#Master Snowdrift

[artistgem]

"Still, we must prove we are better than they. We will show them honor in death."

Except one.

[neitherabaron]

We always see Ash throw the pokéball to send out the Pokémon at the start of a battle.

Then, we always see him, with the pokéball back in his hand, pressing the little button that beams the Pokémon back into the ball.

What I wanna see is the bit in between where I have to assume Ash, who’s just dramatically yeeted the ball into the arena, has to.

awkwardly shuffle into the ring whuch is now full of literal monsters fighting all out with lightning beams, acid breath and psionic death rays etc.

drop down on all fours to search through all the toxic sludge, lava, sand/snowdrifts, seawater and/or actual cyclones said monsters are capable of manifesting

to sheepishly find and retrieve the one item that can safely put this metaphorical (and occasionally literal) deadly genie back in the bottle. You know, the pokéball he’s just yeeted into this nightmare maelstrom.

and then hop out before he gets horrifically maimed.

See, if you think about it, this must happen every single time. So why don’t we see it? The fact he’s skilled enough to cheat a painful death each time is perhaps the truest sign of a real Pokémon Master. That’s the show I wanna watch.

[magicalbats]

Kinktober Day 15: Noncon

Rating: R-18+

Word Count: 6908

Warnings: Afab!reader, gendered language, familial death, noncon, like super noncon, debt, monetary coercion, references to prostitution and public use, implied master/slave dynamic, piv sex, blowjob, throat fucking, double penetration featuring a Fatui debt collector 

A/N: at this point I think anything I write for a Harbinger is just going to be exceptionally dark and gross so tbh consider that a warning in and of itself. This one’s rough so please pay attention to the tags before proceeding any further! I love you guys and I want you all to stay safe so feel free to skip this one if you think you need to!

⭐

Snow crunches under heavy boots as you make your way through the small village you called home. It was late, and the moon was out. Its muted, hazy glow casts over the snowdrifts and the shoveled heaps piled away from silent doorways to make it all glitter and shine like mountains of precious silver. You wished that was what it was. Wished you could dig your hands into it and scoop out palmfulls to spend on food and clothes, firewood for the hearth at home so you wouldn’t have to break your back chopping it for yourself every day. Maybe even a new comb for your hair, as a treat. 

You would have been able to afford anything at all if it was something of actual worth stretching out around you as far as the eye could see, so of course you would splurge on a comb. Perhaps even two. And a dress, a fancy one that would make the other girls green with jealousy while the boys threw themselves at your feet like shameless dogs. Anything and everything would be just at your fingertips in this perfect world of whimsical fantasy. Even your freedom. 

It was a nice thought. A tempting one, even. But if snow could be somehow transmuted into silver or any other precious metal then Snezhnaya would be the financial capital of Teyvat rather than the far distant Liyue. Your father had told you about it on occasion, what kind of place it was. How bustling with business and commerce the streets were. You’d thought it sounded like a strange but exciting place. So much potential for success bursting at the seams, just waiting to be struck upon, that you’d once even dreamed of going there yourself some day. Of making a future beyond the hopeless deadend you saw here. 

But that was little more than a long forgotten flight of fancy now, much like your silver-snow. Fantasies were just idle hopes and wishes for children who hadn’t yet learned the crushing truths of the world, and the weight of that sags your shoulders as you work to jostle your front door open. You were tired and cold, and quickly running out of options. 

The door finally gives way with a creak, and you stumble inside to knock the snow off your boots before bending to unlace them. You’re halfway through the motion, one shoe already undone and half kicked off, when you suddenly realize you’re not alone. 

You aren’t sure if it’s a shift of movement at your peripheral, if the redistribution of weight had displaced one of the old floorboards to issue a squeak of warning or if it’s something in the air that just feels … occupied. But you’re immediately aware of it on an intrinsic level and your heart seems to play hopscotch across your ribcage. Frozen to the spot, you just listen to the resounding silence for a long, horrible beat. Then your head comes up to glance across the room at the open doorway that leads into the small kitchen. A warm flicker of light greets your horrified gaze, taunts you with a beckoning sputter. You certainly hadn’t left the lantern burning this entire time, otherwise you probably wouldn’t have even had a home to return to. 

Slowly straightening, you hastily shove your feet back into your boots and reach for the knife hidden under your jacket. You grasp it in a tight, squeezing fist, just the way your father had shown you, and creep towards the doorway. It feels like you're hardly breathing but your pulse still jumps when the floor creaks under you. Nothing to be concerned about though, you try to tell yourself. They would have heard you come in anyway, especially since your damn door never wanted to open right. It was fine if they knew you were there because you knew where they were and it was your house, so you still had the upper hand. Probably. Maybe. 

Oh, please don’t let there be more than one of them, you pray to whichever god might be listening. 

Edging yourself close to the entryway, you’re more than a little relieved to find that it is indeed just a single figure standing over your rickety dinner table and you almost breathe out a heavy sigh. But then that shadowy mass turns, the cast of the lantern illuminating the face, and you nearly drop your knife in surprise. 

“L - lord Regrator?” 

He smiles at you, always soft and always gentle. “Hello, pet. Finally off work are we?” 

You just stand there, mouth moving wordlessly around any number of things you could have said to him in that moment. ‘What are you doing in my house?’ for starters. Maybe even an impulsive ‘why are you sneaking around at night like a thief?’ But all you finally manage to croak out is a threadbare, “I hope I didn’t keep you waiting, my lord” because you simply don’t know what else to say. 

“Don’t worry your pretty little head about that. I haven’t been here for very long.” Still smiling, still soft, he reaches out with an elegantly poised gloved hand as if to touch the top of your table but he stops short. Seems to hesitate. Thinks better of it, and instead sweeps those long fingers outward to gesture at the kitchen at large. “Your home is lovely. Quaint.” 

Pantalone hides his grimace exceptionally well. You only barely manage to make out the slightest tension that settles around his mouth in the cast of the burning lantern that sits sentry on the table between you and him, tossing odd shadows across his face. His contempt for your lodgings is clear though and you self consciously dart your eyes around the room as if seeing it all for the first time. The old, dilapidated iron stove that looked like it was on its last leg, the crack in the wall where the foundation was starting to give, bit by bit, and the rusting coffee carafe sitting in the tub sink. It probably did look abhorrent compared to what he was in all likelihood used to but it was all you’d ever known. The only thing you’d ever had that couldn’t be taken away. 

Swallowing hard, you center your focus back on him and try not to think about how much he looked like a finely dressed specter standing in the ruins of your life like this. Beautiful and nice to look at but you knew too well the venomous fangs he was hiding beneath that deceptively pleasant veneer. Like a wraith come to life to haunt you endlessly. Tirelessly. Ghoulishly. 

“Please forgive me, my lord.” You whisper into the eerie stillness. “Had I known you would be coming I would have cleaned and made preparations. Would you like me to make tea?” 

“Not at all.” 

You wince, and try not to wither. “Then is there something I can help you with?” 

Noising a thoughtful sound, Pantalone casually shifts into motion and you very nearly go scuttling backwards to escape him. But, to your surprise, he doesn’t approach you and instead wanders over to the stove to give it a shuttered but no less judgemental inspection. You start to bring your hand up to wipe the beading sweat from your brow only to abruptly realize you were still holding onto the knife. 

Stealing a look at where you’ve got it clutched in a death grip, you quickly decide to keep it out for the moment. You very well might need it. 

“One would think that old fool would have used some of the loan he borrowed to do a bit of upkeep on the place.” He murmurs, more to himself than you and perfectly offhand, but it still makes your chest squeeze tight. You probably should have seen this coming but the hurt catches you off guard. Makes you hate him just a little more. 

“I’m sorry my home is not to your liking, lord Regrator. I could have met you somewhere else if you’d just - -“

“Oh?” Pantalone cuts across you, neither raising his voice nor sharpening his tone. It’s the same soft, gentle refinement in his voice as usual that makes you cower in the doorway when he turns to make his long cloak flutter outward like a dancer. “And why would I give you the chance to run out on me like that? I know this isn’t exactly your area of expertise, dear, but surely even you must know that that’s just bad for business.”

You find yourself prickling defensively. For him to even insinuate such a thing … “I wouldn’t do that, my lord. I’ve been working hard to pay you back this entire time, just like we agreed. I even got a second job at the mill so I could make ends meet and still be able to make my payments on time. To up and leave after all the effort I’ve put into - -“

“Then can you give me your next payment now?” 

“I … my lord, I still have another week to get it.” 

Looking at you through the creeping gloom, Pantalone finally allows a small frown to tug at his mouth. “So that’s a ‘no’? Such a pity. I’d really rather hoped you would be better than your father.” 

You feel like you’re going to be sick. Hot and nauseous, and increasingly dizzy, you just stare at him for a drawn out beat before finally giving your head a numb shake. “No. That’s not what you said. My lord, you agreed - -“

“Let me explain something to you.” He cuts across you again, the faintest note of displeasure coloring his voice now. Sedately, he folds his hands together and moves towards you with the slow, rhythmic thud of his boots on the floorboards making your heart pound even faster. It sounded deafeningly loud in your cotton stuffed ears. “Loans are not granted out of goodwill and charity. There are terms that must be agreed upon by both parties before any mora can trade hands. Would you care to take a guess what terms your father took his loan out on?” 

You shake your head and back up a step, still clutching the knife beside your hip. Every fiber of your being was screaming at you to run, flee as fast as you can and never look back, but that would just make things worse, wouldn’t it? Prove that his wariness to trust you was well founded. You couldn’t afford to test the limits of his benevolence any further, figuratively or literally, so you stand your ground even when he comes within arms reach where he finally stops. Tilts his head to one side and then draws a calm breath. 

“Twenty-five percent interest. That is what accumulates every single day you don’t make a payment in full. To put it in layman’s terms, the only way for you to even make a dent in your fathers loan would be to pay around, oh, let’s say … 16000 mora a week?” 

Your knees almost give out right from under you. That couldn’t be true. There was no way … “Do — do you really expect me to be able to pay that much?” 

Softly tutting at you, Pantalone fixes you with a truly pitying look. “Oh, sweet girl. I would never ask something so unreasonable of you. But, as it stands, you did agree to take responsibility for the loan. Rather than a personal expectation on my part, you now have the obligation to pay it back regardless of my own personal thoughts on the matter.” 

“What choice did I have?” You croak. “What else was I supposed to say when you showed up at his funeral and started talking about stuff I have no knowledge of? You made it sound like I didn’t even have a say in it.” 

“Well, that’s hardly my fault if you agreed to something without understanding the full consequences.” 

You were starting to pant even though you hadn’t moved for some time now. It was like you were a tea kettle on the brink of boiling, so hot and messed up inside that you weren’t sure what the inevitable explosion was going to look like. You wanted to scream at him, throw yourself on the floor and sob like an inconsolable baby. You wanted to curse him, spit at him, hurt him — hurt him? 

Your fingers desperately clench around the knife to make sure it was still there. 

You could hurt him. 

Maybe you should hurt him. 

“You’re a monster,” You hiss, finding strength in your conviction, in the blade that had become a part of your arm, an extension of it. Stiffly, you shift to the side so he won’t see the way you readjust your grip on the handle to make sure you’ve got a good hold on it. “A twenty-five percent interest rate? That’s insane. No average person could pay that back in a single lifetime and you know that. You’re just a thief taking advantage of people.” 

Seamlessly, Pantalone’s placid little smile slips back into place. “Is that so?” 

“Yes.” You hiss the word at him, and try to work up your courage to follow through. You’d never stabbed another person before but in this instance, for him, you were quite certain you could. All you needed to do was goad him into closing the distance and get him near enough for your knife to reach. “You prey on the poor and impoverished like it’s some kind of game, don’t you? Is this what gets you off?” 

“That’s a rather crass thing for a young lady to say, isn’t it?” He simpers at you. Then, much to your heart pounding surprise, he takes a step towards you. And another. “But since you asked I feel it would be remiss of me not to give you an answer. How does a demonstration sound?” 

Your eyes go big, startled heat warming your cheeks quicker than you can even process it. There wasn’t enough time to think about that right now though. He was almost right on top of you, looming over you like some horrible, menacing beast in his fine furs. You seem to have forgotten how to breathe when the only thought flashing through your mind was sinking the blade in your hand through his chest. His neck. Whatever you could reach in the split second chance you were going to get to deliver the blow. Jaw clenched painfully tight, you squeeze your fingers around the knife so hard it hurts. 

And you lunge. 

An unseen hand materializes out of the darkness behind you and snatches your upraised wrist before you can bring it down. You’re so caught off guard that you don’t even have the wherewithal to gasp. A rough jerk on your arm yanks you off balance and right back against a solid wall of muscle that doesn’t even shift at the impact. Your animal instincts seem to take over and you wildly jerk your head up, just catching a glimpse of a red mask, a black hood, and then sharp, tearing pain is shooting up your captured limb. The masked fiend — a man, judging by his frame — twists and mercilessly bends your wrist until you drop the knife with an earth shattering clatter on the floor. Dully realizing you were caught and unarmed now, you violently wrench against his hold in an attempt to free yourself but he just drags you against him again. 

Screaming and kicking, he heedlessly maneuvers you further into the kitchen but even trying to turn into dead weight in his arms doesn’t dissuade him in the slightest. All he does is haul you close, lift you up in the air and then slam you down on top of the table with enough force to knock the air from your lungs. You’re distantly aware of him shuffling back a step as you lie there, gasping and wheezing while you weakly try to pull your body upright again but it’s useless. The teeth rattling impact against the sturdy wood had effectively stunned you. Your limbs didn’t want to cooperate and it was hard just to breathe, let alone try to run or fight back. 

And somehow through all the agony you’re vaguely aware of Pantalone’s approaching boot steps on the floor. 

“Goodness, was that really necessary? You could have set the whole place on fire.” He tut tuts at his underling and you slowly turn your head to watch him pick up the lantern where it was tipped over. The only thing that had stopped it from shattering or rolling off onto the floor was the protective cage around the glass but you weren’t sure if you wanted to thank whoever had designed it or curse them for it. There was no telling what they were going to do to you, and you may have preferred going up in a puff of smoke when all was said and done … 

Archons above, how were you supposed to get out of this? 

“Now,” Intoning, Pantalone gracefully moves to set the lantern on the adjacent countertop where it wouldn’t get knocked over again. The glow from the flame dances and moves with him, and you groan when it seems to make your nausea double down. You’d never felt quite so sick in all your life. “As I was saying, I think a hands-on demonstration should satisfy your curiosity well enough. As an aside, though, I would suggest not asking men about their sexual proclivities in the future. It just might keep you out of trouble.” 

“Bastard …” 

He comes close again, reaching out to close his fingers around the roots of your hair so he can yank your head back against the table. Seething, you glare up at him but he just keeps smiling that same polite smile. It was hideous. 

“My, my, that really is a filthy mouth you’ve got. Did you learn that from your father? Perhaps we should wash it out with soap while we’re at it.” 

“Stop it! Do not speak of him!” 

Chuckling faintly, Pantalone slowly lets up on your hair before moving to step around the table. Wheezing, you hastily try to roll over so you can slip down to the floor but the masked man stops you dead in your tracks. He was just standing there. Watching. Still and silent as a statue but you didn’t have to see his eyes to know how attentive his focus was. Like he was just waiting for the slightest hint of real resistance so he could use it as an excuse to rough you up again. Evil and loyal to a fault. 

From out of the void, Pantalone’s gloved fingers abruptly brush over your pants leg to make you jolt and whip your attention around so fast the room starts to spin. But once your vision clears enough to see, you just find him standing over you and as at ease as ever. He would have looked completely unassuming if you didn’t know any better.  

“Do try to keep your eyes on me, darling. After all, I’m going out of my way to give you a thorough and worthwhile answer, so the least you can do is pay attention.” 

“Please don’t …” 

Drawing a stilted breath that seems to shudder at the tail end, he slowly drags his palm up to your knee and then back down until it hits the top of your boot. Casually, much too casually for your liking, he disinterestedly nudges it off your foot to hit the floor before repeating the process on the other side. You cower on top of the table, biting back a sob when he reaches up to unbutton your jacket next, but you understood too well just how trapped you really were. The masked man was standing between you and the entryway, much bigger and much stronger than you were. You’d never be able to fight your way past him. In front of you was Pantalone and to the other side … the small kitchen door that led out into the yard was a non option because you hadn’t shoveled away the snow in months. You’d thought it was a good idea to leave as few points of entry into the house as possible now that you were alone, but you realized just how foolish that really was. You had no way out, no viable exits. 

“Are you really going to do this?” You fearfully whisper into the still air. 

With a soft click of his tongue, Pantalone gets the last button undone and brings his hands up again to push the jacket over your shoulders. “Only because you asked.” 

A full bodied tremor tears through you at the pur in his silky voice. Sucking in a ragged, gasping breath, you turn your head against the table to fix your attention on the beckoning door while he works on the next layer, and the next, leaving everything bunched around the bends of your arms, until he at last gets down to the bottommost chemise. You shiver at the loss of heat and the chill that rushes in to replace it, your nipples already cutting up into the thin material, but your reaction doesn’t so much as give him pause. 

Gloved hands drag up your front to cup around the swell of your breasts and squeeze, making you whimper in the back of your throat. “Well, this is certainly a pleasant surprise. I had no idea you were hiding such a voluptuous body underneath all those clothes.” Humming softly, as if in consideration, Pantalone readjusts his hold and shoves your tits together to make them squish under the final layer. “These are nice, aren’t they … have you ever considered going into prostitution? I’m sure you could make a pretty mora for yourself.” 

You screw your eyes shut but it doesn’t do much to block out the sound of his voice. “I would never …” 

“Oh? What a shame.” Pausing, he releases your chest in favor of neatly folding the material up to bunch under your chin and you outright writhe when the chilly air hits your stiff nipples full blast. “Though, if I’m being honest, I am quite tempted to take you with me back to the palace and start selling you myself. You’d be quite popular, you know. One look at this body and every man in the room would be tripping over themselves just to give me their entire savings for a mere hour with you. Perhaps you could pay me back that way, hm?” 

Whimpering when Pantalone lightly brushes his fingers over the pebbled peaks of your breasts, the leather stiff and cool to the touch, you twist your neck back in a blithe attempt to escape that velvety croon. It was no use though. Like you were smothered under his presence you could feel him, hear him all around you. You could even taste him on the back of your tongue where the cloying scent of expensive cologne swarmed your senses. It was too much. You didn’t want this. 

“Please … I’ll do anything, just — please don’t do this to me.” 

He gently shushes you even as he takes a moment to tweak your nipples, almost idly plucking at them until you hiss and choke on a broken little sob. Leaning over you then, hunching close, Pantalone puts his face near enough to yours that his exquisite eyeglass chain slides forward to brush against your cheek. He just looks at you like that for a long moment, still pinching your teats like an afterthought. 

Then, “You’ll do anything except the one thing that might actually get you out of this mess? My dear, I think you’re even more confused than I first thought. You do not have the luxury of choice here.”

Your stomach clenches. Roils and heaves. The dread that settles over you is debilitatingly crushing but you can’t quite stop yourself from looking up at him now, brows drawn in confusion and agony alike. “What do you mean?” It’s barely more than a whisper. 

“What I mean is simple. I own you.” He hisses it, punctuating that statement with an aggressive twist of your nipples to make you shriek. “Until that loan is paid off in full, you belong to me. Your life is in my hands, pet. If I decide you’re going to go stand naked in the town square and present yourself to every man walking by until you find a taker then that is precisely what you are going to do. Is that clear enough for you?” 

You squawk out a frantic, wild sound that might be a ‘yes’ and, to your reeling surprise, he immediately lets up on your poor breasts entirely. Just like that his mood seems to shift back to the usual placid tone and soft smiles, and you violently shudder as he soothes his palms over your aching teats as if to lessen the hurt. You can’t even begin to make sense of it but the relief you feel is staggering, and you force your quaking body to relax into it as much as you can manage. Of course you’d known what he was hiding under that pleasant facade, had seen it peek out on more than one occasion, but this was far beyond what even you had thought him capable. 

Perhaps you shouldn’t have been surprised though. Maybe you should have expected it on some level, but you now knew how very fine the line you were walking really was. He could do anything at all to you if the notion struck his fancy and something told you making you sell your body on the streets was only a small drop in the bucket. He was evil and deranged. Cutthroat. You had to play your cards very carefully if you wanted to avoid the worst of it. 

You repeat that to yourself, over and over again in your mind like a mantra when he finally reaches for your pants. It takes everything you have not to scream and kick, spit at him like a wild animal, but you manage, somehow, to just lay there, allowing him to get them pulled down your legs right along with your soft drawers. Left in nothing but your socks and the rumpled up heap of jackets and shirts bunched around your arms, you shyly squeeze your legs together to hide from him. You didn’t want him to see your most intimate spot. To look upon you like a lover would, but you don’t fight it when he grabs your hips and pulls you closer to the edge of the table. 

You had to play nice. Had to be good for him so he wouldn’t sell you to anyone that could afford to pay the hefty price tag he would no doubt ask for. Just the thought of him taking you makes bile rise in the back of your throat but even in the jittery panic coursing through your system you still recognized exactly how limited your options were. This was the lesser of two evils. You hated it beyond measure, but it was the far more bearable alternative. 

So you hold your breath, head spinning at an alarming rate, when he nudges your knees apart. Let them fall open in a shameless spread that leaves you bared to him and vulnerable. Your face feels like it’s on fire and furious tears sting your eyes, but you just clench your hands into tight, shaking fists. The nails dig in to lance pain through your palms and it helps ground you. Steadies your nerves even when he coos down at you with a saccharine sweetness. 

“And such a pretty pussy too … I admit, I’m rather impressed. I didn’t take you for the sort.”

You adamantly refused to respond to him now, leaving your mouth pursed in a thin line and your head turned away so you could keep your attention locked on the door. You should have shoveled the snow. Should have considered your situation a little more carefully. 

The featherlight brush of Pantalone’s fingertips on your cunt makes you jolt, almost pulls your head back around, but you stay firm on this. Prone and pliant for him as he traces a brief path down your slit before nudging into the lips to feel for your entrance. You wince at the contact, grimacing when he worms one long digit into your body even when he meets resistance, even though your shuddering muscles try to keep him out. The drag of his glove along your inner sleeve pulls a muffled hiss from you but he doesn’t even seem to notice. Or maybe he just doesn’t care.

“Tight too. That will help your value price a great deal. Tell me, poppet. You wouldn’t happen to be a virgin, would you?” 

You don’t much appreciate the note of humor in his voice, the sly inflection that would seem to suggest he found the prospect amusing. Delightful, even. Seething through your teeth at the uncomfortable penetration, you can’t help but squirm with the overwhelming urge to run away. “No.” You practically growl the word. “I’m not, you sick bastard.” 

Chuckling softly, he takes a moment to fuck into you with his finger, soon adding a second to stretch you out, but it does little in the way of good. There was too much tension thrumming through your body; too many aches and pains, and fast pumping adrenaline, and not nearly enough pleasure to be found on his cool digits to draw any amount of wetness out of you. But you keep your legs spread because you know that’s what is expected of you. You don’t protest when he eventually withdraws his fingers and reaches up to flick your shirt back open where you’d tried to pull it closed over your chest to stave off some of the cold. And you just lay there, unmoving save the harsh rise and fall of your labored breaths, when he reaches down to spread open his cloak before working to free himself from his pants. 

You don’t look. You can’t look, your heart painfully wrenching as he shuffles close to line his cock up. The blunt pressure of the head sinking into your slit steals the air from your lungs and you freeze, holding yourself so still it makes the joints scream in protest when he slowly starts to sink into you. Inch by excruciating inch, he bullies his way into your cunt and you choke on a pitiful little sound when your body is forced to grant him entry. It hurts. The smooth, silky texture of his length does nothing at all to ease the discomfort when you were trembling so stiffly and your guts were tight with fear. Pantalone just grunts over top of you though, his fingers sinking into the flesh of your hips tight enough to make bruises bloom under the pressure. 

And finally, an eternity later, he settles against you at long last. 

A wounded groan spills from your mouth as you sensitively twitch on his cock. He was so hot, so blindingly warm inside you, it felt like he was branding you from the inside out. Leaving his mark where no one else would ever be able to see it. You’d never be able to forget the claim he’d made on your body though, with or without his stamp seared into your flesh, and you wheeze, trying very hard not to hyperventilate. Somehow spewing your guts up all over him didn’t seem like it would do you any favors. 

“Oh, that is a tight fit, isn’t it?” He murmurs, allowing himself a moment to just bask in the squeeze of your body. The weak palpitations trying to push him out which only succeed in milking at him. A pleasurable tremor works through his frame, and he reaches up to adjust the position of the glasses on his nose where they’d started to slide forward. “You certainly know how to make a good case for yourself, pet. I admit, I’m suddenly feeling less inclined to sell you for a profit and more partial towards keeping you for my own personal use.” 

Stiffening on the table, you shoot him a quick, wild look before you can stop it, but he just laughs, very softly. 

“Don’t look so surprised. You aren’t nearly as clever as you think.” Loosing a breathy, almost dreamy sigh, Pantalone starts to slowly pull out and you jolt so hard at the gripping drag against your innards that you slam your head back into the wood with a resounding thud. “I had my suspicions when you stopped struggling but you didn’t even have the decency to beg me to stop. Although I do appreciate the cooperation on your part, I still wasn’t entirely convinced you would be worth the trouble. Housing, feeding, upkeep … there are so many different things to consider when one is thinking of taking on the responsibility of a new pet.” 

He pauses, the head of his cock just wedged inside your cunt now. Tipping his face down, he regards the sight of you spread out for him, on your back with your legs curled open around his waist and his rigid length poised to spear back into you. It makes him hum a quiet groan, his usually placid smile growing a little sharper. Hungrier. He looks at you like a finely dressed conqueror about to lay ruin to a yet untouched and fertile land. His for the taking. 

Slowly, he starts to sink in again. “But this sweet little cunt of yours is taking me so well. Even without the proper preparations you still fit me like a glove. Like you were made just for my cock … tell me, darling, will you be a good pet for me?” 

“Y - yes …” You seethe, once more screwing your eyes shut so you won’t have to look at him. Flawless and beautiful, and horrible hunching over you. 

There was an end in sight though, if you could just reach out and grasp it. Clutch it to your chest with fervent hysteria and never let it go. He’d already damned you but you were willing to take your salvation wherever you could get it. The mere thought of other men having you like this, all strangers, faces you’ve never seen before; the old and the young, the sick and the drunk, is enough to steel your resolve. If this was to be your fate you would much rather suffer solely at Pantalone’s hands than anyone else’s. 

And he moans, ever so faintly, at your acquiescence. Starts to pump into you a bit quicker, ignoring the way your face pinches in pain and discomfort. “Will you do everything I say, poppet? Will you be a nice and obedient dog for me? Will you call me master?” 

The breathy quality of his voice makes your stomach wrench and threaten to regurgitate all of its contents, but you force yourself to stiltedly nod. “Yes, I will. Anything … m - master.” 

“Such a good, smart girl you are.” He laughs. “Then will you suck his cock for me?” 

You go ramrod stiff, a fresh surge of horror washing over you. It crashes against you like turbulent ocean waves hitting the rocks on a beach, slamming with enough force to slowly chip away at their density over time. You’d forgotten about the masked man. So caught up in your own misery his presence had completely slipped your mind for the last however many minutes, but when you stiffly turn your head, you find him already working to undo the front of his pants. Evidently he did not need to be told twice. 

And, to your lurching horror, you clearly had very little choice in the matter. 

“Wait — that’s not what you said!” You squeak, shooting Pantalone a wide eyed, wild look, but he just purses his lips at you. Coos like he would at a baby. 

“Although I might be willing to keep you for myself that doesn’t necessarily mean I won’t deign to share you from time to time, for my own amusement. Besides, it’s just your mouth. I’m much more concerned with this tight cunt of yours.” 

He groans, low and faltering as his pace starts to pick up more. The dull whap of his clothed hips meeting the fleshy give of your thighs grows louder, more insistent, his cock relentlessly carving out a space within you now. It seems to punch the air out of your lungs and you gasp, bleating helplessly there on the table.

A hand suddenly materializes under your chin and locks around your jaw to yank your head back at an awkward angle. You catch a split second glimpse of the cock bobbing in your face, chest hitching in surprise and distress, and horror at what was happening to you, but it was too late. The masked man angles his pelvis forward and roughly shoves himself into your mouth. You shriek around the intrusion, tears stinging your eyes at the cloying taste of him. Salty and musky, bitter enough to make your skin crawl, but there’s nothing you can do about it. He just keeps your neck pinned down while Pantalone fucks into you even harder, his moans becoming louder when your body subconsciously squeezes him every time you writhe.

It was like you were being stretched between two equally unrelenting forces and even trying to twist away does nothing to make it better. Your breasts just jostle violently with each thrust from the man positioned between your legs and your throat constricts painfully when the masked stranger tries to shove his length straight down your gullet. Coughing and sputtering, struggling just to breathe, you force yourself to go still again and just accept what was happening on the slim chance that would make it somehow more tolerable. 

But of course it doesn’t. The unknown Fatuus doesn’t stop trying until your face is covered in a slimy, bubbling sheen of spittle and saliva that slowly runs back into your hair. Finally, after many attempts that have left your throat bruised and raw, he at last manages to sink himself halfway into the squeezing passage and you violently jerk when you realize you can’t breathe. A tiny, muffled noise manages to escape your constricting airway, but he just groans in response and shudders as if it felt good. You quickly become lightheaded, stomach heaving as if to finally throw up but — he suddenly pulls out to leave you desperately gasping and choking in the aftermath. 

Weakly, you try to lift your head with the intention of sending Pantalone an imploring look but the other man just palms the top of your skull and manually turns you back towards his cock again. Not having a choice, you pitifully roll your eyes up to look at him instead even as you take his length back into your mouth. You can see him snarling under his mask from this angle, his lips pulled back in a sneer of concentration while he thrusts towards the back of your aching throat to drag out more sticky sheets of drool that run down your chin in messy clumps. 

It is not this degradation that finally breaks you, nor is it the fact Pantalone is using you like a mere toy for him to get off on. What eventually does it is the sticky wet click you just manage to make out over all the other lurid sounds buzzing around you, and you dully realize it’s coming from between your legs. Your cunt was slicking for him. Against your will, defying all logic and reason, your body was responding to this cruel treatment. That horrifies you perhaps more than anything else and, letting out a wailing sob, you let the tears spill out to track hot, stinging paths down your burning face. 

The masked man clicks his tongue as if disgusted to see you crying like this, and he finally lets up his hold on your jaw. Allowing your head to loll bonelessly on the table, you just lay there while he reaches down to grab a pinching handful of your swaying breast, squeezing it so hard you groan in response. 

Between your spread legs, Pantalone issues a quiet, insidious chuckle. “Poor thing. You already look so tired … not to worry though. I’m sure a nice warm bath back at the palace will have you back to sorts quickly enough.” 

You hiccup at the thought, distantly realizing how cold you were. Yes, this was certainly the best outcome you could have hoped for. Pantalone would take care of you. Feed you. Keep you warm and clean, and comfortable so long as you were obedient. A nice pet for him to play with whenever the mood struck. It wasn’t exactly the life you’d dreamed of, but at least it was something. 

It wasn’t the prosperous lands of opportunity in Liyue you’d longed for as a child when your father was still alive, but at least it was a marginally better life than the one you currently had. 

The toll it would have on your body and mind alike seemed a reasonable price to pay for your freedom from debt. After all, what other choice did you even have?

⭐

Crossposted: here

[kasagia]

❄️️Warm my heart pt. 2❄️️

Pairing: Aleksander Morozova/ The Darkling x fem! heartrender! reader Summary: December. Everyone in the Little and Grand Palaces is excited about the upcoming holidays. Only the Black General seems rather... depressed. Like every year when these holidays are coming closer. Maybe this year, since you've been promoted to his second-in-command, you can make the general's holidays a little more enjoyable? And you're not doing it because you're in love with him and you want to see him finally careless happy... not even a little bit. Written with sounds of: Chemtrails over the country club - Lana Del Rey Word Count: 3,5 k Taglist: @aoi-targaryen @budugu ~•♤♤♤•~ Aleksander Morozova's Masterlist ~•♤♤♤•~ ~•♤♤♤•~ Part 1 ~•♤♤♤•~ Part 3 ~•♤♤♤•~

Sneeze. You blow your nose into your handkerchief as quietly as you can and go back to writing. Another sneeze. You watch the tent flap out of the corner of your eye, ready for his return at any moment.

You caught a cold. Probably because you fell into a snowdrift with him and had… a moment there. You'd probably rather avoid all this. At least your heart wouldn't beat stupidly every time you were in his presence. And the stuffy nose and scratchy throat were just an irritating addition to your misery.

You sneeze loudly just as you hear his heavy-booted footsteps entering his tent. You mentally curse and close your eyes. You hear him brush the snow off his clothes before he stands still as he notices you. His burning gaze on your back almost makes you feel a little warmer.

"I'd like to say that I have right, but you look so poorly that even Ivan wouldn't have the heart to tell you that. Explain to me, in the name of the saints, what you are doing here instead of warming yourself by the fire wrapped in a blanket, preferably with a healer who will help you get out of this?" he asks, crossing his arms and wrinkling his nose at the pile of used tissues next to you.

"We ungrouped. Zoya took everyone with her except Fedyor, Mal, and Alina and went on looking for the stag." you grumble, pulling your coat tighter around you. "Besides, I haven't finished these papers."

"Why the hell did the tracker stay here instead of going with them?"

You shrug. "I guess he doesn't get along with Zoya. He said the stag got scared and found a hiding place to wait out the worst of the snow. He says we'll try again in a week, when it will stop snowing a little bit. I'm not surprised. If I were him, I'd also rather go back to the castle than chase the stag in the beginning of the raw winter."

"If you were him, we would have had a stag's bones in the Little Palace long ago, ready to be used when Alina mastered her powers. Besides, the boy distracts her. Not only does he delay our hunting, he also delays her training and doesn't let her use her full potential."

Jealousy settles unpleasantly inside you, digging a hole in your stomach. You should get used to it. Eventually, he and Alina will end up together one day and make a great couple. Sun and shadows. Light and darkness. Day and night. And other poetic shit like that. They were soulmates. One of a kind. No one could deny it.

"Maybe you're not as good a teacher as Baghra after all?" you say teasingly, trying to enjoy all the attention he was still showing you... at least until he realises that Alina is… extraordinary and is much more worthy of the position by his side. As his second-in-command, right hand, or… even someone much more, you could ever be to him.

"And you against me? My own deputy?" he snorts and walks over to the fire in the centre of the tent. You see the smirk stretch across his lips, and it instantly warms you, even before he even lights the fire.

"Baghra is specific, to say the least, but she is great at what she does. I don't know many people who would ever lose control of their powers after training with her."

"Believe me, I know such people…" he says thoughtfully. He stops lighting the fire and stares at the tinder in his hands. You feel the tension in his muscles and the quickening of his heartbeat as another of his memories comes flooding back to him.

Your heart clenches with grief and sympathy as you see his eyes darken under the heavy flashback. Without thinking, you walk up to him and take the tinder from his hand to light the fire yourself.

"When I was little, my brothers liked to camp in the forest and in the fields. We played soldiers who go to war and have to spend the night with only a sleeping bag and a tent. We had to find the rest ourselves. Our mother had a heart attack more than once when we returned late in the afternoon, dirty, freezing, and starving, but with such big smiles on her face that she didn't even shout at us. She left it to her father." you laughed as the first flames engulfed the logs in the fire.

"What happened to them?"

You're shaking. At first, you don't want to answer his question, but when you look up and see his gaze fixed on you, those dark eyes, so interested in you, you just... melt. Your heart is too weak to let this moment of his attention slip through your fingers.

"Fjerdans. They attacked my village and killed my parents. My siblings and I went to live with our grandparents, and a year later we were tested for Grishas. Only I was. They kicked me out of the house so quickly that I didn't even have time to pack. They did it themselves. My youngest brother took pity on me enough to put his stuffed animal in my bag. As a keepsake. We write to each other. I actually only keep in touch with him. But it's always better than being alone."

"You are not alone." he says it quickly, before he can even process your words, and places his hand on your shoulder, stroking it tenderly. "You... will never be alone, Y/N." he says with such confidence and tone of voice as if it was a promise he would never break.

He looked at you many times, but now. You feel something new in his gaze. A certain kind of tenderness, understanding, need for protection. And you bask in this feeling, as if in the glow of the warmest fire. The fire next to you isn't half as warm as his gaze on you and the touch you feel on your skin even under the layers of clothes you're wearing.

"I... I know." you whisper, hypnotized by the deep gaze of his dark eyes. "I have Fedyor, Genya, David, Alina. You. I found myself a new family. Maybe it's better to be nobody's daughter."

"No one will hurt you like your own family will." he sighs, nodding.

The crackle of burning wood is the only thing that can be heard in the silence that has fallen between you. His hand gradually moves from your shoulder to your neck, where he strokes your cold skin with his thumb, making you shiver.

"You're cold. We should warm you up. Where are your gloves and scarf?" he asks, shaking off the moment between you.

You feel him tense again and go to his bed to grab a black fur blanket and wrap it around you. You blush slightly, enveloped in his warmth and scent. You thank all the saints that he can't hear your heart beating fast… unless he felt your pulse when he caressed your neck with his thumb. Then you are fucked up.

"I left it in my tent. I was in a hurry to get here. I wanted to finish the paperwork as quickly as I could so as not to infect you." he laughs at your words and you frown, not knowing what's so funny.

"I don't get sick, milaya. Get some sleep. Maybe the tracker is skilled enough to track down an animal for dinner. I'll come back with some soup for you. Rest. General's order. I need my deputy to be fully healthy and ready to fulfil her duties. I believe the king will want to call a council as soon as we return."

He throws a pillow at you, which you catch, and he walks out of the tent, leaving you shocked and a little puzzled next to the fire. You immediately feel warmer, and the runny nose bothers you a little less as you allow yourself to lie down. Wrapped in its warmth and scent, you fall asleep ridiculously quickly. Your dreams are filled with him... warming you up in a completely different, more pleasant way.

You don't know how much time passes. You wake up feeling a little better. You look around the tent in a daze, remembering how you got here. The fire still burns, still warming you, but not like a warm blanket and coat. Their black, dark colour clearly indicates their owner.

The smell of something delicious fills your nostrils. Your mouth waters as you look at the huge bowl of warm soup.

"Why is it not a wonder for me that the only thing that can wake you up is food?" you hear his amused voice. You turn towards him. He is sitting at his desk; a candle is lit as he writes something. He lifts his head for a moment and gives you a quick glance. "Eat. You'll feel better."

You take the bowl, and after the first spoonful, you groan at the taste of the soup. "How come this is good? Our supply of spices is long gone; how did you season it?"

He can't help but laugh. He puts down his pen and leans back in his chair, looking at you, curled up in his blankets and coat by the fire. A strange feeling warms him from the inside, seeing you so... at home with him, and if it weren't for your wheezing and red nose, he would have no qualms about enjoying the sight. But he knew you were only here because you were sick, and his care was helpful. No one would willingly stay with him. No one has ever done this...

"I haven't lived in a palace all my life, Y/N. I know how to take care of myself in all circumstances."

"How bad will it be if I say this is better than what you feed us in the Little Palace?" you ask, wolfing down the soup. Somehow he can't help but giggle. The heat inside him continues to grow… maybe you were able to infect him after all?

"Do not get used to it. This special treatment ends when you stop making sounds with your nose with every breath you take. Besides, you snore, colonel." he says it with complete seriousness, but even he isn't strong enough to hide the mischievous smirk that appears on his lips as he watches the growing outrage and embarrassment on your face.

"I am not!" you say it indignantly and throw his pillow at him.

He catches it gracefully with a smirk and throws it next to you, far enough away that you can't reach for it without moving. You moan, but don't change your position. You're too blissfully warm to do that.

"Move up. You can't be in one position all the time. You'll get stiff."

"Won't you massage me, general?" you ask flirtatiously. Your behaviour surprises both you and him, but for some reason, your filter is off. You say what you think, and you don't hold anything back... you also feel very hot, which is both pleasant and a bit bothersome.

"Do not cross the border. I'm not your nurse."

"Shame." you say briefly and put the bowl aside. He watches you carefully, noticing that your movements are a little less coordinated.

He walks over to you. He places his hand on your forehead and frowns. "You're burning. We should take these layers off of you."

"As much as some women would like you to undress them, right now it's not something I want."

"Y/N." he speaks to you calmly and gently, like to a child. "You have a fever. You can't be too warm, or it will only make things worse. I'll bring you some water, and when I come back I want to see you out of this cocoon."

"And who are you, my father?" you huff, crossing your arms and tightening your grip on the blanket.

"No. I am much more. I am... your general. So do what I say."

You roll your eyes at him. Your defiant attitude would have done all kinds of... inappropriate things to him if it weren't for the fact that his main concern right now was your health. That's why he doesn't play and argue with you any longer. He takes you into his arms in one confident, sweeping movement. You squeal in shock, clinging to him, afraid he'll drop you. The blanket and coat fall off you, leaving you only in your red kefta.

"No! It's cold!" you struggle with him in his arms.

He allows you to fight him enough to stand on the ground on your own two feet, but you're still trapped in his grip. You probably would have struggled with him for a while longer (until you had completely exhausted your energy), but you both froze in place when you heard a soft grunt coming from the entrance to his tent.

"Um... general?" Fedyor looks at the two of you confused. "I have that medicines you asked about." you frown at the fact that he sent him to the village to get medicine for you. "Mal also went with the list to Ivan. They will be here with a healer the day after tomorrow at the latest."

"Good, Fedyor. Well done. Leave these medications and get out of here. You are letting the cold in." he says, clearing his throat. Fedyor smiles at his reaction, clearly hearing his rapid heartbeat.

"Yes, sir." He puts the medicines on the table. "I would wish you a speedy recovery, Y/N, but under these conditions, I don't think it's really necessary. Good night." he says this and runs away from there, no longer exposing himself to the general's angry look.

He doesn't stay mad for very long. His thoughts of punishing Fedyor for his insolence quickly disappear when he hears your coughing. He looks at you tenderly and leads you to his bed.

"Here." he whispers and hands you a glass with some strange brown liquid in it.

"Aleksander, I can't drink alcohol in this state." you grumble and snuggle into his quilt, trying to create a cocoon of warmth around you again.

But he won't let you. Which is met with great protest from you.

He grabs your arms and moves you so you're leaning against the headboard of his bed, sitting down, handing you a glass, and glaring at you as he sits across from you, watching you closely. He would make you shiver if the fever didn't already make you tremble.

"Drink it. That's herb. It will help." you look at the glass warily. "What's wrong again?"

"Herbs are bitter. I don't want to drink it." you say angrily and put the glass with that damned thing on the nightstand.

"Your general is ordering you to do it. Drink." he says firmly, pushing the glass to your mouth. You purse your lips, glaring at him defiantly, at which he sighs.

If you were anyone else, he would have abandoned you a long time ago. He would leave you alone to maybe die, and he wouldn't think twice about you.

But you were his Y/N.

It changed everything. And he was terrified about how far he would go for you. There were no things he wouldn't do on your behalf—for your happiness, for your safety—only for seeing that disarming smile that lit up his centuries-worn, dark soul.

"Y/N." he whispers softly, stroking your hair. At the same time, he checks your temperature with his hand.

He frowns and presses a kiss on your forehead, cupping your cheeks with both hands. The glass is long forgotten on the nightstand as he presses his lips against your skin.

He would moan at the feeling of your silky, soft skin if you didn't have a huge fever. He found himself wishing you were warm for a completely different reason than the fever.

"Milaya, you are very sick. Drink the medicine for me, okay?" he asks gently, stroking your cheeks with his thumbs as he looks at you carefully. You're still shaking. You're not sure from what, as you silently nod, still staring at his dark eyes.

He breathes a sigh of relief when you sip the medicine from the glass he holds for you without protest. He makes sure you drink it all before he gets out of bed. You instinctively grab his hand, and his heart sinks when he sees pure fear in your eyes.

"Don't go. Don't leave me alone." you whisper, your eyes staring at him so pleadingly that what else can he do but comply with your request?

He swallows and is surprised himself at how quickly he's at your side again, this time holding you in his arms, close to his chest. The idea of bringing you a cold cloth to cover your forehead flies from his mind the moment you snuggle into him for warmth. He feels like a stupid young boy again when he realises that, in another state, you wouldn't seek his closeness. He pushes away these thoughts, trying to make you as comfortable as possible as he runs his hand through your hair and brushes away the beads of sweat from your forehead.

"You're the best nurse or healer I've ever had." you whisper. Your head on his chest, eyes closed as you float with the rhythm of the breaths he takes. And seeing you in such a vulnerable state makes something break inside him.

"I haven't done this for a long time. Look after someone. I was the one who mainly took care of my sister. Our mother didn't want anything to do with her, and neither of us knew our father... so she only had me. People looked at us askance; the kids treated her like an outcast, so she was left to play with her older brother, a teenager who had no idea how to play with or take care of a six-year-old child, and a girl at that. But there was nothing I wouldn't do to make this little one happy. To give her what I didn't have… at least in a small way. Consequently, I can weave wreaths, braid braids, and other strange hairstyles; sew clothes for dolls; and make them. I played the prince on a white horse with her more times than I could count or be willing to admit."

"Black one suits you more." you comment, making him laugh quietly. "What happened to her?" you ask, opening your eyes and shifting your gaze to him.

He sighs heavily, pausing for a moment from stroking your hair as memories come back to him. And you can see in his eyes how much pain it brings him. You remember the words he said during one of your late-night conversations, when you were up late working on your reports.

The past is a wound that cannot be healed.

"She trusted the wrong people. Now she doesn't let anyone close... not even me."

"I turst you. With my life..." You wish you could hear his thoughts the moment he freezes at your words. "We all do." you add, still conscious enough not to completely pour out your heart to him. He pulls you closer to him, continuing to run his hand through your hair and press a cool cloth to your forehead.

"Thank you, Y/N." he whispers, trying to keep his voice from shaking.

A few months ago, he would have cursed himself for letting you get so deep under his skin... Now he can't help but want more. He hates to admit it, but his mother was right.

Men are greedy creatures.

But how could he not want you more? Not to want everything you can offer him when it was you who awakened in him human feelings that he had been hiding from the world for a very long time? When could he be JUST Aleksander with you?

He checks your body temperature again by pressing his hand gently against your forehead, cheek and neck. He hums satisfied, feeling you cooler and your temperature closer to normal.

"You are cozy." you mumble as he is checking on you and you rest your head on his shoulder, hugging him tighter. There is a strange sound buzzing in your ears.

"Cozy?" he asks, amused, knowing full well that in other people's eyes he was anything but comfortable or cozy. And there you were, cuddling up to him like he was your favourite stuffed toy, feeling safe enough to fall asleep in his arms.

"Yhm..." you murmur, burying your face in his neck to sigh in his scent. "You are the best pillow in the whole world."

You hear the pounding in your head more clearly as your nose presses against his pulse point in his neck. You find this very irritating. If you were a little more aware, you would have realised that it was his heartbeat that was making it difficult for you to fall asleep. What you also don't realise is that you are using your powers on him and calming him down, causing you both to fall asleep.

The tickle on your forehead from something very soft and warm is the last thing you feel before you fall asleep. And he only had time to remove his lips from your skin before you unconsciously forced him to fall asleep, cuddled up against you.

[nerdraging4point0]

Blood of Eden // Part Eight // Noah Sebastian Urban Fantasy AU Fic

Tropes and Tags: MM, MF, MFM, MFM, instalove, too much sex, tattooed men, polyverse, shapeshifters.

CW: 18+ only minors DNI. Urban Fantasy romance, Smut. Angst. Fluff (ish), Story includes D/S themes, mentions of blood and gore, mentions of drug use and distribution, mentions of prostitution, unprotected sex, male receiving oral sex, female receiving oral sex, cuckolding, P/A sex, P/V sex.

This work below is fictionalized ideas and stories involving real people but does not directly reflect their thoughts, feelings, or behaviors. Please keep in mind that this is a work of fiction.

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Jolly strode into the grand council chamber, adjusting the lapels of his suit and surveying the scene before him. Fellow mages mingled in small groups, their hushed conversations echoing off the circular walls and intricately carved marble pillars. His gaze swept down the stairs to the center of the room, where the massive, oaken table of the Head Magistrate sat, its surface polished to a gleaming shine and inlaid with intricate sigils and runes. Flanking it were the four smaller tables of the Council Elders, simple and unadorned in contrast. Off to the side, almost as an afterthought, were the utilitarian desks of the Secretary, Scribe, and Guardsman, stacked high with parchment and quills. Jolly slumped into his seat at one of the Elders' tables, crossing one leg lazily over the other and leaning back with a sigh. Another mind-numbing meeting awaited him, just like all the others this month. These interminable gatherings were the bane of his workday existence. He often found himself zoning out as the Magistrate droned on, his imagination drifting to literally anything else - magical experiments in his workshop, reading in the archives, even watching paint dry. Today would be no exception, he mused, stifling a yawn and steeling himself for the boredom ahead.

Jolly's mind wanders to Rosa as he waits for the meeting to start. He thinks back to this morning at the breakfast table, when he caught a brief glimpse of the intensity simmering behind her eyes. For just a moment, he saw the aurora glow of her irises - greens, blues and purples swirling together like a cosmic storm.

As Jolly poured himself another cup of coffee in the kitchen, he overheard Rosa telling Noah about the victims of the disease she called The Rage. But it wasn't really a disease at all- just uncontrolled magic consuming Unclaimed Mages from within.

Jolly shudders at the thought. Where would he be now if his own magic had spiraled out of control like that? He feels a swell of gratitude for his mentor, who helped him harness and master his abilities. 

His family was a lineage of mages with a magic that spanned generations, each adept at wielding the immense power of water. He had a cousin who made her home right on the tumultuous waves of the Aegean Sea in Greece - open her back door and the ocean spray hits you in the face. Another cousin was an Olympic swimmer - clearly the family gifts gave him an advantage in the pool. It was no coincidence they hailed from the icy north, where snow covered the ground most of the year. His parents were in their element among the glaciers and snowdrifts. They never understood why he felt compelled to head west to the sweltering city.

The simplicity of it resonated within him. Blood. The one common thread that bound humans, mages, and hunters together as one. Its rhythmic flow coursed through every living being, connecting them in an intimate dance of life. As he stood among the pulsing thrum of bodies, feeling their sanguine energy swirl around him, he found peace. In that moment, all differences faded away, and there was only the blood - the vital, crimson river that made them all one.

As she sits down next to him, he can't help but notice her defeated sigh, though her appearance exudes anything but. Maria's dark caramel locks cascade in perfect curls down to the middle of her back, effortlessly framing her sweet mocha skin. While her heather grey suit accentuates her figure, her aura commands the room. He knows Maria to be a confident, successful woman who carries herself with poise and grace, yet in this moment she seems weary. Though she looks as put together as ever, her sigh betrays her, hinting at an exhaustion or worry she tries hard not to show. He wonders what could be weighing on her mind to make her shoulders slump ever so slightly under that perfectly fitted jacket.

Jolly's lips curl into a playful smile as he asks, "What is it this time, Maria dear?" The two have been best friends ever since his arrival from Sweden. Maria herself was born and raised in Brazil - two foreigners who found companionship in one another.

"What isn't the matter?" she exclaims, throwing her head back in defeat. "My experiments are failing left and right. And my herbal farm in the west? It got hit with an unexpected frost. Half our stock is dead and the rest are in shock." Poor Maria lets out an exaggerated sigh, hands slapping her face as her fresh red manicure slides down pulling her skin with it. 

With a warm smile, Jolly noticed the sparkling diamond ring on Maria’s finger. "So how's Oliver handling his new promotion?" he asked.

Maria sighed, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "About as well as can be expected. He's determined to support the hunters and make me proud, but I can tell his mind has been preoccupied." A frown tugged at her lips as she absentmindedly twisted the ring. "I just hope all the added responsibilities aren't weighing too heavily on him."

Jolly nodded in understanding, giving her arm a reassuring pat. "I'm sure he'll get the hang of it. Oliver's got a good head on his shoulders." He offered an encouraging grin. "And if he needs any advice, tell him to give me a call. I'd be happy to help however I can."

The magistrate's presence silenced the room as all eyes fell upon him. His receding dark hair and heavy-lidded eyes, now dulled by age, did nothing to diminish the air of authority he exuded. With shoulders squared, he strode in with the confidence of a man accustomed to commanding obedience. Though time had etched its marks on his face, the magistrate's piercing gaze and imposing stature ensured that he remained an intimidating, powerful figure that few would dare defy. Flanked by armed guards with hands ready at their weapons and fierce hunters prowling in his wake, he exuded power. The assembled mages and council members watched with bated breath as he took his place at the head of the room. His piercing gaze swept over the crowd; with but a look, he could end any man's life. When he spoke, his deep voice echoed off the stone walls, steel underlying his every word. This was not a man to be trifled with. All knew that to defy him meant certain death. His will would be done, one way or another.

The magistrate called the meeting to order, his gravelly voice booming through the crowded hall. As the magistrate continued explaining the agenda for their meeting, Jolly listened intently, waiting for the right moment to make his case with passion and conviction. Jolly had been concerned about laboratory finances being off for months now, although it was only slight loss each month he wanted to propose more access to the financial bracket in order to ensure the funding was being spent appropriately. As the head researcher at the biotech firm, Jolly took pride in running an efficient and productive lab. He had assembled a top-notch team of scientists who were making great strides in genetic research that could lead to new disease treatments. However, Jolly had noticed some peculiarities in the monthly budgets that left him scratching his head. Each month, there seemed to be a small but consistent discrepancy between the approved funding for equipment, materials, and salaries and the actual spending. The differences were not huge - usually just a few thousand dollars - but they bothered Jolly, who liked to have full transparency and understanding of his lab's finances. He began to wonder if the discrepancies were a sign of innocent accounting errors or something more concerning like misconduct or fraud.

 The council chamber erupted into a tumultuous debate as the mages representing the western territories voiced their strong objections to the proposed expansion plans. The western mages were incensed, but controlled in their anger, as they argued against the council's designs to push westward, establishing new laboratories, research facilities, and magical institutions on their lands. They fretted that such development would tax their resources, both material and magical, to a breaking point. More than that, the mages worried how the humans living in the west would react. So much of the mages' livelihood and profits depended on providing services to the non-magical humans there.

The western mages implored the council to reconsider the westward expansion, lest they lose the faith and business of the humans and thereby undermine the prosperity of mage and human alike. But not even ten minutes had passed when Jolly's phone buzzed in his pocket. He pressed it between his palm and thigh, silencing it until the buzzing stopped. A minute later, it buzzed again. Maria turned to him, concern swimming in her soft brown eyes. Jolly never got calls during meetings, especially not with the High Council of Mages. He was always diligent about turning his phone off beforehand. Yet here it was, buzzing insistently in his pocket, disrupting the solemn proceedings. Jolly shifted in his seat, ignoring Maria's worried glance. The phone vibrated again, persistently. Noah knew better than to call during High Council meetings, but after the third buzz, Jolly discreetly slid his phone out from his deep pocket and tapped back a quick message: "In a meeting."

The phone hummed once more against his leg. He offered Maria an apologetic nod before slipping to the back of the room. He could feel the eyes of the other Mages following him, their curiosity mingled with annoyance at the disruption. What could be so urgent that Noah would risk the ire of the High Council? Jolly's grip tightened on his phone as he stepped into the shadowed recesses of the hall.

"Noah, what's going on?" he whispered.

Before Jolly could even finish the question, Noah blurted out: "It's Rosa. She's been sick all morning, shaking and sobbing. I think she's having trouble breathing." Jolly could hear Rosa whimpering and choking back sobs in the background. His heart sank with worry.

Jolly ended the call and quietly returned to his seat beside Maria. Crouching down, he saw her eyes widen as she took in the evident concern on his face.

"Go," she whispered. "I'll check in after the meeting."

NOAH’S POV

He glances down at Rosa's small, trembling body curled up in his lap. Her fever still rages even as she finally drifts into a fitful sleep. He gently rubs circles on her back, hoping to provide some small comfort as they huddle near the warming fire. Jolly has been on the phone with Maria all day, both of them racking their brains trying to figure out how to make Rosa feel better. They've tried everything - bland foods, rest, warm baths, piles of blankets - but nothing seems to break this persistent fever. He feels so helpless watching his young mistress suffer. His heart aches to see her so miserable and weak. If only there was something more he could do to ease her discomfort. He continues rubbing her back, wishing he could absorb her illness into himself and spare her this torment.

Late into the night, the apartment was dark and still. Noah's eyes peered through the shadows, his night vision sharp. In the next room, Jolly tapped away at his keyboard, the occasional thud against the desk revealing his frustration. They were all on edge.

Before the knock came at the door, Noah caught their scent on the air - the earthy musk of Oli mixed with his wife's exotic floral perfume. Hushed voices murmured as Nick let them in, arms laden with bags. The commotion stirred Rosa from her sleep. She groaned, turning her head in Noah's lap as the visitors carried in their chaotic noise. He stroked her hair, hoping to soothe her back to rest, even as his own nerves remained taut. 

Noah gently scoops her up, cradling her in his strong arms as if she were the most delicate porcelain doll. Carrying her down the hall to the room she shares with Jolly. His face softens as he gazes down at her, a hint of a smile playing on his lips. Oli and Nick follow closely behind, ever-watchful guardians ready to protect their cherished friend.

Oli takes up his post by the tall windows, his tall, lean frame leaning casually against the glass as he keeps a close eye on the surroundings below. Nick stations himself firmly by the door, arms crossed, prepared to ward off any disturbance.

Noah lays Rosa down tenderly on the bed, tucking the blankets snugly around her resting form. His touch is feather-light, yet secure and comforting. Oli and Nick exchange a quick glance, reassured by the care Noah takes with his vulnerable mistress.

Noah stops tucking her in, looking up at Oli with a questioning gaze. "She's different now," Oli said, a hint of uncertainty in his voice. "Since that night. Something's changed."

Nick chimed in, sounding puzzled. "She's sick, right?" But he had never even seen Rosa before. How could he know?

Oli hesitated, sensing there was more to it. "No, it's...something else. Something more." His tone was laced with curiosity and unease. 

Noah gazed upon his mistress' sleeping form, a knot of unease twisting in his gut. She was his to protect, yet he sensed a power within her that gave him pause. As she shifted in slumber, a lock of hair fell across her face. But as his fingers grazed her cheek, her eyes flashed open, swirling with the cosmic colors of the morning sky.

He whimpered, feeling her gaze pierce his soul. His body shuddered, dropping to all fours in supplication before her might. With but a glance, she commanded the room. Oli and Nick, too, succumbed, bowing as beasts before her.

Though uncertainty gripped him, Noah felt no fear. He would surrender all to keep her safe. There was power here, yes, but no evil. Only light.

JOLLY’S POV

Jolly's leg bounced impatiently as he watched Maria pore over the results for the fifth time. "Well?" he finally burst out, unable to contain himself any longer.

Maria glanced up, one eyebrow raised. "This is unbelievable," she murmured. "Nightshade serum? Created in someone's home lab? Preposterous."

She turned back to the email, reading through it again with pursed lips. Jolly groaned and leaned his head against the back of the couch.

"I just can't wrap my mind around it," Maria said after another minute. "This Rosa woman managed to synthesize a complex biochemical compound using makeshift equipment? And achieved these kind of results?"

He sits casually on the couch, legs crossed, as he considers the situation. "Seems like it," he muses. "She's been getting nightshade from some garden shop over on the east side."

Maria thinks quietly to herself. "Well, I don't own that shop. And I certainly don't sell deadly nightshade here." She shakes her head slightly.

Jolly sat up, placing both feet firmly on the ground as he leaned forward, elbows on his knees. His hands clasped together tightly as he looked at Maria expectantly.

"Well, will any of that mumbo jumbo you brought actually help or not?" he asked, unable to keep the frustration out of his voice. He needed something real, something tangible to help Rosa get through this.

Maria just leaned back in the office chair, clicking her tongue thoughtfully. "I might be able to whip something up, but it may only provide temporary relief. She may just have to ride this thing out."

Jolly shook his head, countering firmly but not unkindly, "She needs strength, real medicine, if she's going to recover and get back on her feet. Something to help her keep food and water down, not just take the edge off."

Maria nodded contemplatively, eyes glazing over as she turned ideas over in her head. "Let me see what I can do. Oh, and when she's better, I'd love to be able to pick her brain a bit." At Jolly's confused look, she continued, "My experiments keep failing, but with a brilliant mind like hers, maybe I can finally achieve what I'm looking for."

Jolly sighed, but had to admit her skills could help. "We'll see when she's back on her feet. For now, let's just focus on getting her well."

Maria spins out of the chair, gliding across the room before she rummages through her bags with eager hands, searching for the ingredients she needs. Maria finds them and gets to work, pouring and mixing with practiced motions. Several syringes are filled with a murky green concoction. She tidies her workspace, then picks up one of the syringes. gives it a flick, making sure there are no bubbles, before securing the needle. Her eyes gleam as she admires the fruits of her labor.

Jolly scrambles to his feet as she catwalks out of the room, her words trailing behind her. "Let's see if it works." He hurries after her, struggling to keep up with her long strides. They make their way down the hall to his room. As he opens the door, they both freeze, startled by the sight before them.

Between the soft cotton sheets and warm down blankets, Rosa rests peacefully, her head propped up on the plush pillows. Next to her, Noah, rests his furry head on her belly, his legs twitching occasionally as he sleeps curled up close to Rosa, ever watchful and protective. At her feet, paws crossed over her legs, lies Nick, snoring softly in tranquil slumber. And there, curled perfectly at Rosa's thighs, eyes open and alert, is Oli, the vigilant comander. 

Jolly leans against the door frame, crossing his arms as he watches the faithful guardians wake and look at Maria with curious yet cautious eyes. They have locked onto the syringe in her hand. Noah turns to Jolly, who offers a reassuring nod as Maria approaches slowly. The protective canine companions follow her every move, never leaving their posts at Rosa's side. Jolly looks on calmly from the doorway as Maria grasps Rosa's arm, finding the right spot and delivering the medicine from the syringe. When the syringe is empty, Maria walks away, and the devoted guardians snuggle into Rosa even tighter, continuing their vigil watch.

[mythaura-blog]

Development Update - February 2024

Hi folks, Miyazaki checking in with our development update for the month of February 2024.

It was a tough month for the team: one of us moved, one of us had surgery, and three of us were laid out sick for a while. Everyone's stable and on the mend, though, and with some recovery under our belts we're looking forward to picking up the pace in March!

In spite of everything we've still got some new content to cover. Let's hop in!

Under the cut:

Mythauran Astrological Calendar

Winter Quarter 2024 Art Reveal

Rogue starter Class Companion

Astrological Calendar

The Mythauran calendar is divided into twelve months of roughly equal length. The earliest Beast species--Dragons, Unicorns, and Griffins--have each left their cultural markers on the Mythauran calendar.

Dragons, being the first species to develop a written language (and one that's rather flowery and verbose), were the first to give names to each of the months of the year. These names were meant to conjure images, feelings, and sensations associated with the different times of the year.

Unicorn culture, being nomadic for a significant part of the year as they chase the path of storms on the Southern Plains, used the position of constellations in the sky to guide their paths. These were named after significant cultural figures both fictional and real, who featured prominently in their rich verbal storytelling tradition.

Griffins were the first to master the craft of creating palm stones, which have been used for centuries to manipulate a Beast's secondary Element prior to birth. The Element associated with each stone came from Griffin astronomers, who picked a stone that best symbolized the constellation that spent the most time over their capital city for the month.

March

The month of March is referred to as Chasm's Roar in Dragon culture, representing the peals of thunder ringing through the canyons in the Spine of Ere. This month is also associated with the constellation of the Tempest and the labradorite stone.

Mythauran astrologers say those born under the sign of the Tempest are strong-willed, decisive individuals who believe strongly in their own moral code. Their well-defined sense of self makes them capable leaders, whose confidence inspires those who look to them for guidance.

At their best, Tempests are inspiring, self-assured, and magnanimous. At their worst, they can be belligerent, intolerant of others' beliefs, and arrogant.

Winter 2024 Rewards Reveal

Our Winter 2023 rewards have been completed and are ready for their public debut! Thank you to the Ko-fi Sponsors who voted on the different Glamour and Companion concepts, we appreciate your support and feedback.

Winter 2024 Glamour: Knitted Sweater

Winter 2024 Companion: Snowdrift Furline

Winter 2024 Solid Gold Glamour: Young Dragon

Rogue Class Companion Winner

What's better than two pairs of eyes to help you keep watch? Three pairs of eyes! The Dire Corvus will be the starting Companion for the Rogue Class. Thanks to all who voted in the Ko-fi poll to help decide the winner!

We'll be back in a near update with more information on our final starter Class; with that comes voting for its Companion and starter Gear as well. Keep your eyes peeled!

Mythaura v0.x

While there are no new feature releases this month, Koa and Sark have been hard at work on the player menu, specifically the party screen and the way a player's Beasts are housed. There's also been a lot of work put toward a prototype of the interactive world map--and that's for both the world overall and the starter town of Talon's Rest that players will find themselves in when the game launches!

Thank You!

Thanks for sticking through to the end of the post, we always look forward to sharing our month's work with all of you--thank you for taking the time to read. We'll see you around the Discord!

[hashal-nutcracker]

Consequences: Punishment

Character: Nutcracker Arthur

Brief description of events: after a difficult battle, received a signal from his master, Friedrig, Arthur, in fact, abandoned everything like his squad, her duty was to protect this family to which she became attached, the signal came from the forest where she had to fight her way against snowdrifts. Traces of blood that were dusted with snow, as well as traces of dragging, those who were dragged fought and tried to free themselves.

The blizzard did not provide a good overview and went where it was not supposed to, leaving deep furrows with traces, although sometimes falling into deeper snowdrifts they made you realize that you had less and less time left.

Breaking out of the snow, she broke through to the local cemetery among huge bare trees, horror and fear caught from the sight that she saw, the old father was sitting leaning on a tree trunk, his condition was… unfortunately no longer important, but what killed the last living thing in that one, this is a hanged 10-year-old boy who grew up almost together with the one she took care of, his full look of horror and fear. A sign on the neck said: “son of a rebel, petty degenerate,” and a woman with a ripped open belly hung nearby, whose blood flowed down the trunk

[justali-anne]

So I found this on TV Tropes.

(It's on Undertale's Funny page if you're wondering)

I love that it's framed like this because it just makes me think of the crew going through the craziest crap and Sans' reaction is just :D.

Undyne set the kitchen on fire? :D

The crew playing in the snow and accidentally causing a snowdrift? :D

A fight breaks out and spears and bones get stuck in the walls and ceiling? :D

Look at him, he's just happy to be here! Everyone's flabbergasted that Mettaton showed up out of nowhere and he's just smiling without a care in the world!

Let the little guy be happy, man!

I know Let Sans Rest Day is coming up, so let's take this into consideration now.

Side note, I think a trait of Sans' that goes overlooked is his dissonant serenity towards pretty much everything... well, almost everything. The reason why is up for debate, but honestly, I can just see the comedic value in it. It's just like Frisk with their constant -_- expression!

Sans and Frisk, the masters of absolute chill. The constant smiler + the constant straight face. They're the two friends who sit by the sidelines and eat popcorn while the fun-filled chaos happens around them. I mean, sheesh, I'd love to see this dynamic happen, actually. Sure, the two have a lot of complicated stuff going on behind the scenes, but it would be nice for the two to just sit back and enjoy the ride as well. Of course, the two can also bring their own chaos, but that just makes it greater!

Gosh darn it, I want happy Sans so bad. I'd love to see a happy little goober who sits back and embraces the chaos happening around him. A little guy who loves spending time with his friends. A little marshmarrow who likes to take his friends out to eat, prank them, then catch them off guard with a large bill, only to say "psyche" and pay for it himself (or put it on his tab). A tiny man who smiles at life, even if sometimes his smile seems fake or unnatural, he's still smiling anyway. I wanna see him laugh! Gosh darn it, why doesn't he laugh more? He deserves to laugh, someone please make him laugh, PLEASE!

Yeah, I'm kinda losing my mind, to be honest. (Small tangent, I was just looking at the above image again and I just realised how big his eyes are. Seriously, they're HUGE. What happens if a firefly flies into his eye sockets or something?) I have completely derailed from the original topic too. Welp, I'll just leave this here.

[winters-mistress]

Moonblood

Let it be known that Geralt and his brothers are, all in all, good men. Yeah, they can be dicks -like that time Eskel and Geralt had dressed up as Wyverns and leaped upon their brother while he slept, or that time Lambert had spiked a bottle of white gull with a certain medicinal herb that made the thief more than obvious- but they are good men. Stupid, granted -Geralt had thrown Lambert off a snowdrift when they were training, while Eskel had tried to balance the wall after drinking two entire tankards of brandy- but they are good men.

Geralt had tried to make it clear on the trip up to Kaer Morhen with his new ward. All in all, she seemed to believe him, until Lambert had started hissing at her, about the way the pretty little princess did her pretty little hair and wore her pretty little dress and stuck her pinky up when she drank water. Ciri had thrown a horse shoe at him, and all deemed to have been well after that. Lambert was less of a knob, Eskel tried his best to push past his pain of yet another blonde daughter of Kaer Morhen running around the hallways, Coen was thrilled to have another lover of the arts amongst the cranky wolves, and Vesemir slipped into the old master role with ease.

Things had been going well -albeit with Cirilla's still wild powers popping up at the most inconvenient of times- with his girl eager to learn anything they would teach her. Swordplay, hand to hand combat, star throwing, sword making and even the mundane things like hunting, skinning, cooking, harvesting and laundry she took to with eagerness. It had probably been those weeks of confusion and helplessness that spurned her onwards in all things they taught her, eager never to be how she had been ever again.

And it was because of her determination and her willingness to get down and scrap with the witchers, sampling the alcohol they had let her have and twirling a cheese knife when she was taught how, with her messily tied braid and dusty cheeks as Lambert taught her all the fun curse words Eist hadnt gotten around to yet as he went theiught he basics of bombs, that they almost forgot the most obvious thing of all.

Ciri was a girl.

And that was why it was so startling to Geralt when Lambert had started snipping at the girl because of her washed hair and face -was it about that? Geralt hadn't been paying attention, he was so shocked at her reaction that the context didn't seem important anymore- that ciri simply dropped her spoon into her bowl of porridge, and promptly burst into tears.

All of the witchers took a deep breath, rearing back as if the girl would suddenly leap out and strike. She didn't do that, simply sat there on the bench and cried into her hands.

Geralt reaches over to her, having stayed close when her scent had changed a couple days ago. He didn't know why, and with all the Kings and Mages hunting the girl, any changes was concerning. That and the sudden metallic scent of blood he had noted when the girl had walked into the room that morning, he was very unnerved by this reaction.

Not knowing what else to do, and with his mind spinning as he tried to come up with a reason of why his girl was acting so differently, the witcher reaches out and brings her into his arms. She goes willingly, clinging to him as she continues to cry.

"I-I-I- uh-" Lamb stutters, looking at his brother, eyes wide. He's befuddled, and obviously concerned that his brother will be the one to leap at him and pummel him.

Geralt cuddles his girl as best he can, shushing her, and taking in the scent once more. It's different than her usual honey and lemon and rose petals, more salty and bitter, as well as the metallic scent of blood.

Changes of scent, blood, crankiness- oh.

"Ah." The penny finally drops, running his hands over her back as she sniffles. "I get it now."

And it seems that his brothers and father attain the same knowledge at the same time. They relax and tense in the same moment, obviously unsure of what to say.

"Get what? I disnt-" Lmabert speaks fast.

"Can you not smell the blood?" Eskel huffs quietly, cuffing his brother. "She's a girl. They bleed."

"What? I-oh. Oh. Yeah, I get it. Fuck. I-fuck." Lambert rambles. "Umm, I'm very sorry, Ciri. Didn't mean to upset ya." He drawls awkwardly, fiddling with his blackened fingers.

She finally starts to compose herself, but doesn't seem willing to let go of Geralt just yet.

"Shit-uh-" Vesemir mutters. "Girl, if you don't feel up to training or lessons, you can have a few days away from it. Don't want to pressure you." He scratches the back of his neck awkwardly. "And, if you want to head back to bed, that's fine too. Or train as normal, whatever works for you."

Ciri sniffles, and stops crying, but doesn't let go of the white haired witcher, nor look at his kin.

"Uh, you want a tonic? For the pain? I'm sure we can find something that'll work to take the discomfort. Does it hurt, lovers have mentioned that it does." Vesemir starts to ramble.

Geralt, Eskel and Lambert grunt in disgust. Eskel groans in agony, while Lambert gags.

"Melitele's tits, old man. Last thing any of us want to picture is you sticking your dick in a woman."

Geralt gags at that, and Ciri manages a giggle.

Coën shares a grin with the old wolf, both of them knowing why he had added the last part.

"In all seriousness, you need anything, girl? We could rip up some of the old bedsheets for cloth, figure out what tonic would make ya feel better. Can look in some of the old textbooks for that tea recipe the matrons used to swear by." Coën says, looking at the girl as she finally pulls from Geralt a little. He slings an arm around her shoulders as she burrows in.

"Yes, thank you." She whispers, wiping her blotchy face.

"Come on-" Geralt pulls at her wrists as he stands. "let's get you laying down, that'll make you feel better? Can get a waterskin, fill that up with some hot water, does that help."

"It-it does." She nods, standing up. She looks at the other witchers. "Thanks, for being nice, I guess. I know it's not something you deal with usually."

"Nonsence, girl. Get restin', feelin' better. You're no use to us all teary and bloody." Lambert smirks, sincerely hoping the girl wouldn't cry again.

And by the way she huffs and flips him off, he's amused and jovial once again.

Now, where are those bedsheets?

[bitterkarella]

Midnight Pals: Penguins on Parade

Edgar Allan Poe: i feel like there's been way too much drama here lately Poe: too many cranks just venting obsessions and paranoias! Poe: can't we just hear a nice, simple, old-fashioned horror story? HP Lovecraft: i-i've got one Poe: ...son of a bitch

Poe: ok howard let's hear it August Derleth: wooo! yeah! Derleth: go off Howard, you got this! Lovecraft: y-yeah ok Derleth: a-grade storytelling, right here! modern master!

Lovecraft: a premise occurred to me one night while in the throes of fitful sleep Derleth: yes! yes! tossing and turning! sweat that plot out Lovecraft: about an ill-fated expedition to the Antarctic Derleth: cold as ice! chilly like my willy, baby Lovecraft: p-please stop

Poe: ah, the South Pole Poe: a promising location for a doomed voyage Poe: not to spoil anything but Poe: they all drown in the magnetic whirlpool, right? Lovecraft: Poe: that resides at the bottom of the world, right? Lovecraft: Poe: perhaps they're slaughtered by hostile peoples of the inner earth?

Lovecraft: n... Lovecraft: no, there's a continent there Poe: oh, a fantasy story? fun!

Lovecraft: even the beginning of this terrible journey is fraught with peril Lovecraft: for they must encounter that most loathsome of all birds Lovecraft: THE PENGUIN Clive Barker: Barker: ah ha ha Barker: oh man Barker: let's fucking go, curtain up

Dean Koontz: i like penguins :) Koontz: stephen let me watch happy feet Koontz: it was funny Koontz: except for the seal Stephen King: we had to fast-forward past the seal King: and the orcas King: pretty much the entire second half Koontz: i like when they dance

Lovecraft: b-but these are no ordinary penguins Lovecraft: the average penguin is black AND white Lovecraft: a hideous mixture in itself Lovecraft: yet these massive creatures are ALBINO

Lovecraft: so pale as to be mistaken for snowdrifts at a distance Lovecraft: you might say they are passing for white Poe: uhh Derleth: shhh, let him cook

Lovecraft: t-the group found a perplexing frozen specimen Lovecraft: i-it was only when they discovered the ruins later that they realized it was a being of great intelligence Lovecraft: for, you see Lovecraft: the thing had no skull to measure

Lovecraft: millions of years ago, the Old Ones flourished upon the continent Lovecraft: they built a society dedicated to pure scientific achievement Lovecraft: yet, in the cruelest irony Lovecraft: they were overwhelmed by sheer brute strength Barker: lol Barker: get owned nerds

Lovecraft: i-it was a most grand civilization Lovecraft: accomplished universities. safe to slither the streets at night Lovecraft: and then a certain kind of creature Lovecraft: i shall not say whom Lovecraft: took over Lovecraft: and the property values... they plummeted

Derleth: okay look i'm getting a little sick of all of you calling Howard a bigot Derleth: i keep telling you he's simply a man of his time Lovecraft: the shoggoths were faceless slaves of the deepest black hue Lovecraft: possessing a fiendish malevolence to compensate for their lack of a brain Derleth: Derleth: oh and i suppose you're just going to take THAT out of context

Lovecraft: most chilling of all the shoggoths' attributes was their infernal piping Lovecraft: it imitated the structure of the Old Ones' music Lovecraft: but it was as if they spoke rather than harmonized it Lovecraft: and inserted coarse references to anatomy

Lovecraft: there were indeed some horrors in this house Lovecraft: and they were wet and gushy Lovecraft: no bucket or mop would suffice

Lovecraft: they escaped with their lives, yet Danford was tormented by visions of the shoggoth unto madness Lovecraft: for knowledge of the unknown has a terrible price, and death and ignorance are our only mercies Lovecraft: the end Derleth: Barker: Poe: Koontz: King: King: so, Dean, I have this DVD of Norm of the North

John W. Campbell: say, that's a pretty good yarn, but couldn't more happen with the shapeshifting Campbell: what if the shoggoth was able to fully mimic its human prey Lovecraft: fully ASSIMILATED among men? Lovecraft: there is cosmic horror, sir, and then there is simply bad taste

Thanks to guest writer my pal Morbiose for help with this thread!

[falseroar]

Murder on the Warfstache Express

Part 5: Buddy System

((Abe attempts to reassure the other passengers that he has the situation under control before beginning his investigation, starting with the body.

Links to the previous chapter, Part 4: Putting on the Brakes and to Part 1 here if you'd like to start from the beginning.))

He’d been through similar situations before, more times than he ever cared to remember, but all of that experience told him just how important it was to take charge, and fast. Panic could spread faster than any measly rumor, and in a confined space, so far from any help or backup where escape wasn’t an option, for either the killer or potential future victims?

Yeah, that kind of scene never ended pretty.

Which is why Abe turned to face the other passengers pressing in behind him and raised both his badge and a lantern so they all could clearly see it.

And the dozen or so pictures that came tumbling out of the wallet with it, but no time to reopen those old wounds.

Instead, Abe said, ���Okay, listen up everyone: we’ve got a dead body here, and it looks like foul play. There’s no way anyone’s walking off this train in the middle of that storm out there, or at least they’re not getting very far, which means whoever did the deed is still here with us. And you better believe I’ll be finding the person responsible before this train starts moving again, and not just because it’s going to be a few hours before the engine can be dug out of the snowdrift it's currently lodged in.”

Despite his clear words and obvious determination, Abe noticed the others in the train car didn’t look as reassured by that announcement as he’d been hoping for, but he pressed on.

“Benjamin, I want everyone in the lounge car while I examine the body. You’ll all be safer sticking together until I can interrogate each and every one of you, which means buddy system: no one goes anywhere by themselves, got it?”

Benjamin hesitated and everyone else milled around, looking at each other as though hoping someone else would speak up.

Everyone except Dorene, who shrugged and said, “Well, I don’t know about the rest of you, but I don’t think I’m going to be able to sleep after this. Can I pick up a few things from my room, just to make the wait in the lounge a little more comfortable?”

“No,” Abe said, at the same instant Benjamin answered, “Of course, madam.”

The two men glared at each other, and Benjamin continued, “I would suggest everyone at least grab their blankets and something warm to wear—the boiler and thus heat may still be working, but the more comfortable everyone is in the lounge, the easier their stay will be.”

“Meaning the less excuse they’ll have to start complaining later,” Abe mused, once again realizing that should have stayed an internal thought, but now that Benjamin had said it everyone was ducking back into their rooms.

Even Benjamin was starting to head toward one of the compartments, but Abe caught his arm and lowered his voice so no one could overhear when he said, “That master key for the passenger compartments, give it to me.”

“What?” Benjamin really could pull off the affronted look whenever he felt like it, couldn’t he?

“I want to make sure no one else can access Happy’s room,” Abe said, the lie plausible enough that Benjamin, with only the slightest hesitation that seemed to accompany everything he did when the detective suggested it, handed over the key. “Thanks.”

Abe let go and pocketed the key while Benjamin ducked into his compartment. In just a few moments he was back and shepherding the other passengers toward the lounge car, Abe watching the procession until they were safely on the other side of the car doors.

Leaving him alone, with the body.

Over the years, Abe had become intimately familiar with a wide variety of bodies, almost all of them dead. Not something he was particularly proud of, but in moments like this it meant he had the experience to know what he was looking at as he examined the agent’s body to find the cause of death.

It also meant that when he sat back a few minutes later with the feeling that something was off, he knew what he was talking about.

“This doesn’t make any sense,” Abe muttered.

“Oh really? Do tell!”

Abe staggered to his feet and away from Wilford, who was peering over his shoulder at the body with benign interest.

“Don’t do that!” Abe yelled.

“Really, it’s on you for not expecting it at this point,” Wilford said, echoing Abe’s own thought. “How many times is this now? Because I really don’t remember, and I’m not entirely sure where we are in the story at the moment.”

Abe tried to ignore the heart hammering away in his chest and asked, “What are you doing in here? Didn’t you hear what I said earlier, you should be in the lounge car with the other passengers.”

“Au contraire, I did hear what you said!” Wilford planted one hand on his hip and used the other to shake a finger at Abe. “Buddy system, and I don’t see you with any buddy. Unless we’re counting this fellow sleeping on the floor?”

“Wh—he’s not sleeping, he’s dead!”

“Really? Could have fooled me.”

Abe couldn’t—no, he could absolutely believe Wilford would joke at a moment like this, but he still pointed out, “I don’t see how he could be anything but dead after what someone did to him. Poor sap’s been shot, poisoned, stabbed, and bludgeoned to death.”

“In that order?” Wilford asked.

Abe shook his head and admitted, “I don’t know. I think the injuries must have all happened fairly close to each other, but the body’s not…it hasn’t had time to start showing signs of decomposition. Which makes sense, since he was alive when Benjamin and I walked up front to talk to the engineer.”

“Oh, you got to talk to the engineer? Did he let you do the train whistle thing?”

“Did you hear the train whistle?” Abe asked and Wilford shrugged. Abe turned away and paced the floor, or at least that bit of it not occupied by the body or covered in blood. “Everyone else was in their rooms when we walked down the hall, which means they were all close enough to get in this room while Benjamin and I were gone.”

He rubbed his temples with his fingers and continued, “Then we came back and I went into my compartment, which means Benjamin had the time alone to do it too—except no, that doesn’t work, we all would have heard the gunshots if it happened after the train stopped.”

Abe’s chest ached and he remembered the nightmare he’d been having before the train slammed on its brakes, the familiar faces disappearing under his touch with each gunshot. Had the sound just been in his nightmare, or was the nightmare caused by the sound in real life?

Abe turned back on Wilford and said, “You. Did you bring your gun on board the train?”

“You mean this?” Wilford asked, casually drawing out the gun, that same damn gun.

“Put that down!”

“Well do you want to see it or not?” Wilford asked, the barrel of the gun waving back and forth as he held it loosely like it was just some toy until Abe took it from him. “Hey now, be careful with that. It’s an antique, probably.”

“I’ll tell you what it is, it’s—” Abe stopped, the tip of the gun inches from Wilford’s nose, and looked at the weapon in disbelief as the wrongness of the weight and feel of it finally registered.

He examined the gun and then, pointing it toward the window just in case he was wrong, pulled the trigger. The gun made a popping noise and a little flag popped out of the tip that said, in colorful cartoon letters, “Bang!”

“…It’s a toy?”

Abe stared at the gun, the same gun the Colonel shot him with back at that nightmare of a house before turning it on his partner, one of the very real bullets it shot still lodged somewhere in his heart.

“This…this doesn’t make any sense,” Abe said weakly, unresisting as Wilford took the gun and pushed the flag back in before tucking it into his waistband.

“And your point is?” Wilford asked, prodding him along like a teacher directing a student to keep moving toward the answer.

“…You didn’t do this?” Abe asked, before reason caught up with him. “Or at least you didn’t shoot him with that gun, but it doesn’t mean I’m ruling you out as a suspect. Tell me what you did after leaving my compartment earlier.”

“Mm…Hard to say. Really I just kind of do my own thing until the plot gets interesting again. Which would probably be when I saw this guy head up toward the luggage car, looking all sneaky-like. That’s when the shootout happened, but it barely lasted any time at all before the train stopped and everyone was yelling about the lights going out or something.”

“Wait,” Abe said, but he didn’t even know where to start breaking all of that down. “You saw Happy heading toward the luggage car?”

“Well he didn’t look very happy at the time, but yeah. Probably. I don’t know, he looks different without his fancy hat on his head, and for a moment I thought it might have been you. He really stole your old look, didn’t he? The hat, the long coat and suit and whatnot, but then he had to go and ruin the vibes with that silly ‘pew pew’ gun of his.”

Happy’s gun!

Abe pulled back the dead man’s coat to reveal the holster at his side and pulled out the single strangest gun the detective had ever seen.

While Wilford’s gun looked real and turned out to be a toy, the agent’s gun wouldn’t have looked out of place on a shelf in a toy store except that the grip was sized for an adult.

It had the general shape of a gun, or at least the important bits—trigger, barrel, the end you didn’t want to be on the wrong side of—but there was no sign of a cylinder to load the bullets or a magazine of any sort, and what Abe at first assumed to be the safety had three settings instead of just “on” or “off.” There were symbols by each of the settings, that in theory seemed straightforward enough: skull and crossbones, a crossed-out circle, and the setting in between that the gun was currently set at, which was marked with a set of jagged lines like lightning bolts.

Abe hesitated and then put the gun in the pocket of his jacket for now, figuring he could test it out later and see if it was a working weapon or not.

But then why would the agent have a fake gun on him?

Following that thought, Abe rifled through the agent’s pockets but all he turned up was a ticket to ride the train, the badge Happy had flashed earlier, and a folded piece of paper.

Abe flipped open the badge and paused. “Huh. Hey you, can you read this?”

He didn’t expect much, and in that way Wilford didn’t disappoint when he casually glanced at the strange writing on the badge next to the photo of Happy and said, “Nope! Can you?”

“It doesn’t look like any language I’ve ever seen, but more than that, I don’t know these insignias,” Abe said, straightening up as he spoke. “I’ve seen badges for FBI, CIA, MI6, STARS, BSAA, you name it, I’ve seen it. So what group was Happy working for?”

“You never asked?”

Abe scowled, mostly because he knew Wilford had a point. “I had more important things to worry about at the time, like finding you.”

“Aww, you think I’m important?”

Abe didn’t dignify that with a response, and instead turned his attention to the folded sheet of paper. Opening it, he found a letter written in the same strange letters as Happy’s ID, the official-looking letterhead at the top of the page identical to that of the badge.

So some kind of communication from the agency he worked for. Abe had a feeling that Happy’s whole reason for being on this train and the motive for someone else to kill him was right here in his hand, if he could only read a single word of it.

“Did you see anyone else going to the luggage car before or after Happy?” Abe asked.

“Can’t say I did,” Wilford answered, and Abe wondered why he even bothered asking when the man had a way of answering any question like he was just waiting for the other person to get the joke. “Hold on, where are you going now?”

Abe paused at the door, stuffing both badge and letter in yet another pocket. As much as he hated the idea of Wilford tagging along, he could hardly leave him alone with the body.

“Out of the room, now,” Abe said, turning back to find the compartment empty (minus Happy, of course). He spun around and glared at Wilford, who was tapping his foot impatiently in the center of the hallway and continued to do so while the detective locked Happy’s compartment behind him. “What are the chances of you going to the lounge car if I asked you to?”

Wilford clicked his tongue and shook his head. “Buddy system, remember? And we’re buddies, right?”

Abe ground his teeth together and closed the distance between them so Wilford could hear him clearly as he said, “We are not ‘buddies,’ we are not ‘friends’ or ‘pals’ or anything! You’re coming with me, and that’s only because I still think you’re the reason that man back there is dead!”

Wilford shrugged and asked, “Okay, so where are we going now?”

“If you saw Happy going into the luggage car, I’ll need to check that out, and question the engineer or conductor or whatever he’s supposed to be on what he saw and heard again. Not to mention interrogate all of the other passengers and crew. But before that…”

Abe held up the master key Benjamin gave him and said, “We’re going to have a look around these other rooms.”

((End of Part 5. Thanks for reading! Sorry this one is a bit shorter, but later chapters will make up for it.

Link to Part 6: Room by Room.

Tag list: @silver-owl413 @asteriuszenith @withjust-a-bite @blackaquokat @catgirlwarrior @neverisadork @luna1350 @oh-so-creepy @95fangirl @a-bit-dapper @randomartdudette @cactipresident @hotcocoachia @purple-star-eyes @shyinspiredartist @avispate @autumnrambles @authorracheljoy @liafoxyfox @hidinginmybochard))

[thatoneteadrinker666]

Okay since like everyone I know has a master list I will be making one too for ease of access for like everyone stumbling across this blog. It’s always gonna be a wip cuz I’m pretty sure I’m missing some stuff

Note: there are aus with soft vore, fatal vore, and bunch of other things. This blog is sfw tho! Just yeah uhhh enjoy lmfao

thatoneteadrinker666’s Masterlist

Extermination Au:

First Idea

Chicken or Pork?

Finding a Colony

Career Day

The Lucky One

Tiny Escape (a drabble)

Food Aggression Snippet

Sudden Willingness

A Hat Unfit to Wear

Tags related to the au: #extermination au, #ask, #Bothersome Borrowers, #tw vore

Keeper Au:

No official posts yet aisjjsskj this has gotta be updated

Tags related: #keeper au, #ask, #tw vore

Reader inserts:

Too Sweet?

Lacking Logic

The Local Drunk

Bird Brain

Prison Food

Prison Food (crunch special)

Potato Fields in the Sun

Hanger is Best Avoided

Card Games Not Pog

BBH Noms

Snacky Snack

Dream Noms

Tags related: #reader insert, #tw vore

Other various works:

Vacation Gone Bad (Good?)-Summer exchange gift

Snowdrift Surprise-Secret Santa gift

His Family-not vore, just a request

[inspiredwriter]

Stefany :Leo ¿quieres patinar conmigo? 🥰😄⛸️❄️💕💖💝Patinaje en el hielo juntos es muy romántico para las parejas tomando de las manos y besarnos 😍☺️🤝❣️💞💘

***

Anastasia : Mikey Mira este movimiento Ven a patinar conmigo porque eres muy bueno en patinaje sobre el hielo 🥰😘⛸️❄️💗💝💖

***

April : Donnie por favor ve a patinar conmigo y me abraces Es que no quiero caer en el hielo🤗🥺⛸️❄️💞💖❣️

***

Candy : Raph patinar en el hielo es hermoso por favor quiero que me levantes por los cielos con tu gran fuerza😘😍💪⛸️❄️💞💝💖💘

Leonardo: Okay, darling, let's dance to the sounds of music on a winter evening😏🥰⛸️🌉🌨 💗💞*Rides up to Stefany and takes her hands* My love, try to spin in place, it will be very beautiful😘⛸️💖💝💕

Stefany: Ah, Lee, I'm a little afraid I might slip...😰😖⛸️💥

Leonardo: Don't be afraid, my kitty, because I'm next to you and can catch you at the right moment😌🤗💝💓💕

Stefany: Well, okay!😣😄💗❣️💞 *Spins in place* Haha, Leo, look I did it!😄⛸️❄💓💕 It's so cool😃🥰⛸️✨

Leonardo: Yeah, well done Stefany, I will reward you for your bravery😄😏💖💓💞 *Kisses Stefany on the lips and cheeks* Mmmmua~😚💘💖💗 mua~💓💝💞 muah~💕

Stefany: Haha, Lee, you're so cute, I adore you😄🤭💖💗💝💘

***

Michelangelo: As you wish, my princess, let's go ice skating😘🥰⛸️❄ (Thoughts💭) Oh my shell, when she spins in place, I see her panties under her skirt!😛😍👗💖💘💝💕 My princess of Christmas is really beautiful🥰💗💓💞 *Jumps up to Anastasia and bows* See, I'm a master at this~😁😏⛸️✨

Anastasia: Haha, Mikey, you are absolutely awesome at this, but please be careful, otherwise you will fall through the ice🤭😱🌊❄

Michelangelo: Don't worry, my sweetie cake, I swear that everything will be fine with us, but for now let's spin a little more🥰😘🌪💝💗💖💞 *Takes Anastasia's hand and helps her spin in place* Yeah, spin it, doll!😄😍💃🌪💗💘💓💕

***

Donatello: Ah, I would love to skate on the ice with you, my love😍🥰⛸️❄💗💖💝💕 *Rides up to April and hugs her around the waist* You are so beautiful doing this that I want to constantly admire you~😏⛸️💘💓💞 *Kisses April on the lips* Mmmmuah~😚💓💝💗💞

April: Haha, thanks honey, but really I'm just an amateur🤭😘💗💝💕 And I thought it would be very romantic to go ice skating together🥰💖💘💞

Donatello: You're right, April, only one thing is missing🥰🤔📱🎶 *Turns on romantic music on the phone and puts the phone in his pocket* Now there is a romantic atmosphere here😁😍💓💗💖💕

***

Raphael: *Rides up to Candy, holding onto the railing* Ooh, Candy, are you sure this is a good idea?😰😬⛸️❄

Candy: Absolutely, sugar daddy, come on, pick me up😄😍💖💘💝💓

Raphael: *Swallows nervously* Okay, my caramel, I'm coming to you...😖😅 *Drives up to Candy* (Thoughts💭) Oh, I'm actually not very good at this...😰 I might slip and fall...😨 Stop it, Raph, get yourself together and just do it!😤😠 *Takes Candy in his arms* Get ready, babe, I'll try to lift you🤗😘💗💖💕 *Lifts Candy* Haha, yes, it worked!😃⛸️❄💘💗❣️💞

Candy: *Spreads arms out to sides* Woohoo!😯😄💓💖💕 Go, Raphi, go😆😃💘💗💕

Raphael and Candy: *Accidentally slips and falls into a snowdrift* Ow!!...😖😣 Hahahaha!😆😄

@swagtreecrown

[crispyjenkins]

I do love Jango having a lower midi-chlorian count than the average rock, but how about this- Jango is found by the Jedi, Obi Wan taken in by Jaster. They meet on Galidraan. Jango isn't meant to be there, he has a vision or sees the mission info and has a feeling. Either way, the force has apparently decided its his job to save a random mandalorian (the random mandalorian, who can't be any older than him, turns out to be the mand'alor. There goes hoping he can keep this quiet from the council)

(well howdy do would you look at that, jango's got the force visions now

there was not supposed to be so much Yearning on jango's part, but well. what am i if not a writer of jangobi longing

also sorry if the Force bits are a little hard to read: i want them to be all mooshed together to like. convey how rushed and confusing they are. but also i have dyslexia. so i’m trying out this way)

  The captain of the Mandalorians they had been sent to deal with is... even younger than Jango is.

  He freezes after managing to knock said human’s helmet clean off, watching their head jerk with the blow, watching their flushed, freckled face flinch in momentary pain before twisting into a snarl with blood in their teeth.

nothimnothimdonotharmhimdonotharmhim

 Jango stares breathlessly at the scowling man before him and barely manages to dodge the ferocious swing of a Mandalorian sword right at his face. He stumbles back a few steps, wildly bringing up his blue lightsaber to deflect the next blow, and it’s only with the realisation that his opponent must have a sword made of beskar that Jango realises the importance of the Mandalorian coming at him with cold rage saturating the Force between them.

lostlostheislosthelphelphimhemust comebackdonotharmhimdonotharmhim

  Jango leaps backwards to put some distance between them and nearly careens right into a snowdrift, stumbling on landing and leaving his defense wide open; Master Tahl is absolutely going to have his ass on drills for months if he even manages to survive thi—

  Except the Mandalorian doesn’t take advantage of Jango’s opening, instead stilling right where Jango had left him.

  The battle continues on the other side of the ravine, Jango unsure when he had gotten so far away from his fellow Jedi, and the cold air only amplifies the echoing blasterfire and ’saber strikes and screaming. This is hardly the first skirmish Jango has been a part of, but for some reason, it feels infinitely more important than any other battle he’s been in before.

  Looking up at the teenager that can only be the kriffing, Force-damned Mand’alor, maybe it isn’t so mysterious a reason.

  And the Mand’alor stares right back at him, heaving breaths painting the air before their parted lips in clouds, lips that Jango had bruised and split with the blow landed to their head. Lips that are no longer snarling, the Mand’alor instead furrowing their brow at Jango in confusion, with their sword angled in front of themself in defense.

  Fuck fuck fuck fuck, knocking their helmet off was a fucking mistake, because now Jango has to watch blood drip from their nose over a perfect cupid’s bow, down a chin with an endearing scattering of moles, and has to meet eyes so brown they’re almost black even in the harsh sunlight reflecting off the snow.

yesyesyesyesyeshemustlive

  Their hair is a perfect copper-red, Jango notes a tad hysterically, cut short to not be a bother inside the helmet, but with two braids framing their face in front of either ear, not... not unlike a padawan braid, actually. A simple, black metal circlet rests on their forehead with the majority disappearing into their hair, a single red gem in the center matching the Mand’alor’s black and red armour perfectly.

  A slightly-crooked nose implies a break that had not healed properly, and they have a smattering of small scars on their right cheek, a couple clipping through their eyebrow, that could have only been caused by shrapnel. The tatters of a red rapier cape hang from one shoulder, having seen much better days with a large stain taking up what little of it Jango can see. A blood stain.

hisnothishisbuirhelosthisbuirheis tooyoungaking

  To the Jedi’s knowledge, the Mand’alor was a middle-aged human man, so his death must have been recent because the Temple certainly hasn’t heard about a shift in leadership until now. Amd the last Mand’alor must have been this one’s family, Jango realises, for why else would he have taken up the mantle so young?

  Jango himself is not yet twenty, and the teen before him is obviously several years younger still. He can’t even imagine what that sort of responsibility is like: he’s not due for the knight trials for at least another five years, if not more, which says nothing of the decades until mastership, and even more to qualify for Head of the Order. How can someone even younger than him lead and care for an entire people? 

  Actually, that thought makes Jango suddenly question this whole mess of a mission. Why would an incredibly new ruler suddenly attack protestors on a planet far out of their borders? If it was a contract, why would they have taken it at all? He suddenly questions how easy it would have been to manipulate a teenager into a vulnerable position, especially if said manipulators wished them harm.

  And isn’t that the saying? All are enemies of Mandalorians (especially other Mandalorians.) Who doesn’t wish them harm these days?

  A shift of boots over snow wrenches Jango back to the very present problem of facing down the actual Mand’alor of the actual Supercommandos of the actual Mandalorians. Don’t the Supercommandos have a creed of as little violence as possible? 

  His distraction costs him this time, the Mand’alor shifting their grip on their sword before snarling that perfect face again and launching themself at Jango. He barely gets his ’saber up in time, but is still slammed onto his back into the snow, knocking the breath from his chest and leaving him panting.

  Panting as the Mand’alor straddles his chest and bears all their weight down on their connected blades. Instead of afraid, or panicked, or even offended, Jango feels nothing but awe as he as he’s forced to stare at the teen above him, entranced by brown eyes that turn the inky purple of Wild Space in the blue sparking light of beskar against kyber, as this Wild Mandalorian tries to take his head 0ff. And Jango is no poet (despite Master Tahl’s continuous effort), but if he could simply name the colours that ripple over their face in infinitely more shades than blue, Jango thinks he would make a very fine poet indeed.

  Now if the Force would just allow him the time to start counting them.

yesyesyesyesyES

savehim.

[veliara]

Junelezen2024 Day 30 - Free Choice

Author's note: this scene takes place at the end of HeavensWard expansion. Its just an outline of the end of part three. (I haven't finished the second part yet O_O). Changes are still possible.

The blizzard was so strong that Ciel couldn't see anything further than her own nose. She looked sceptically at the ruined fortress as she dismounted from Sleipnir. The huge fort, destroyed years ago by the calamity, sat on a high hill. The aether trembled and Odin's voice rang out nearby. "Command me, my lady" "I need that memory stone you mentioned. Lead me to it." Ciel ordered. "I see you've made a final decision. As you command," the knight replied, bowing. "Please follow me." "Indeed, I made" she muttered.

Following Odin, Ciel tried to take a closer look of the ruins. The whole courtyard was covered with huge snowdrifts. The sounds of battle could be heard here and there, but she paid no attention to them. Ciel doubted that there could be anyone stronger than Odin in this frozen wastelands. They walked through the complicated corridors of the fortress for a long time, until Odin stopped in front of one of the halls. "I sense the stone is in this room. But I are you sure master? Is it worth it?"

"It is my friend, it is. It's my own choice." she smiled "My shadow isn't happy either. It grumbles, but stubbornly wraps my mind and soul in protective magic. So maybe all will go well." Aether vibrated around his ghostly blade. After a few sudden movements that Ciel didn't even notice, Odin stepped back, clearing a path for her. From the blows, the huge stones, were cut like soft butter. Between the shattered stones, a small chest was visible. "Then I wish you luck my lady." "Thank you, my friend" She slowly walked over and picked it up. The lock clicked open on its own. There was a pinkish stone in her palm, engraved with a unknown constellation.

Examining the crystal, she clutched it in her hands. Nothing happened for a while. Suddenly, a sharp pain pierced her mind. Images flew before her eyes, names, lines of books and landscapes. And then, like a tsunami, she was overwhelmed by emotions. Feelings of love, betrayal, hatred, and bitterness threatened to knock her off her feet. They were her emotions from her past lives. Clenching her jaw, she struggled not to scream. It was over as suddenly as it had begun. Gone were the images, the waves of emotions, only exhaustion and emptiness remained. In truth, there was only emptiness left in her soul as well. After the whole experience, there was no room for any emotion in her soul. Only emptiness. "My lady?" The knight asked with concern.

"I'm fine." she sighed. "Come on, we have to go back. I have a bone to pick with the Thordan and Lahabrea."

Thank you all for this wonderful month! For your attention and interest.Good luck and all the best to everyone!

TBC

[yumedreamfics]

The Thief and Then Monk chapter 13 (sneak peak)

You walked through the garden, the faint sunlight tinting the snow that covered most of the plant and trees. You could also spot some green in the snowdrifts, signaling that Spring was almost there. You stopped in the middle of the small bridge that crossed the pond, and you looked down at the water, where fishes were swimming under the thin sheet of ice.

‘’You’re lucky huh, only swimming and finding food, and you don’t really need to think about anything else’’. You sighed, watching them swim in circles, losing yourself again in your thoughts.

Maybe you were the one who was overthinking it too much, maybe it was you who misunderstood Ramattra’s attention and gestures. You never had a proper relationship, heck, before the monastery you didn’t even have proper friends! It was all so new to you, and you didn’t even have someone to talk about these things. You surely couldn’t ask these things to your master, or Zenyatta. A direct confrontation with Ramattra was definitely out of question. You had to figure out these things by yourself, like you always did.

But if all of this is something I have made up, then why did he kiss me? Why did he accept all the closeness and physical touch? I’m not imagining things, am I?

You grunted, scratching your head with both your hands.