidising you over time. oxidation can be removed with an axe.

galvanise [+]

honeycombs allow you to wax yourself, staving off the effects of oxidation for several minutes.

lightning rod [+]

while in thunderstorms, you’re much more likely to get struck by lightning. you are immune to lighting, and de-oxidize when struck.

copper plating [+]

your chassis is made out of copper. as a result, you passively have resistance.

local area networking* [+]

you have modified an antenna to fit to your head permanently to recieve radio signals.

micro machine [-]

you are only one block tall, and your maximum health is reduced.

automaton [+][-]

your body doesn’t experience hunger, and you don’t benefit from natural regeneration.

button masher [+]

your programming gives you an overwhelming urge to press buttons. every time you press a button, redstone dust will drop.

tinkerer [+]

you can quickly convert a redstone component into its similar counterpart.

transmute [+]

you are able to transmute copper into other metals, allowing you to craft more metal items.

toolsmith [+]

you can also use this skill to create various metal tools.

circuit corrosion [-]

being submerged in water will damage your internal circuitry. your plating will protect you from rain, however.

heavy metal [+][-]

you don’t need to breathe underwater, but your dense body holds you down.

* active ability. when standing within 5 blocks of unwaxed copper, emerald, or diamond ore and blocks, you will beep. you oxidise faster while this is active.

[mysteryideasgroup]

MSA X Pop AU Crossover: Survival

Chapter/Episode 1: Crash Landing

Later in elsewhere in the forest, a thunderstorm hit their own plane. They are getting parachutes to jump out of their plane to crash landing. Sarah (Me) with two Pets Dogs/Kitsunes, Sapphire (Dog/Kitsune), and Samantha (Polter Dog/Kitsune). She is with her best friend and her pet, Sardonyx (Polter Cat), Five Mystery Teams/Groups/Gangs; MS (Mystery Skulls), TSM (The Sector Mystery), MI (Mystery Ideas), MH (Mystery Hunters), and MS (Mystery Slayers) has survived from crashing with parachutes.

Sarah is feeling cold telling them that We’re stranded in the wilderness! We need to warm up and build a fire to survive!

Laura has realized they have been stranded in the wilderness. She told them: We need to survive the night by building a fire!

They used to remove their parachutes and fall into the snow. They are cold. I told them: Need warm. Not wanting to die! Want to survive!

They are noticing that books and find survival books called: Wilderness Survival: How To Get Home Alive. They need to get pages to collect the same matches of Handbooks.

Sarah: Hmm... want to find dry woods... We need to get nests and woods, wet woods... I read help reads pages to collect fire.

They are going to find a place. Laura noticed that cave.

Laura: Not a good idea to cave, I think it’s a Bear in the cave! I need to sneak to get dry wood, not wake up Bear.

Laura sneaks to get the dry woods.

Sardonyx: ! (Not good here in a cave! I think Bear is a living cave!)

Sarah used big rock boulders to perfect land, not wind-blow fire build fail.

Sarah: Right! Ready to build a fire!

Sarah with mittens in her bare hands to clear the snow away, second Bart put the nest on the ground, Lewis light using striker and flint. The rest of the Mystery Teams/Groups/Gangs blow up on fire. Laura put dry kindling on top of the nest. Cera put logs on top of dry kindling.

Sarah: Better! Good warm!

Later in the Morning, They were sleeping next to firewood. The two mysterious binoculars zoom in on them, revealing not they are alone... Who are two mysterious men?

----

For @laurasanchez36

AUs Alternate Universes Crossovers belongs to me 

Mystery Teams/Groups/Gangs belongs to my msa ocs sonas Teams/Groups/Gangs 

Mystery Teams/Groups/Gangs belongs to her msa ocs sonas Teams/Groups/Gangs 

Mystery Skulls Animated belongs to Ben and MysteryBen27 of YT Series 

Poptropica Survival belongs to Games of Poptropica

[walaw717]

Americans love to build things up, almost as much as they enjoy tearing down what they have built, and Hemingway was no exception. As notions of masculinity changed, Hemingway’s brand of manhood became increasingly passé. Worse, it became associated with forms of macho aggressiveness, insensitivity, and violence. The Hemingway who believed in older codes of romantic love became the sexist Hemingway whose women were either goddesses or bitches; the Hemingway who wrote so unflinchingly of the horrors of war became the warmongering Hemingway; and the Hemingway who hunted, fished, and loved the bullfights became the poster boy of the National Rifle Association and the worst nightmare of the eco-conscious. Removed from his historical context, he turned grotesque in the eyes of many academic intellectuals who had come of age during the feminist movement, Vietnam, and the green movement.

This new image was amply buttressed by misreadings of his works. Critics rarely conflate Edith Wharton with Undine Sprague, Faulkner with Thomas Sutpen, or Vladimir Nabokov with Humbert Humbert. But Hemingway became the oppressive male figures of “Cat in the Rain” and “Hills Like White Elephants,” the callous hunter of “The Short Happy Life of Francis Macomber,” and the self-absorbed Harry of “The Snows of Kilimanjaro.” Brett Ashley of The Sun Also Rises became a hedonistic ur-bitch instead of what she actually was—the most sexually liberated woman character in 1920s fiction. Catherine Barkley, the real hero and moral center of A Farewell to Arms, and the victimized Maria of For Whom the Bell Tolls were dismissed as merely insipid male fantasy figures. To many non-Hemingway critics, the author of these texts was but a caricature who represented much of what was most pernicious in the unrevised canon: the physically imposing, bullying, bearded, cigar-smoking, misogynist, racist, sexist, homophobic, antisemitic, white man who hunts, fights, fishes, and fornicates—and, what is worse, writes endlessly about it. Is it any wonder, then, that when Lawrence Buell suggested Hemingway be dismissed from the canon, he didn’t think it necessary to argue the point?

Hemingway will always have his detractors, but increasingly balanced perspectives are prevailing. As many self-appointed canon busters must surely by now realize, it’s hard to extirpate a writer whose work inspires so many readers around the world and who plays such a large role in the development of other authors. It’s also hard to reconcile ideological predispositions to dismiss the fiction with the experience of actually reading and responding to that fiction.3 And it’s difficult for a conflation of Hemingway with his characters to stand the test of time when major canonical authors—from Faulkner and Ellison to García Márquez and Morrison—continue to rise so eloquently to his defense.

Asserting an important principle for all literary critics to heed, Morrison cautions against judging “the quality of a work based on the attitudes of an author or whatever representations are made of some group” and specifically states that it “would be irresponsible and unjustified to invest Hemingway with the thoughts of his characters.” This does not mean, of course, that Morrison advocates giving Hemingway, or any author, a free pass. Hers is merely a call for fair, informed, and intelligent criticism. After all, she makes the above statements while exploring how the Africanist presence influences the form and content of one of Hemingway’s novels. But in that critique, she is quick to point out that “there is no evidence I know of to persuade me that Hemingway shared [the racist views of one of his characters]. In point of fact, there is strong evidence to suggest the opposite”

Lamb, Robert Paul. Art Matters: Hemingway, Craft, and the Creation of the Modern Short Story (Southern Literary Studies) (pp. 9-11). LSU Press. Kindle Edition.