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smolvenger · 1 year ago

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Twenty-Seven Wounds (Coriolanus x fem! Reader)

Summary: In ancient times, in a place that calls itself Rome, you find yourself married to the general Caius Martius or Coriolanus. He has fought so many battles he has twenty-seven scars on his body. Scars that he has not shown you yet...

Word Count: 3K

Warnings: Mentions of sex but no actual smut, discussions of war, violence. Drunkenness and brief harassment but the asshole is put in his place. Grumpy and Sunshine trope. I do my best to write Caius accurately. But at the end of the day, it's MY indulgent fic and here he's a big tough warmonger who becomes a simp that kisses the ground his cinnamon roll wife walks on. References to the play and to ancient Roman customs and words. A fake kidnapping.

Word Count: 3K

Taglist: @evelyn-kingsley @jennyggggrrr @five-miles-over @fictive-sl0th @ladycamillewrites @villainousshakespeare @holdmytesseract @eleniblue @twhxhck @lokisgoodgirl @lovelysizzlingbluebird @raqnarokr @holymultiplefandomsbatman @michelleleewise @wolfsmom1 @cheekyscamp @mochie85 @muddyorbsblr

A03//My Ko-Fi//My Etsy Shop//Masterlist//Wattpad

“General Martius has asked me for your hand in marriage and I consented,” your father announced.

Your vision went dizzy. You had to sit down. You knew many things about General Caius Martius, otherwise known as Coriolanus since his great victory in the land of Corioles.

As you sat back down to process the news, you recounted every instance of interaction. You met him in the chariot races. Menenius introduced you to each other- the senator's bald head shining like a crown and his chest as puffed as a peacock's.

"This is the great General Martius! And General- this is the lady Y/N-isn't she one of our city's great beauties, hm?"

"Sir! Uh-I-thank you!" you replied, very flustered and surprised he would say that.

General Martius made no reply. Only a polite greeting.

You talked with him at dinners. The odd banquet or party. Saw him in the audience of the Gladiator fights, plays, or chariot races.

But Caius was no run-of-the-mill man. He was a renowned general in the army and known as the fiercest warrior Rome could wish for. Notoriously ferocious on a battlefield. A man who breathed war. He was also notorious for his arrogance and stubbornness and sometimes his anger. You knew he was sensitive to smells- his nose would often crinkle as he walked by the streets. You knew his mother, Volumina. You knew he enjoyed the Gladiator fights. Though you sometimes turned away when it got too gruesome. If it was too much, he would escort you out. When you came to chariot races, he would be there.

He was still an incredibly attractive man- dark reddish-blonde hair. Beautiful blue eyes. Tall, broad, and striking. When the betrothal was confirmed, he visited where you stayed. Your father joined your hands together. He held them with a delicacy. He then brought them up and kissed them.

“Y/N…I promise you-I will be an honorable husband. You will be protected. You will want for nothing. And they will revere you as they do for me.”

He brought you a little closer so that your hands became entwined. You were not scared of marrying him. No- what scared you was that you were not scared. What scared you was how badly you wanted to marry him. You should have been frustrated that your father agreed to the match without consulting you. All fathers had complete and total say over their children’s marriages…but you were not angry in the least.

“You will be…gentle to me, Caius?” you asked quietly.

“Yes. Yes, I will,” he replied. He placed another hand over yours.

“Ah! What a pretty picture! Come- let us make an offering to the household gods! Let us pray for a blessing for our Y/N and her warrior groom!” your father announced, rubbing his hands together.

Your wedding happened not too long after. It seemed your family was in a rush to have a connection to the wealthy and famous general.

After the ceremony at the temple of Hera, all of you sat down at your house to a feast. Caius- no, no longer “General Martius” or “General Coriolanus” but just Caius!- sat down next to you. He leaned back and kept an arm around you, his hand rubbing against the side of your arm.

One guest with more wine in his body than decency spittled something that made your stomach curl in offense. He staggered before your seat and pointed a finger at you.

“Ah! Where can I get a twin of this pretty nymph like Martius’s? Hm? Her breasts will look even better without her wedding gown over them!”

Before you could say a word, Caius lept to his feet. He ran before the drunkard and yanked him by the collar to his face.

“You will speak with respect to the wife of a general or you will remain quiet!” he barked at the rude guest.

The room went quiet. You knew if the impulse struck him, Caius would get out his sword and have the bastard sliced in half. The man began to tremble and utter apologies as a friend of his took him away.

“Everyone…let’s have some music now! Before we close the feast-I think it would soothe everyone!” you announced.

Glancing at the musicians frozen with their lyres, they began to play again. You returned to your seat as did your new husband.

“Would you have be different than I am, Y/N?” he whispered to you.

“You were only protecting me…how could I be angry at you or want you different?” you asked.

You gave him a peck on the cheek. He blinked rapidly. You saw him turn bright red and his frown melted into a tiny smile.

Right as the feast started to wind down, your heart began to drum in your chest. There was the staged kidnapping- for all of Rome knew that the best bride was a maiden who was unwillingly taken from home. So every consenting bride had to pretend as a ceremony for the end of the celebrations. Put on a show good enough to fool the gods for luck.

Getting up from the table, Caius went to the other end of the room to exit through the door. Your mother put her arms around you. He then stormed in on cue like in a Euripedian tragedy.

“This house has something I want! Give me Y/N or I will kill every being who keeps me from her!” he announced in pretense.

You could feel yourself trying not to laugh. Your own mother was trying a forced frown.

“Please- mother- don’t let the General take me!” you wailed dutifully.

He went up with his sword out so others stepped back. Then he sheathed it and looked at you, licking his lips.

“I am here! I claim this woman- she is mine now- for my house and my bed!” he declared.

He took you easily from your mother’s arms and then slung you over his shoulders. You let out a brief squeal- trying to make your laughter sound like tears.

“Mother! Mother! Help!” you cried out in pretend. Glad no one could see your smile as he carried you out. And especially glad you could still ogle his pert behind from where you were dangling for the rest of the “kidnapping.”

He carried you down the streets over his shoulder. Then when you arrived at his place, he transferred you so that he carried you with an arm over your back and the other supporting your legs. For it was bad luck for a young bride to trip. And he kept you in his arms as he ignored his mother and the slaves greeting him and took you straight to his bedroom without a word. Everyone gave each other a look and then went on with their business.

Caius’s restraint left him as soon as he entered that room. He set you on your feet and then grabbed you. He kissed you so much you could already feel his tongue inside.

“Gods, you are mine now…” he whispered.

He held you so close. You could feel his heat, his desperation, his need to have you. He kept a hand on your back and kept you close. You were getting wet with each touch of his.

He went down to the belt that held your dress. It was tied in a special knot for today- The knot of chastity. And symbolically, one only your husband was allowed to undo. Your heart raced as he began to touch it, a thumb going over the long threads.

“Caius…I want you…yes-it’s our wedding night, please…” you heard yourself voice.

He pulled and fought at the knot almost so much, that he swore that it wasn’t coming off fast enough. That he would need a knife. Then he used his thumb to edge it out so it would loosen. With several swift tugs and a grunt of his, he yanked the knot undone and the cloth belt came off. He eagerly found the edges of your clothes.

“Yes…my wife…”

You wrapped your arms around him and kissed him again. He then removed the lower parts of his clothes.

There were slaves playing music in the other room. He preferred some quiet music in the evenings. And tonight was no exception. They were to keep playing. To hear him take his wife- no, you. To hear Your cries of pleasure among the soft strings. They were playing when he led you to his lectus and your marriage was passionately consummated.

You adjusted to married life surprisingly well. And in private, Caius was not the fearsome dragon some heralded him to be. Yes- he was arrogant and stubborn at his worst. But he could be…persuaded, you discovered.

“And the peasants were crying that they wanted more grain! Grain from our storages!” he reported to you one day over dinner.

“Well…couldn’t we spare just a little bit, dear husband?” you asked.

A Slave brought you a bowl of dates and then left to refill your wine glasses.

“For the rabble? No-let them hang!” he dismissed.

He tore a bite of meat from its leg and chewed on it like a bear with prey. But you kept your eyes soft and gave him a smile.

“They’re only hungry. Even I become cross when I am hungry! And we have so much food here. Really, it’s more than I can eat! And there are always so many leftovers…surely….just a little grain could be spared, Caius? It would warm my heart to see so many hungry people be fed…they do not complain without reason…perhaps then they won’t complain about you anymore. Just a little bit of grain, Caius? Please?”

You saw his shoulders start to sag. With a deep sigh, he gestured to one of his slaves

“Tell them that five percent of the grain stored will be gathered and distributed to the protesters,” he said.

You smiled as you looked down.

He was content to sit quietly beside you in some evenings. You could weave your loom and the man who craved battles would merely go over parchments beside you. His desire was like that of an animal though. It only took a look or a smile from you before he was on you, kissing you, and pulling at your clothes to have them come off. The nights when you both did not make love, he still wanted to touch you. He would pull you onto him to rest your head against his chest. You would permit him to rub your back with his hand and wrap his arms protectively around you. As if not even Zeus himself could get past Caius Martius to the treasure that lay in his arms. He often would touch you gently. Even as you walked past him, he would softly just touch a cloth of your skirt, feeling the fabric slip through his fingers longingly as you had to leave.

There was one dinner where your mother, Volumina, decided to put you to the test. You knew it. As you sat down on the floor enjoying your food, she turned to you and declared something most people would find offensive.

“Ah! I hope in the next battle that my son will receive another scar! Don’t you, Y/N?”

On one hand, you did not want your husband to suffer. But this was Volumina. Her whole life’s purpose was to create a soldier of her boy. To serve the wars in her own way through what she could do behind the scenes. To see him either victorious or dead was her life’s work. Glory in battle meant glory for her and the Martius family.

Carefully, you added a reply with a dutiful nod of your head.

“Yes- should the scars not be fatal, I see them as badges of honor. And if they were-I am proud to have a husband willing to give his life for the safety of Rome’s people. And if I must sacrifice him for all our sakes, I will make it,” you replied.

“Ah! What a sweet woman you have for your wife, Caius!” Volumina praised, her stained lips curved into a smile.

There, the middle ground. It wasn’t that bad. But as she slid aside her plate, her talk turned. She looked at you, dressed in her dark clothes with her dark hair done up. Her smile was still big on her creamy face.

“Did you know, Y/N, that my son bears a total of twenty-seven scars from battle!?” she asked.

“No-he never told me it was that many,” you said with a quick glance at him.

“Yes! And may Ares bring him twenty-seven more!” Volumina said.

But you had never seen such scars.

After a few months, you realized something- you had never seen him bare. That was odd. Most women would tell you of how the first time they saw Octavius Cato’s or so-and-so’s willy they burst into laughter. But even the hundreds of times you made love, Caius kept his shirt on. He preferred to bathe alone, never going into the bathhouses. The times he did bathe, sometimes you heard him groan in pain outside the room. As if the scars were still fresh. He always went behind a screen to dress. In bed, he only wore a toge that had short sleeves. You saw a cut over his shoulder peep out. It looked almost like the crack of an earthquake on the soil. But whenever you tried to nudge it in bed, he would move your hand away, asking you to stop.

You were still unequal. He had kissed every inch of your bare skin. But you had not even seen it. As frightening as that scratch looked, you had to see more.

That is, until one night. It was uncomfortably warm. You sweated on your shared lectus, tossing and turning in discomfort. You turned over to see Caius was still awake. He then rolled over of you confirming to the other that you were not asleep. You slept in your underclothes and he still had that toge. And he was sweating.

“I think you should undress,” you said.

He turned around, though you could smell his sweat dripping down.

“It’d be better if I didn’t,” he huffed.

You touched his shoulder, turning him to face you.

“Caius…why do you show no one your scars?” you asked.

He swallowed.

“They’re….they’re only when Rome needs to see them. When they lose sight. When they lose respect.” he said. r.

“Am I not part of Rome, too?” you asked.

He paused.

“Yes…yes you are…” he answered.

“You’ve never…bared yourself to me like I have to you,” you commented.

“They’re gruesome. It would…it would have scared you, I thought. You wouldn’t want to sleep beside them…too gruesome…”

He sat up.

“I’ll sleep somewhere else tonight-you don’t want to look at them,” he announced.

But you stopped his hand and kept him still.

“Caius…may I see them, please?” you asked.

You gingerly touched his chest, right over the toga he wore to bed. You only saw the scratches around his collarbones.

“Are you afraid?” he asked.

“No. They’re a part of you…I want to see them…” you urged.

His eyes softened. Then you both sat up in bed.

“Then…then remove it for yourself and see.” he permitted.

You went to the corner edges of his own robe. He helped you as you lifted it over his head. You then got a candle to see it better.

You knew he was a strong man, but there were so many scratches, lashes, and cuts you could not make out the muscles clearly. There were so many cuts and lashes-they looked so dark across his skin. All over his torso. Then there were the newer ones from the battle at Corioles-they still looked red. You set the candle back down on the table near the bed.

“I understand if you wish not to lie with me anymore…I will make arrangements where-”

“No, you don’t have to!” you interrupted.

For once in his life, Caius Martius Coriolanus closed his mouth and he listened.

“Twenty-seven of them. Twenty-seven times you have been wounded. Twenty-seven times you could have died…and didn’t,” you said. “Can I touch them?”

“Yes,Y/N, you can…”

You lightly took your hand and felt the bumps and edges. He flinched only slightly, then relaxed into it. You could feel the warmth of the sweltering night on him.

“Caius…may I kiss them?” you asked.

“Yes…”

You gently kissed the back of your three fingers and pressed them over the lower scars. You knew putting your mouth lower would stir something in him. Now was not the moment…and it seemed he would agree. His breathing was deep as your kissed fingers touched the lower ones. Such chaste, light kisses like a butterfly's wing.

As they moved up to his chest, you peppered one kiss across one. Then another. You paused, your mouth over his skin, his steady pulse shaking from your touch.

“Each one…you survived. You defeated your enemies…you protected your allies…and you protected me…and you survived, Caius,” you whispered.

He put a hand to touch your cheek and you leaned into it.

“Dulcissima…my sweetest…thank you…”

“Do they hurt right now?” you asked.

His voice smoothed and spoke with such tenderness as you had never heard before. He put an arm around you as you kept kissing them.

“No…they never felt more relieved…my wife, her kisses have their own little medicine…”

You moved up to his shoulder from the first fresh one from Corioles, sweetly kissing them. His soft voice spoke on and you could feel yourself burst from his words.

“Dearest of my heart…my gift from Hera and Aphrodite themselves…”

You kissed the gash on his upper left arm. Then you lifted up to meet him, his eyes brimming with tears.

“There…twenty-seven kisses for each scar…”

Then he relaxed, your hand tracing his chest. You blew the candle out to the dark. The room suddenly became cooler. Then you nuzzled into him, settling into him. How warm he felt-so close and so real. His chest moving and falling.

“Caius…why did you want to marry me?” you asked.

“I thought…you would do well, being married to me. You…you’re good to me. You…you smiled when you saw me. You weren’t afraid…” he confessed.

“I was nervous every time you noticed me!” you recalled.

You felt the smile in his voice. His other hand found yours and wrapped itself over your palm. He went on.

“So was I! I hate banquets and parties…but I went to them in case you were there. I watched you squirm at the gladiator fights and look away and wish I could…just take you in my arms and take you away from them. But…then there was the time I was with your father’s…. You said something, and it made me laugh…I laughed! That was…when I knew…when I knew I had to be your husband.”

You looked up at him. His eyes were shiny. But you did not see tears. He swallowed, perhaps looking away made him more honest. You nestled back into him and clung to him. He kept talking.

“I kept…thinking of you. Of what you would say. I kept going to the market. Every day. Just to see you. Even just a glimpse of you passing by. Just one glimpse-not much. To see you walk up to the bathhouses….”

“And you never went in to see me in there…because of your scars?” you asked.

“I knew you frequented them. I confess- I am a man. As much as I would have loved to see you naked and wet, it meant scaring the others away when I removed my clothes, it would have scared you away…”

You went back to look at him. This time you touched his face, looking directly into his blue eyes.

You pressed a forehead to his.

“They don’t scare me…not anymore, and you don’t scare me…” you whispered. “Caius…Caius, I love you…”

“Y/N…I…I love you too…”

That evening, as the night settled over a place that called itself Rome, you relaxed into bed with your husband. You wrapped your arms to embrace him and he did not put on his toge to hide his scars. He only held you tight. His scars only barely brushed against you. Badges of war. Badges of honor. Badges of protection. He kissed the top of your head as you both settled into sleep.

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gosecretscribbles · 4 months ago

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Rise August Day 7: Disco

Donnie and Leo walked into Hueso’s, hotly debating the chronological order of the Jupiter Jim movies. They didn’t even notice April sitting in a booth until she called out to them.

“Hey guys!” she waved. “You eating here or to go?”

Donnie broke off his absolutely correct argument by shoving Leo face-first into the booth seat. “Oh hey April! What’s with all the paperwork? Is it the systematic documentation of your descent into becoming a human drone?”

“Nah, I’m done with homework. Hueso wanted me to brainstorm ideas for theme nights from the human world.”

Leo popped up from the seat. “Ooooh, you’ve got an aquarium idea! I’d love to see how that would work. Fill the place with water? It’s not like skeletons need to breathe, but I don’t know about some of the guests.”

All three of them looked around the room. Most of the yokai present were obviously mammals, but a few were reptilian and one looked like an axolotl shaped out of bright green slime.

Leo rubbed his chin. “How mad do you think Hueso would be if I dumped water on the slime lizard? In the interest of testing aquarium feasibility.”

“I am entirely in favor of scientific testing,” Donnie said thoughtfully. “And also of becoming Hueso’s favorite in two seconds flat.”

“Aw…”

April rolled her eyes. “Guys, he’d just bring in an aquarium and hire a few mermaids. So far I’ve got ideas for Geocaching, Dungeons and Dungeons, Gothic Horror, Disco –”

Donnie gasped. “Disco Night?! April, this is by far the greatest presentation of sick beats I have ever laid eyes on outside of my own brain! You have to pick this one!”

“It’s an automatic ‘no,’” said a voice from behind them. Hueso had appeared with a pitcher of lemonade in his hands and a dour look on his face. “I do not trust the judgement of someone who repeatedly encourages the idiota azul.”

“Hey!”

“I unintentionally deterred him less than five seconds ago! Also!” A few quick taps on his vambrace and a holographic slideshow appeared in the air. “I already have a plethora of playlists and equipment that I’ve been saving since that time I used the mental intelligence reprogramulator! I’ll design and install everything myself! I’ll even have Mikey create a few disco-themed desserts. I bet he could make cream puffs that look like disco balls!”

Hueso looked dubious. “The last time I let two of you operate in my restaurant, it was half-devoured by unicorns. Frankly, I’m only consulting with April because she’s the only human I know who hasn’t made a bone pun in my general direction.”

Leo whistled. “Impressive, when there’s so much to work with. 206 things to work with, in fact.”

“This is why you are not my favorite.”

All three of them stared at Hueso.

“I don’t know what that look is for. It is very clear he has never been my favorite.”

They continued to stare. April raised an eyebrow.

Hueso rolled his eyesockets. “Your collective sense of humor continues to confound me. Ms. O’Neil, let me know when you have picked the best two or three topics. And keep in mind that their success will determine whether I use your ideas again.” He turned on his heel and strode away.

April shook her head. “Never seen denial so bad. How much longer do you think he can fool himself?”

Leo shrugged. “I mean, Hueso Jr. gave me a ‘Best Big Brother’ mug, so not much longer.”

Donnie grabbed them both by the shoulders, grinning maniacally. “Enough with your emotional mockery! This time next week, Run of the Mill will have transformed into an authentic discotheque! WE MUST SUMMON OUR BROTHERS AT ONCE!”

April had to admit, the disco idea was fantastic.

Donnie designed almost everything and spent the night beforehand doing minor renovations (minor, the way Splinter had a minor infomercial obsession). The walls had been spraypainted hot pink and the ceiling purple with matching violet lights. Three discoballs of varying sizes hung from the ceiling. The tables had been pushed aside to make room for a custom-sized dance floor with checkerboard yellow and purple tiles that lit up when stepped on. Donnie had a DJ setup in the corner.

Per Donnie’s instructions, his brothers also had their assigned roles. Mikey designed disco-themed desserts, including gingerbread men with bellbottom frosting and the disco cream puffs. Leonardo and April went shopping in the Hidden City and thrift shopped items that guests could wear. They stuck rhinestones onto tacky glasses and cut up fabric to make Velcro bellbottoms, crop tops, and adjustable metallic skirts, depending on the yokai’s anatomy. Raph had done a lot of heavy lifting with the installation and was manning (or turtling) a small photobooth in the corner.

April found Hueso about an hour into the event, taking a short break against one of the booths. Correction: It was so packed that he couldn’t get back to the kitchen, and was waiting for a song break to make a dash for it. April sidled up to him and grinned.

“So, whadya think? Human Theme nights a success?”

“Much moreso than I expected,” Hueso said. It was hard to tell without facial muscles, but he looked stuck between excitement at the business and dread at who had brought it in. “I had no idea the Hamatos could be so…industrious, given their usual destructive tendencies.”

There was a crash over the music. Leonardo and Mikey had started dancing together, jumped onto a table, and overturned it.

Hueso sighed. “I brought it upon myself. Although they are unusually tame tonight, all things considered.”

She shrugged. “This meant a lot to Donnie. And I told them they could take turns picking the next theme night if they were on their best behavior. Mikey really wants an origami competition, and Raph is really into wrestling. I think Leo’s caught between skateboarding and a comic book expo, but the others want him to go last since he’ll get two in a row.”

“He will get no such thing, as he is still not my favorite.”

April just laughed. “Sure, Hueso. Hey, you wanna try crowd surfing to the kitchen? I don’t think Donnie’s going to let up the music anytime soon.”

Donnie shouted something over the crowd. The music transitioned smoothly from ‘Le Freak’ to ‘Ain’t No Stoppin’ Us Now.’ Mikey threw a glowing chain over one of the ceiling beams and hoisted himself into the air. Raph gave him a shove and he went soaring above the crowd, high-fiving every hand, flipper, and tentacle below.

Hueso sighed. “I’m glad we charged admission at the door, since only half the patrons have ordered anything.”

“Less clean up for your crew!”

Hueso grumbled something inaudible. April just laughed again and jumped, reaching up with both hands. Mikey caught her and they swung through the air together. Finally, a party that went right – as long as there were no animatronics in site!

@sariphantom

#rottmnt #rise august #rise august 2024 #rise leo #rottmnt leo #mikey #rise michelangelo #rottmnt donnie #rottmnt leonardo #rottmnt raph #rise april #rottmnt april #disco #senor hueso #rottmnt hueso

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mydemonsdrivealimo · 1 year ago

Text

Halloween (chapter 1)

Book: Open Heart

Chapter: 1/7

Pairing: Multi (Bryce Lahela x Jensen Valentine (MC), Jensen Valentine x Original Characters)

Characters: Jensen Valentine, Bryce Lahela, Aliyah (OC), Aurora Emery

Rating: Teen

Words: 1266

Summary: A collection of moments throughout Jensen's life, focused on his struggles and accomplishments because of and, more importantly, despite the one relationship he can't seem to let go of. Inspired by Halloween by Noah Kahan.

A/N: This is the most future-based part of the fic, and it actually addresses some hcs I haven't mentioned publicly yet. As I post more chapters, they will go in reverse chronological order, and the relationship in reference will become more clear

Lyrics:

But the wreckage of you, I no longer reside in

And the bridges have long since been burnt

The ash of the home that I started the fire in

It starts to return to the Earth.

The snow pummeled into the ground, large clusters of snowflakes settling on his shoulders and hair. Jensen tucked one of his gloved hands into his pocket as he hurried inside.

He caught the door with his elbow, greeted by the familiar smell of alcohol disinfectant and lemon cleaner. Patients and doctors milled about the lobby as he headed for the elevators. After a few floors, the doors slid open, the floor relatively empty save for a few nurses chatting around the small station just off from the elevators.

“Aw, Valentine, d’you get us something?” one of them—Samara—asked with a grin. He glanced down to the takeout bag in his hand she was referencing.

Continuing down the hall, he replied, “Nope, sorry. Just Bryce and I today.”

“Wow, favoritism, I see how it is,” she said with a sarcastic eye roll, Jensen giving her a quick smile before continuing towards the diagnostics office.

The lights flickered on to a steady, fluorescent glow, Jensen dropping his pile of things onto the center table. The others had coats, bags, and charts spread out here and there, most with patients or out for lunch themselves.

Checking his watch proved that Bryce was five minutes late. He gave him until he pulled their food out of the bag, spreading the takeout boxes across two adjacent seats before pulling his phone out of his pocket. In the time it took him to type out something and press send, the door gently creaked behind him.

“Hey, sorry,” Bryce said, giving his waist a quick squeeze before unceremoniously flopping into one of the chairs, the force sending it back enough that Jensen had to pull him closer.

“You’re lucky I didn’t lock you out and eat it for you,” Jensen said with a quick wave to the food in front of him, taking a seat in his own chair. “M’fucking starving.” He was already shoveling crab rangoon into his mouth, ignoring the steam coming off of it.

“I can tell,” Bryce offered with an exaggeratedly judgemental look. Jensen kicked his chair, sending him rolling away once again. Laughing, Bryce scooted himself back to the table.

He got a grand total of three bites in before he was telling Jensen about his surgery from that morning. Jensen was happy to see him excited about it, especially knowing how slow it had been with mostly post-op check-ins and consults for the last couple days.

By the time they were both nearly done, Jensen had his feet propped on Bryce’s lap, head resting on his arm over the back of the chair as he listened to Bryce talk about his schedule for the next couple weeks. He happily nodded and offered input where necessary, but, as per usual, he was content just listening to Bryce talk, turning off his brain for the first time all day.

The only thing that stopped Bryce was his pager going off, Jensen giving him a sigh and a look as if it was his fault. Bryce smiled and started to clean up just as the door opened again.

“I think my face is still frozen,” Des said as they approached, wrapped up in winter gear from head to toe.

“Not quite Florida, is it?” Jensen asked, receiving a glare in return. Des had only moved up a few months ago, but they were settling into the team just fine. Maybe not the weather, but definitely the team.

“Okay, I’m not saying this on record, by the way,” Bryce said, stopping at the large glass wall of windows, “But honestly it is pretty with the snow.”

Jensen shook his head as he walked over next to him, tossing the empty containers in the trash. “Wow, really? It’s almost like I’ve been telling you that since we were in Boston,” he replied, entirely deadpan.

Bryce gave him a mocking expression, Jensen smiling as he followed his gaze out to the icy Lake Michigan, snow piled up along the edge of the water. Chicago winter could keep even the most dedicated runners inside, a notable lack of movement outside. The trees and ground were white, but the walkway along the water was twinkling with festive lights, entirely lit when night fell.

Bryce gave him a quick smile before scooting past, giving Des a wave before heading off.

“Oh, Tara told me to invite you guys to the Tavern tonight, by the way. We’re going pretty late, but if you get time you should stop over for a drink,” Des said as they arranged their things at their seat.

“We’ve got plans tonight, thanks though.”

“Shit, you literally said you had dinner plans, right? I forgot.”

Jensen nodded and waved it off before grabbing a few charts from the desk, thumbing past a few pages. He collected the necessary things before heading off to grab some results for their most recent case.

The midwestern-based diagnostics division had been his most dedicated project for the past four years. Doing split time for the first two was hell, so many flights and so many nights away from home, one he nor Bryce really enjoyed. But, now, he was content. They were content. Him, Bryce, Barry, and Corn all comfortably settled into a downtown apartment, able to enjoy the bustling city nightlife, events, and opportunities.

Jensen met Bryce at home later that night, Aliyah already comfortably settled in the kitchen awaiting his arrival. Corn didn’t even bother to greet him, too worried about the potential of a chip falling off the counter from the bowl Liyah and Bryce were both picking at.

Bryce greeted him with a smile and a quick kiss to the cheek, Jensen giving Corn a look. “At least someone missed me,” he said.

“She just likes me more,” Liyah said with a smile, Jensen rolling his eyes and shedding his many winter layers on the way to the bedroom.

On his way back, he scooped Barry out from under the bed, holding him up in the air as he meowed in protest. Bryce was happy to give Barry shit for nothing in particular with him, Jensen finally dropping him into his arms, carrying him like a baby towards the living room.

Their couch was dark green, adjacent to their tête-à-tête sofa. The room was doused in cool yet natural colors, light boxes keeping it bright despite the early winter darkness. Their Christmas tree in the corner brought some warmth to the room with yellow lights and a messy mix of ornament types. Out the main windows was the familiar sight of a glittering Chicago night, lights scattered throughout the surrounding apartment buildings and shimmering against the falling snow.

Jensen set Barry onto the cat tower overlooking the street, watching him settle in before returning to the kitchen.

The door opened before he could get there, Aurora and her partner, Z, both entering with dishes of food. Jensen was quick to help them, setting out the food along the dining room table with the dish Aliyah had brought, as well as the filler he and Bryce covered.

It was part of their monthly routine, one dinner where they get together and all make something different. The rest of the night was spent talking and drinking and lounging around in the living room after dessert. And they could do it comfortably. With nice furniture, and with plenty of space for everyone, and no worry of cost or rent or food or just fucking surviving. He was comfortable, with the people he cared the most about, and doing what he loved. And that was all that mattered.

tagging: @jerzwriter @cariantha @kyra75 @gutsfics @inlocusmads @choicesficwriterscreations

#jensen valentine #bryce lahela × jensen valentine #bryce lahela #open heart #open heart mc #open heart choices #open heart fic #open heart fanfiction #choices fanfic #choices pixelberry

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desperatelyseekingcannibals · 1 year ago

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Pollinated (Marlana+Freddie) - short fic

Explicit // F/F, F/F/F // Freddie Lounds/Alana Bloom, Margot Verger/Alana Bloom, Freddie Lounds/Margot Verger/Alana Bloom // Tags: Canon, Season 3, crime scene investigation, sex pollen, accidental/non-con infidelity, vaginal fingering, finger fucking, finger sucking, masturbation, nipple play, nipple sucking, thigh riding, voyeurism, squirting, tribbing, the morning after. Patreon Prompt Fill!

Things get interesting when some sex pollen turns up at a crime scene.

Latest installment on my @hannibalbingo card: Ménage à trois

Pollinated (3k words):

It had been years since Alana had been to a crime scene. Usually she was a strictly office based consultant. But this crime called for an in-situ evaluation, and she was only too aware that she was inevitably going to become Jack’s go to person now that Will had moved away and Hannibal was under her guard at BSHCI.

If anything, her experiences over the last couple of years had made her all the more attractive to the BAU. Unparalleled experiences and insight, Jack had said. He wasn’t wrong, but that didn’t make her any happier about it.

Alana grabbed her cane and stepped out of her car, walking carefully across the rough gravel of the parking lot, towards the activity at the treeline of the woods the lot edged onto.

“Jack?” She asked as she got closer and he stepped away from the crime scene team and towards her.

“Thanks for coming,” he said, to which she gave a curt nod.

“I’m meeting Margot for lunch,” she immediately curbed any further conversation and he nodded his understanding.

Jack turned and led the way into the trees, thankfully it wasn’t far and he was mindful of her having to make it through with a cane and on unsteady legs.

The crime scene itself wasn’t that notable. Nothing like those of the Ripper and any number of flamboyant killers that never quite reached his aesthetic heights. But Jack had been right to call her, there was a strangeness to it that wasn’t run of the mill.

“This one isn’t quite like the other five. Those were escalating. Each one laid out the same as this. This sort of ritualistic looking display,” he indicated the prostrate body in front of a small makeshift altar gathered from the trees around them. “We’ve found residue at each site, but not as much as there is at this one, tests have been inconclusive but we think it’s some sort of aphrodisiac.

“I’ve seen the photos,” Alana confirmed of the previous crime scenes that Jack had sent her after he called her. She could see the differences here. “The others look different, sacrificial but not in the same way as this.”

Jack was nodding, and just then the photographer moved back and the removal team came in to start carefully extricating the body from the ritualistic crime scene.

It was when they rolled the body over that it became clear. Attached to the front of the body was a bag, and instantly it fell open and several items fell out, including powder filled pouches. Quickly collected by the gloved hands of the team, but not before some of the residue puffed out and both Alana and Jack took a step back. She sighed heavily when some landed on the toe of her shoe.

“This is the killer, Jack.” Alana told him as she raised her hand up over her mouth and nose though the residue seemed to quickly dissipate a little above the ground. “The others were building to this, he was the final sacrifice.”

Jack nodded, and then signalled to one of the team. “Get him back to the lab, and check him for ID. Let’s trace next of kin and see whether they can shine any light on this.”

Continue reading on AO3

#Hannibal #Hannibal Bingo #marlana #margot verger #alana bloom #freddie lounds #murder wives #myfic

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charlottegeorgesheart · 1 year ago

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Young Queen Charlotte, played by India Amarteifio, keeps to innocent pastels in her early scenes, but her colors grow bolder as her power does too. (Liam Daniel/Netflix)

BY VALLI HERMAN

In the first minutes of the “Bridgerton” prequel “Queen Charlotte,” the namesake character complains heartily how her elaborate gown and its restrictive corset made of brittle and sharp whalebone means that if she moves too much, “I might be sliced and stabbed to death by my undergarments.”

Oh, dearest gentle reader, young Queen Charlotte hasn’t suffered in vain. Her every ensemble, and those of the show’s sizable cast, are crafted with such sumptuous detail, that surely all who view them would gladly have them suffer even more.

Even though period costumes are notoriously cumbersome, Emmy-winning costume designer Lyn Elizabeth Paolo and co-costume designer Laura Frecon dispel notions that the actors suffered much (thanks to light, modern fabrics and stretchy panels in their corsets). Still, the yearlong shoot in grand estates across the United Kingdom overlapped the pandemic lockdown and required worldwide sourcing. It seems that their brand of elegant finery was a tonic for distress, and a cause for celebration. The work, helped by a 220-person costume crew, has earned them a 2023 Emmy nomination for period costumes.

Replica undergarments were crafted from light, modern fabrics and stretchy panels to be slightly more comfortable than the actual period clothing. (Liam Daniel/Netflix)

“This [shoot] was challenging, but also joyful. Every time a piece of a costume would come back, it was, ‘Oh, my God! It looks better than we thought it would.’ There was a lot of joy there,” says Paolo, the longtime designer for other Shonda Rhimes productions, such as “Inventing Anna” and “Scandal.”

The six-episode costume drama on Netflix explores the early days of the difficult marriage of Queen Charlotte (India Amarteifio) and King George III (Corey Mylchreest). The fictionalized story of the actual royals takes place in two time periods — the Georgian era of the 1760s and the later Regency era in which “Bridgerton” is set — and includes key characters from the original show. There are several grand balls, a royal wedding and a coronation to wardrobe. No biggie.

Or so Paolo was led to believe.

“I remember Sara Fischer, who is head of production at Shondaland, called me and said, ‘Shonda has this idea for a small, intimate show. She really wants you to do it.’ And, what are you going to say?” recalls Paolo, who was a consultant on Season 2 of “Bridgerton.”

She invented a time-twisting concept inspired by Monet and Matisse paintings and modern fashion designers who themselves referenced historical costume such as John Galliano, Alexander McQueen, Moschino, Zuhair Murad and Christian Dior in his New Look era. Yet Paolo kept the silhouette appropriately Georgian.

“The pitch was, we kind of want it to look like a Met Ball … but to be slightly more on point with the period. We still wanted to have our own stylistic elements that would make sure that the modern eye understood the costumes,” Paolo says.

Corey Mylchreest as King George and India Amarteifio as Queen Charlotte all but sparkle in their lustrous clothing. (Nick Wall/Netflix)

“For the men, we had images of rock ‘n’ roll icons from the ‘70s and ‘80s. So a lot of images of Prince, the New Romantics and Adam Ant. All those people back then who had that pirate chic going on.”

That vision required a mostly custom-made wardrobe that sourced from London, Los Angeles, New York, Budapest and Spain. Jewelers Joseff of Hollywood, Manhattan’s Larkspur & Hawk and Italy’s Pikkio custom made the period jewelry and other adornments. British manufacturer James Hare supplied traditional fabrics as did a mill hours from London that wove custom fabrics. Smaller artisan shops focused on hand embroidery or a particular character.

“It was sort of a small army,” says Paolo, who relied on the organizational skills of Frecon. A giant calendar and flow chart helped them track the flow of work, particularly of the embroidered pieces, which were outsourced to UK specialists Twan Lentjes Creations, Beth Parry and Hattie McGill, whose Instagram accounts illustrate their handiwork.

Other members of the court stand out in patterned fabrics (on Tunji Kasim as Adolphus) and brightly colored gowns with hats (Arsema Thomas as Agatha Danbury).

“It’s so complicated,” Paolo says, describing a process of sample making, initial embroidery, further tailoring and additional hand embellishing before a pattern piece is ever fitted into a garment. Even fabric-covered buttons were embroidered.

The women’s gowns are especially intensive. The earlier dresses, from 1760 onward, required 13 to 20 yards of fabric and at least four weeks of construction; five if they’re heavily embellished. Each ensemble requires petticoats that can add five to 10 more yards each, plus a corset, a pannier (a cage-like underpinning), a padded bum roll, shoes, stockings and garters. The jewelry sets were matched to each costume and included rings, earrings, necklaces, bracelets and tiara-like hair jewelry that was fitted into fantastical wigs by hair and makeup designer Nic Collins.

With two sets of characters to dress in two different eras, the costume designers were careful to build visual continuity, typically with color. Young Queen Charlotte, for example, keeps to innocent pastels in her early scenes, but her colors grow bolder as her power does too. The designers cannot precisely count the number of costume changes, or quantify the number of pieces they used, only to say “in the thousands.” Paolo says Jeff Jur, director of photography, was on board to capture the spectacle and regularly texted her and Frecon to say, “‘I’m doing a full head-to-toe shot of this one.”

Still, it’s tricky to absorb all of the detail, even though it’s there on the hand-embroidered initials on a man’s handkerchief, or the restored antique jet beading and lace on Queen Charlotte’s mourning gown, or the Easter eggs, as Paolo calls the references she wove into many costumes, particularly those in the final episode, which features an astronomy-themed ball, hosted by the king and queen.

King George loves astronomy, so stars and moons are embroidered and beaded into their clothes. The ball was shot outdoors at night, which usually obscures costume details. Jur expertly lit the scene to illuminate the clothes that were so laden with sparkly bits that they twinkle.

Though the final episode was picked to submit for Emmy consideration, the choice was “brutal,” Paolo said. “It’s a huge group of amazingly talented people who all deserve recognition. If we are lucky enough to win, I would want 220 miniature ones to hand out to everyone.”

#queen charlotte: a bridgerton story #india amarteifio #corey mylchreest #queen charlotte #king george iii #charlotte x george #charlottegeorge #tunji kasim #arsema thomas #prince adolphus #lady danbury #netflix #!

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bloodlessbhaalbabe · 1 year ago

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Never Will Be, Always Was

Co-Authored by: @lotsofthinkythoughts and me

Beta'd by: @tatterings (Thank you, my dear)

Summary:

In the known tale of the Illithid invasion of Baldur's Gate, a valiant leader assembled a party designed to thwart the Netherbrain's threat. But, tales grow in the telling, and the truth can be stranger than fiction.

Enter Tav Atar, an ordinary elf with unpredictable magic surges who worked as an apothecary's apprentice in Baldur's Gate. All was well, until a Mindflayer's ship disrupted her simple existence.

Despite having no adventuring experience, Tav becomes the accidental leader of a ragtag group of misfits. With newfound friends and enhanced powers, she grapples with the responsibility of safeguarding their lives, and along the way finds that the most unique thing about her might not be her role in the crisis or the tadpole in her head.

Rating: Explicit (Eventually)

Words: 9,163

Relationship: Eventual Tav/Astarion, Tav/Halsin, Halsin/Astarion, and Tav/Astarion/Halsin (This is a polycule fic).

Art/Gif by me!

Read on AO3 and/or below:

Prologue

Early evening lamplight spilled across the cobbles of Baldur’s Gate, the deepening gloam kept at bay by the lamplighters running the streets to stay ahead of the dark. Beneath one of the freshly illuminated lamps a figure leaned, shoulders curled down as she consulted a ragged bit of parchment, mumbling softly to herself as she did.

“Why am I doing this again?” Tav muttered once her tally of herbs was complete, fingers clasped tight around the lightly enchanted vellum. She’d checked the list twice before heading back through the gates; this was the third time. She knew as certain as the setting sun, she had all that was requested and a few extras besides.

And yet, she was just as certain that once she entered the shop she’d recount the list a last time before speaking to her mentor.

With a sigh, she slipped the list of ingredients back into her hip-bag, where the ingredients themselves were stored neatly in bundles within impervious pouches of their own, and pushed away from the stone arch. The shop was near the bottom of the Markets, hidden in a little niche between a cooper and a cobbler. Pennyweather’s Potions and Allsorts had been there as long as Tav could recall. The thump when her father's head collided with the low hanging sign was a memory that lingered still.

She rubbed her arm through her linen sleeve as the memory faded. The cobbled streets turned uneven beneath her feet from years of market traffic as she passed into the Markets. The bustle of the city seemed louder tonight, a sign that perhaps she’d needed the quiet of the surrounding countryside more than she’d realized.

Then the timbre of the noise changed; a distant shout rolled closer, accompanied by a wave of footsteps. It was then that she noticed the evening crowd wasn’t milling about as one would expect on an early evening within Baldur’s Gate. The crowd seemed to be moving with purpose, swarming in her direction. She stretched up on her toes to catch a glimpse of what had caused the panic but in the rapidly deepening dark of evening, someone slammed into her shoulder. She tumbled to the ground in the center of the street with a hard crack against the cobblestones.

She blinked twice to gather herself against the sudden pain and rise to a standing position amidst the crush of people. She pulled her arms to her chest after a foot trampled one hand; she shifted to rise, only to be sent sprawling again. She curled into herself, not unlike a hedgehog trying to defend itself, her nose settling against her knees. Despite desperate attempts to see through the dust and blurred vision, all she accomplished were dry eyes and a deeper, dull thudding at the base of her skull. She couldn’t say how long she lay there, curled up, as feet knocked into her sides and panicked shouts rolled overhead.

With nothing but pain pressing in on her, it felt like time passed like watching a cauldron boil, a stretch that lingered overlong and snapped just when it seemed endless. And snap it did with the sudden realization that it all had stopped. One moment was heat and pain and noise, and in the next, the crowd had melted away as an otherworldly tentacle descended from the sky. Her vision cleared as it stretched out and touched her. A sick, unpleasant feeling swept over her; she sensed magic, but not her magic. This was something strange and other , pulling her unwillingly from one realm and slamming her, full force, into another. Her heart raced, rabbit-fast, as she peered about; something chitinous surrounded her, heavy, and dark, and strong. With all her strength, she slammed her fists into the glass in front of her and screamed.

Nothing happened. The glass didn’t even shiver with movement. Though space was limited, she pulled back her hand to try again, but stilled at a sudden clicking sound. In the dim light of the pod, her elvish eyes struggled to see a dingy yellow smoke curling from the slats of a grate at her feet. She stretched up, pushing against the top of the tiny pod to claw free, to find a gasp of fresh air. But her vision clouded as she felt her arms falling limp at her sides.

There was only the dark, the soft hissing of the gas.

Then nothing at all.

Her head jostled as the pressure within the pod released. The glass door hissed open, an acrid, acid scent wafting heavily in the damp air in the room. She blinked, eyes heavy and pained from dust and the acid in the air. She noticed a bowl in the center of the room, filled with a yellow liquid and something that moved . She stared at the large bowl, until there was movement on the far side of the room. A scuffling sound followed, then a voice, but the tall figure between her and whoever spoke didn’t move.

“No, no… please. Not again,” the voice called out, sounding scared and small, then desperate. “No! Don’t touch me. Get that thing off–”

A wet, squelching noise echoed across the dim room, causing her to wince as it was interrupted by a reverberating scream.

She tried to focus on the noise’s origin, squinting at the entity moving along the row of pods, but it stopped only a few feet from where it began. She could see something white being dragged across the floor, just out of her line of sight. She heard scratching and a rough grunt - whoever it was was trying to fight back, to escape. A stark moment of silence stretched after the voice let out another angry plea of “Let me go, damn you”. A distinct, ugly snap echoed to her left, bringing on the same wails as before. She knew that sound: the sound of crunched bones under strong force. She winced and bit the inside of her lip, her head slumped forward, mouth full of a taste of copper, pulling at the straps that bound her arms and legs tight as she attempted to fight the sluggishness of her body.

The bonds held; she didn’t have the leverage or strength to break them. Not when she felt so very tired. What was in that gas? There were plenty of plants with soporific or weakening effects if prepared correctly and in the right combinations. But even if she had an answer, it would make no difference. Her limbs were bound so tightly that her fingers and toes felt the pinprick pains of lack of blood.

Another squelch, another scream- closer..

A great four-fingered claw pushed her back into her pod, its grip on her head forcing to face forward. In front of her, a tall creature loomed, a robe of black and silver covering its long body. Its head was a mass of slithering tentacles, trailing from a sharp-toothed maw nearly hidden within them. Orange eyes bored into her with a malice she could hardly comprehend. The creature’s brain pulsed visibly beneath thin purple skin. She had never seen one up close, but she’d heard the stories, read the novels: this was a Mind Flayer.

It turned away from her for a moment before its empty, malicious gaze returned, and that same long hand rose above her. A writhing worm-like beast shifted in its hand. With a flare of hot nausea, she understood what had happened to the others.

The tadpole landed on her cheek, slick and wet, and smelling so strongly of the acid it was all she could do to keep herself from vomiting as she attempted to shake it off her skin. The creature crawled slowly up her face and paused directly in front of her eye, rearing up. The mouth of this tadpole opened up wide, hundreds of sharp tiny teeth appearing as it squealed and lunged at her eye socket, slithering and burrowing until it found a home deep within her brain.

Nausea ran through her again. Her jaw clenched through the unbearable pressure in her skull, and against the way the tadpole’s screech echoed in her ears still. The glass door closed once again, leaving her alone in the growing darkness. As her consciousness softened under the whispering hiss of the gas, she wondered if the screaming was her own.

She was abruptly ejected from the pod. Her body hit the warm keratinous floor and slid into the basin that held the parasites with a solid thump . Tav groaned, rubbing at her back where it collided with the solid base. She blinked a few times before sitting up.

Pink fleshy tendrils swung from the walls and ceilings, strangely organic for a structure of this size. Fire erupted from a loose section of flooring to one side of her. She flinched away as the grinding of warped, overheated material shook the foundations of the room. The other wall had been ripped away, wind whipping through the gap with a whistling shriek. She stood, shaking her head to clear it as the flames burned strong around the room and the ominous creaking grew louder. Along one wall, several pods lay empty, all identical save for the various states of damage. A spark of hope pierced through her like a lance of light through darkness. Perhaps there could be other survivors.

To her right, a body of a mind flayer lay, long dead from blunt trauma. She knelt down to pat down the pockets of the creature’s dark robes, and after a long moment, pulled away with a potion (a quick sniff that had a salty, gamey smell all but shouted ‘Speed Potion’ at her) and a strange orb that she couldn’t identify. A sudden fear seized her brain until her fingers wrapped around the bag of holding still at her hip. Inside were her ingredients, only a day old, and yet it seemed years ago. She reached into the leather pouch, up to her elbow, to tuck away the potion and, after a moment of consideration, let the strange orb lay alongside it for now. Sighing and stretching her back, feeling the bruise that was surely growing there, she pushed herself to her feet.

She stepped toward the great hole, toward the only natural light she’d seen since her abduction. As she drew nearer, she realized the light was the glow of miles of hellfire raging below.

They must be in Avernus somehow, but how and why? The thought crossed her mind but was ripped from it quickly as the whole ship jolted beneath her. She threw a hand out as she stepped back to regain her footing, and it landed on the edge of the basin. Under the barest pressure, the basin crumbled, flooding the floor with amniotic fluid. She shuffled back to avoid the yellow liquid. It splashed against her shoes, but despite the acidic smell, it didn’t burn against the leather.

Her hand reached up to wipe at her cheek where the tadpole had crawled up earlier. The skin was undamaged and dry. Dozens of little parasites lay motionless in the puddle. A flare of anger shot through her and before she’d given it much thought, her booted foot came down, stomping the tadpoles into viscous liquid. Over and over again, she slammed her feet down, until none of the parasites were more than a swipe of white flattened against the floor. None of them would get the opportunity to inhabit a host.

She tried not to think about the one wedged behind her own eye.

She peered out of the gaping wall, grabbing the cracked spaces where they seemed least likely to cut her palms to ribbons. There was nothing beneath the nautiloid, nothing but leagues of distance between this ship and hellfire. Even over the raging of the wind whipping against her ears, she heard a roar.

She turned back, crossing the sticky floor again, towards the only part of the wall that didn’t look half-crumbled or licked by flames. It was a large round door, made up of fleshy panels that made her stomach squirm unpleasantly. But, it was her only option, outside of jumping off a moving ship from who knows how high up into the hells. She squared her shoulders, heading toward the opening and hopefully, deeper into the ship. The muscular door contracted and widened itself to be large enough for her to pass through without touching it, the smallest of favors in this infernal day.

Through the passageway, she found a similar round room; the walls were covered in shiny pulsating brains, nerves stretching out through every structure. Several green jars filled with brains of various sizes were scattered all over the room. A goblin laid upon a surgical table, to one side of the room, and she rifled through its pockets though the search only turned up a few gold pieces. Still, it would be better than nothing if she could just manage to get off the ship alive.

At the center of this room stood a platform with an odd control panel, a glowing red button wreathed in fronds like an anemone. She looked around, searching for any explanation of what it was and where it might go, but without any helpful manuals on the operation and construction of Mind Flayer ships, the only real option was to simply approach it and press the button. When she did, her palm came away covered in a sticky residue.

“Cursed to put my hands on everything,” she muttered under her breath, wiping her palm on her opposite sleeve as the platform lurched into motion and rose up to the terrace above.

The first thing she saw was blood. Whatever this terrace was for, it hadn’t been kind. Behind a pillar to the left, she could see a greying and blood-caked hand beneath a foot in a similar state. Corpses. A stack of them.

She noticed a pale body strapped to a chair made of the same material as the walls and floor on the other side of the terrace. His head, topped with curls as pale as his skin with pointed ears peeking out, leaned forward. All four of his limbs were strapped down by tendrils covered in chitinous plates. It was a strange and grim apparatus, much like the rest of the ship.

She approached the man, gently tilting his head back with shaking hands. He’d not gone grey like the bodies behind the pillar. Her fingers trembled as they found purchase on his neck, pressing and feeling for a pulse. She couldn’t feel anything, but the memories of the few basic lessons she’d had with the healer who set her patients to Master Jarkles slipped away.

Please, please don’t be dead. She thought, pressing her fingers against his neck again, the pad of one finger catching on a raised scar there. She frowned, and though she knew it was unlikely to tell her anything her inability to find a pulse hadn’t, she pressed her lips against his forehead, icy cold under her skin. For a split second, nothing happened. Then the man suddenly thrashed to the side, making her fall back onto her rear.

“Don’t touch me!” He shouted at her wild eyed and angry, before pausing and looking at her, still sitting on the floor. His eyes, color indiscernible in the dim light, narrowed at her. “Did… did you just kiss my forehead?”

“Oh! Thank the gods. You are alive! I thought I kissed a dead body.” She felt a flush creep up her cheeks, cast her gaze at the floor, before inhaling and settling her shoulders. “It’s to check your temperature. You get a more accurate reading…I think. I don’t know, I’m afraid my healing experience is limited.”

“Why didn’t you check my pulse? Or try just saying ‘hello’ for starters?”

She shifted toward his feet as she spoke, the ache in her back reasserting itself. “I was checking your pulse! I couldn’t - oh, I don’t know, alright. Today’s just been really stressful and I’m not thinking straight.” She sighed, rubbing the heels of her palms against her eyes before catching the trapped man’s gaze.

Something lurched inside Tav’s brain, a squirm and writhe before connecting to something in his mind - followed by a rushing sensation like a river breaking its banks. Her head ached with an unfamiliar pressure, then suddenly, she wasn’t on the ship. Instead, she was surrounded by darkness, wrapped in shadows like a cloak with a sharp lance of something coursing through her. Before she could place it, a series of images swept her up, accompanying a torrent of sensations she could make little sense of: a glint of moonlight on a knife blade and the heft of a coin purse hitting her palm, the sound of voices on dimly lit cobblestone streets, the feeling of glass beneath her fingertip as she ran it along the rim of a half full glass of wine in a secluded tavern corner. And beneath it all, a heavy twist of fear.

Just as abruptly as the connection happened, it pulled back, wrenching her into her own mind once more. She leaned back heavily, using her hands to support herself against the release of the phantom pressure. Blinking twice, she shook her head against the tingling aftershock of the unintentionally psionic connection.

“What in the hells was that?” He asked, head snapping to the side, breaking their eye contact.

“I don’t know. I think it has something to do with the tadpoles they… implanted.” She winced at her own wording, and suppressed a shudder before exhaling heavily as she steadied herself.

He turned back to her, looking at her sharply. Tav looked up at him from her position on the floor, feeling pinned beneath his gaze. A moment later he sighed.

“Of course,” he said, voice threaded with resignation. The ship shuddered, and his expression changed, and he spoke again, tone as sharp as his gaze had been before. “Well, don’t just sit there!”

Tav blinked twice before shifting toward his feet. “Right, right. Sorry.” The tendrils wrapped around his limbs were unlike anything she’d ever seen before. She searched for anything that might serve as a latch. She glanced up at him. “This might take a moment to make sense of… this. Besides, you told me not to touch you.”

He let out a huff of exasperation.

“By the gods… Obviously, I didn’t know if you were one of those tentacle freaks with your mouth attached to my forehead. Get me out of here!”

“Alright, alright. It would be much simpler if these were just ropes - I’d have some idea what to do with those.”

“Have experience with that sort of thing, do you?” The elf smirked. She raised an eyebrow at the comment before returning to searching the tendril for a weakness.

“I’m not nearly drunk enough for that conversation, especially given we haven’t exchanged names yet.” At the base of the tendril, she spotted a fleshy spot slightly wider than her thumb. Tav shoved her thumb against it, wrinkling her nose at the sticky feeling, but as she pulled back, the tendril recoiled. With a triumphant grin, she repeated the motion on the other side before moving up to deal with his arms.

“I’m Tav, by the way,” she said, as she pressed against the last weak spot.

“I’m Aahhh–” He yelped. “Watch it! Those bastards broke my arm when dragging me away.”

“I’m sorry. I don’t know any other way to get rid of these… whatever they are.” She pulled her hands back, into a stance of surrender as he stood, cradling his arm against his chest.

“Yes, well-” He shifted his good shoulder in a careless shrug. “I’m Astarion.”

She frowned at the sight of him protecting his injury and looked around, grimacing at the thought of having to sift through the bodies behind her.

“What are you doing?” Astarion asked, stepping closer to her.

“Looking for something I can use to splint your arm. Though I’ll have to find a knife before I’ll have any cloth to bind it.”

“You can’t find a pulse, but you can splint an arm? Forgive me if I don’t trust your healing knowledge.”

On instinct, her hand went to her hip as she turned to glare at him. “Do you have a better plan?”

“Getting off this godsdamned ship as soon as possible and finding a real healer.”

“A lovely thought, but one step at a time,” She said, tilting her head at the lift she’d used to reach the landing, before crossing to it and pressing the mechanism to lower them back down to the main floor. The red glow of the button glinted off the pommel of the dagger at Astarion’s side, and she pulled it from its sheath with one quick motion.

“Hey!” He reached out to grab for the dagger with his bad arm as she walked away toward the dead goblin on the table near the entrance of the room. He groaned, and she could hear the whisper of fabric rubbing against itself as he supported it with his good arm again. “You could ask, you know?”

Ignoring the note of resignation in his voice, she cut into the goblin’s clothing, using the knife to rip the rough seams of the leather jerkin. She pulled the thin leather panel from the corpse, examining it to make sure it was long enough, before tying it up into a sling. “It’s no splint, but Master Jarkles would appreciate the quick thinking.”

“That smells like death.” He grimaced as she put it over his head, sliding his arm neatly into the fold. “Now can we find a way out of here?”

Tav frowned distastefully. “Wow, thank you , Tav. It’s so nice of you, a stranger , to not only release me from captivity, but find a temporary solution for my injured arm. You’re so nice and pretty, Tav .” She said in an obviously mocking tone, coupled with an exaggerated head wobble and hand gestures.

She slid his dagger back into its sheath, moving around him before he could respond, and glazing around the room one last time. With a sigh, she approached the opposite side of the chamber. Her long, braided hair flowed behind her as gusts of hot wind poured through the shattered walls. The sides of the ship had peeled away from impact. The aortic valves and ligaments of the living ship quivered in the exposed heat of hellfire. Shreds of webbed muscle fibers and arterial mesh decorated the remaining chitinous ledge, and in the distance below, she could see, the ship’s tenticular appendages snap and writhe, guiding the vessel forward like oars.

A bellowed screech floated overhead as a red dragon swooped into view. Its hot, fiery breath pelted the shell of the ship, as Tav ducked behind a fallen piece of wall to stay out of sight. The unprotected flesh curls into itself, sizzling and snapping as if placed on a griddle. Neither dragon nor rider noticed Tav or Astarion crouched in the wreckage of the ship as they passed, clearly set on another target. Peering around the fallen wall, she could see the fire was matched a moment later with beams of purple, psionic energy, bombarding the hardened skin of the dragon. A slow moment passed, one heartbeat then two, but the dragon made no sign of doubling back. Tav exhaled heavily and took a few cautious steps forward onto the ledge. The yawning fiery expanse of Avernus stretched beneath them. She turned to glance behind her, checking that her new ally was still following. He stood two paces behind her, but his gaze wasn’t on the path ahead, but instead on the ledge above them.

Her gaze shifted up, catching sight of a figure just as it leapt into motion, lunging off the ledge with catlike grace, somersaulted overhead to land in front of her. Before Tav managed to even take a breath, the figure pressed the point of a blade against her neck. Her hand curls outward on instinct, a spell flickering energy across her fingertips, ready to defend herself.

Swallowing nervously, she found herself staring into yellow eyes. Beneath them was a smear of black warpaint, a dramatic sweep against green skin. Her ears swept up into tall dramatic points, and the outer curves were marked by a serrated texture like the lacinia of some leaves. She’d never seen a gith in person before, but before she could think any farther something shifted. The moment of eye contact had been enough to trigger the tadpole once again; that same blinding pressure and sensation of writhing before connection rushed through her quickly enough to make Tav stagger back a step. The feeling tingled like pins and needles as the visions swept over her.

Flashes of another world flicked by: floating in the spatial abyss atop a dead god, the beat of dragon’s wings, the sight and sound of battle, silver swords clashing, blood spraying, then her own face, lit by the dim orange glow of hellfire below as her eyes widened and her hands went to her temples, singing one side with a brush of magical discharge. Then the connection pulled back, and the gith woman met her gaze once more.

“What was that?” The woman hissed, her sword lowering as she regained her balance. “I saw– I saw your mind. Memories that did not belong to me. You are no thrall.”

“No, not a thrall. But I saw your mind as well. I believe we may have connected through the tadpoles somehow.”

“Regardless, Vlaakith blesses me this day! I have seen the power you bury within yourself. She has granted me a formidable ally. Together we might survive.”

“I’m Tav.” She held out her hand in greeting. The Githyanki glared at her extended palm. Tav lowered it sheepishly, twisting her fingers against her traveling clothes.

“ Tsk’va , I do not have time for pleasantries. We must get to the helm and take control of this ship. It is the only way we might make it out of here.” She paused and took a moment to eye Astarion over, her gaze settling on the makeshift sling with disdain. “However, I would leave the infirm one behind, he is useless in battle, and will only slow us down.”

“Infirm?! Excuse me, I am injured, not useless!” Astarion retorted, his free hand dramatically shifted to his hip, fingers near the pommel of his dagger.

“ Chk , a real warrior would not coddle something as trivial as a broken bone. But if it is as you say, you will get the chance to prove yourself. We must exterminate the imps ahead. They are blocking the only way forward.”

Tav nodded and led the group toward the imps in the next corridor. She crouched low, though there wasn’t much cover to hide behind. However, it seemed that it was unnecessary. Only three of them remained after the attack on the mindflayers and their thralls. The devilish heads buried in the bodies of the fallen, gnawing the flesh down to the bone, painted a gruesome picture of the attack. Tav watched them for a moment, hearing the crunch of bone and wet sound of muscles tearing as the imps feasted. She looked at the gith and Astarion, fingers clenching around the center of her quarterstaff, watching as they drew their blades. They both watched her closely. The gith shifted her weight forward with barely restrained momentum, and it was then that she realized they were waiting for her word. Nerves bloomed in the pit of her stomach, a sick twisting feeling at the realization, but she nodded and motioned at the imps.

Their new, green, bloodthirsty friend charged in, unleashing her fury onto an imp in the center, her longsword cutting a wide swathe around her and nearly cleaving the creature in half. Droplets of blood sprayed outward in an arc, as she swung. Astarion ducked swifty beneath her blade as another imp screeched and lunged toward him. With his free hand, he turned and stabbed it in the back as he slipped past. Tav shifted forward to the gith’s other side, both hands tight around her quarterstaff as she lifted it up and brought it down on the center of the imp’s head, crushing its skull. It fell to the ground with a thump.

With the imps out of the way, Astarion wiped his dagger clean of the imp’s blood on the shirt of one of the dead thralls. “See? I don’t need two hands to spill blood,” He said, with a flourish and a little flip of the blade before catching it with the same hand.

The warrior didn’t reply, merely glaring and putting away her blade, but Astarion didn’t seem bothered. Tav said nothing, opting instead to check the pockets of the bodies left behind, placing all the valuables, and a spare knife or two, inside her bag.

“Seems like we have a little thief among us,” Astarion teased as he leaned over her, tucking away his dagger.

“I‘m just trying to be prepared. I think we’re in Avernus. Who knows what will happen if we get out of this plane and off this ship. I’m not going to be left without anything to at least barter with.” Tav retorted, dropping a few health potions in with the rest of it. “Besides, I’m not sure it counts as thieving if they’re dead.”

“We have no time for idle prattle. We must reach the helm.” The gith said,

Tav pushed herself up, closing her bag. “Alright, alright. Hopefully we don’t encounter anything else before we get there.”

Around the corner of the corridor, the hallway opened up into a fully intact, suspended platform.

An ominous pulsating chamber glowed in the center of the room, rising from the level below.The light was a hellish red giving the whole chamber a grim cast. Five beds were evenly distributed around it, attached by ligamental sinews, strange and fleshy, but glowing with the same light of the central chamber. And in the space directly in front of them, was a console, chitinous and unpleasant, with three large buttons with a gelatinous sheen, and large placards with a script she couldn’t parse above them. It hummed with an unpleasant energy, psionic and prickling. Tav approached the console, her companions at her back. From the corner of her eye, she could see Astarion reach his hand out to the gelatinous structure, and on instinct she reached out and smacked it away. He pulled his hand back to his chest, glaring.

“Don’t press any buttons unless you know for sure what they do.” She scolded him and he sighed, rolling his eyes.

“You’re no fun.”

Unable to make any sense of the console, she moved closer to the first of two thralls who lay unconscious on the beds. As Tav approached them, it was clear they were beyond help. Dark sunken shadows stood out surrounding their eyes, but the unnatural chill of their skin verified it.

She opened her mouth to comment, to say something to assuage the grim despair building within her. It felt hopeless, though she wasn’t ready to give up. Her thoughts were interrupted by soft thuds and muffled screaming coming from the side of the room. Tav whirled around, all put running toward the sound, seeing a pod tucked behind a pillar with a woman trapped inside.

“Get me out of here! Please!” The woman begged. Tav inspected the pod, searching for a latch or button, for any sort of weakness in the shell of it. She could find nothing that looked vaguely familiar, and luck wasn’t in her favor as it had been before.

“We don’t have time for stragglers,” The Githyanki hissed, “We must escape. Leave her!”

Tav whipped around to face the impatient warrior, her braid flying wildly enough that Astarion had to lean back so as not to be caught by it. "Fine.” She said, gesturing toward the doors on the other sides of the room. “Go right ahead on your own, but I'm not leaving anyone behind without at least trying to help."

Tav rested her palm upon the console next to the pod, feeling the prickle of psionic energy once more. She pushed forward, a singular thought, willing it with all her might: Open.

The device didn’t respond, feeling strangely empty and disconnected.

“Oh, I’m not allowed to touch anything, but you can just poke and prod at anything you want.” Astarion sneered dramatically.

Tav sighed, feeling stretched and thin by fighting and the day and now the snappish responses from her companions. Her magic already was welling in her fingertips from where she’d tried to connect to the console. She turned, dragging her fingers across the console, feeling the bite of the uneven texture against them.

“Astarion, not now. I think I can open this. I just need a… connection of some sort.” Tav paused when her fingers hit an empty spot within the console and turned to see it was a rectangular slot. She shifted so he could see it. “Look for something that might fit into this, please? I’ll try to see if I can magic her out of this.”

Astarion groaned, and wandered away while Tav reached out with her magic properly, trying to navigate and override the system. The console took hold, much like the tadpole connections had, but there were no images or feelings, only a feeling deep in her mind, like pulling tendrils of her soul apart like petals from a flower. With a shout, she let go of the connection, reeling two steps back, before the machine could take more than what she was willing to give.

"What are you doing? Get this open!" The woman shouted, desperation clear in her voice as she continued endlessly beating her fists against the glass.

"Listen, I'm trying not to kill you, so I suggest letting me focus!" Tav growled, as she squared her shoulders and approached the console again. Tav inhaled, hands raising as she prepared to cast, but was interrupted as Astarion returned. He looked even paler than before, his eyes taking on a quality Tav could only call haunted, but in his palm, he held a key and a rectangular rune.

“That might work.” She said, reaching for the rune.

He didn’t respond, gaze set firmly on the pod and console.

“What did you find?” She asked softly, fingers curling about the stone in her hand as she suppressed the urge to ask what was wrong.

“Don’t press any of the buttons if you don’t know what they do,” He repeated to her, finally looking her in the eye. Tav crossed her arms, waiting for a more thorough explanation. “I saw it. I saw what happens to us if we don’t get these tadpoles out of our heads. It’s… awful.”

Tav frowned, It wasn’t a surprise really, that whatever the tadpoles would do would be bad, but the last thing they needed was more stress. She sighed and turned back to console. “Then we better get a move on. We only have so much time.”

She slotted the rune into the console, and it lit up, the weak thread of psionic energy that she’d been connecting to before growing in intensity as the console hummed. Tav laid her hand upon the glowing orb and reached out with her thoughts again. The tadpole writhed at the connection, burrowing itself deeper into her mind. It was a biting feeling, but it carried with it a strange feeling of contentment followed immediately by a gut wrenching sense of unease. But all of that paled in comparison to the sense of utter uninfringed authority that flowed over Tav. She clung to the feeling as she made her way back through the psionic pathways of the system, willing the pod to open, until a click resonated through her thoughts, proving the pod was now open. She opened her eyes, to see the pod’s shell open with a hiss, and the woman fell to the floor. Tav pulled back her hand, severing the already waning connection, a residual tickle of psionic energy shivering down her spine. She shook her head to ground herself, and reached out to help the stranger up from the ground.

“Thank you, I thought that pod was going to be my coffin-” The woman said, as their tadpoles connected, flitting through a strong feeling of gratefulness, but above all else the overwhelming desire to survive. The connection ended nearly as soon as it started, almost as though the woman was capable of pushing it out of her mind. Tav looked at her curiously, she had a cut running across her brow, and her hands were bruised from beating against the sealed pod.

The woman didn’t seem to notice Tav’s inspection. She patted herself down and looked around her, before peering into the pod, and pulling out a conch-like ball and sliding it into her pack.

“What’s with the spiky ball?” Tav asked, eyebrows raised.

“Listen, I appreciate you saving my life, but I suggest minding your own business.” The woman said sharply, before pausing and sighing. “I’m sorry. Today has been long and overwhelming to say the least. I’m Shadowheart.”

“Tav. This is Astarion and… Well, I don’t know her name actually? She’s not one for formalities.”

“ Chk .” the Githyanki spat, already edging away from the group. Shadowheart nodded in their direction and cast healing word onto herself, her cuts healing over in the wash of soft blue light.

A cleric of some kind then. Certainly useful, since right now they had all of a handful of health potions to their name and whatever she could manage to make once they were out of the hells and off the ship. Assuming she’d be alive to do so at any rate.

"Would you mind sharing some of that with Astarion? He had his arm broken." Tav suggested pointing at Astarion’s limp arm in the sling.

“I’m not sure I trust your judgment in finding me a proper healer.” Astarion turned and cast a downward glance at Shadowheart.

Tav clenched her jaw and took a deep breath, opening her mouth to say something, but closed it instead, walking away to disperse the rising heat that was flowing through her. She’d thought the feeling was because of where they were before, but now she knew better. She walked away, taking a half circle of the room around the glowing pillar, unaware of the trail of steaming, mossy foot prints she left behind.

From the corner of her eye, she could see Astarion and Shadowheart both glance at the ground before looking at each other, and then the gith, who had not moved, her arms still firmly crossed as she stood still as a statue.

“I could always just leave you to suffer if you’d like?” Shadowheart chirped after a moment of silence, and Astarion begrudgingly stretched his broken arm out toward her. She grabbed his forearm and flipped it up, pulling a yelp out from Astarion before her healing energy set into his aching bones. “Oops, did that hurt? I’ll be more gentle next time.”

Tav rubbed at her temples, wondering if it was this day that was cursed or perhaps just her. She exhaled deeply, before watching her new companions again. Now was not the time to dwell on curses. She watched as Astarion smirked a little, clearly pleased as he massaged his forearm. Shadowheart checked her shoulder into his when she walked away, settling next to Tav.

“Finally!” The gith exclaimed. “You all act like petulant children. No self-preservation in sight. Now let’s go.”

After a moment to check the pockets of the dead prisoners, and to unlock a chest with the other key Astarion had found, they were off, traveling down the strange fleshy corridors. They were more intact than any they’d encountered before, which could only be taken as a good sign. Or at least, Tav hoped so. The farther they wandered through the halls of the ship, the more the ship creaked and listed to the side. They were running out of time.

Finally they came to a large empty room, clearly an antechamber of some sort, with only one other door. They’d reached the last change to gather themselves before the helm.

The gith seemed to notice that too, stopping and issuing a command not unlike a general on a field of battle. “Once we are inside the helm, do as I say.”

Shadowheart scoffed at the order. “Who put you in charge? I’ll trust my own judgment.”

“Unless you have experience fighting ghaik it would behoove you to listen to my superior knowledge.”

“Superior- !” Shadowheart reeled back, face contorted into a dark sneer.

The ship shook violently again, as Astarion cut in. “As delightfully catty and entertaining as this is, I don’t think we have the time.”

Neither of the women said anything, still glaring at one another, but they turned toward the door to the helm.

“Wait!” Tav cried out, flipping open the bag of holding and shoving her arm into it. She thought first of the items she’d added to it as they’d traversed the ship, and withdrew her hand as a dagger materialized within. “Here,” she said, transferring it to her other hand and holding it out for Astarion to take, “You have two good hands now; two knives seems better than one.”

Even as she spoke she was reaching into the bag, thinking very clearly of one of the sealed containers of ingredients from before this whole nightmarish sojourn. A heavy glass container weighed down her hand as she attempted to maneuver it free. As soon as Astarion took the dagger from her other hand, she used it to support the container, flipping the hinged lid back, and pulling out two bundles of dried weavemoss. Holding them between her fingers, she closed the container and slipped it back into the bag.

“We do not have time for plants!” The gith warrior said, almost petulant in her desire to get to the helm.

Tav could hardly blame her impatience. Their chances of escape would crumble around their ears, unless they took control soon.

“If you want us to be useful in any sort of fight,” Tav said to her, gesturing at Shadowheart and herself. “I suppose I shouldn’t speak for her, but today has been the worst sort of day and using magic is tiring. This will help.”

She proffered one of the bundles to Shadowheart, who took it with a skeptical look. “What is it?”

“Weavemoss. It helps with arcane focus and casting. It works best if distilled into a vitriol and combined with a sublimate, but we don’t have the time for that. Chewing it as is will help more than nothing.”

All three of the others stared at Tav, and she felt herself start to blush under the scrutiny. So as to avoid thinking about it, she popped her own bunch of purple moss into her mouth and began to chew. It was crumbly and bitter, with a strange zing to it that could not be quantified as anything but the flavor of magic. The magical heat that had banked a little as they’d journeyed through the corridors of the ship flared again, not pressing, simply present.

Shadowheart wrinkled her nose as she watched her chew, but nodded eventually. “Alright, I suppose we can use every advantage we can get.”

With a grimace, the dark haired woman popped the moss in her mouth and chewed. After a moment she shook her head.

“That’s absolutely vile.”

Tav shrugged. “Most potions and their ingredients are.”

“Are you finished now?” The gith’s stare all but pinned Tav to the floor.

“I don’t have anything else useful in the bag of tricks, no.”

“To battle then.”

“I certainly won’t say no to some revenge,” Astarion added, now with a dagger in each hand.

And with that, they headed through the door.

On the other side a battle raged, two mindflayers locked in combat with two cambions, hell boars, and imps. Directly in front of them, the first of the mindflayers swooped backwards, out of range of the cambion’s flaming blade. Farther into the room, the other mindflayer loomed behind a cambion, suddenly lunging forward and wrapping its tentacles around its horns and jaw. The tentacles pulled the creature’s head back sharply as the mindflayer set its mouth to the trapped skull with a wet squelch. It let out a pulsating sound, one that made Tav’s jaw clench, as it pulled back. But immediately, it was swarmed by a group of imps, slashing at its purple skin with hellish claws.

It fell in a crumpled heap and the imps scattered, slipping around the battle at the center of the room. The remaining mindflayer let free a bright purple blast of psionic magic. The cambion was shoved backward, arms spread wide as he slid across the floor.

The mindflayer turned to the group, orange eyes glowing as it spoke, voice reverberating in Tav’s skull as the tadpole writhed again. ”Thrall. Connect the nerves of the transponder. We must escape. Now!”

It gestured at a console on the far side of the room, bluish tendrils extending from both the ceiling and the console on the ground. The tendrils were capped by wide flat ends with thorned edges that curled up. Behind the disconnected tendrils, the light of Avernus flooded in through broken windows.

“We should do as he says and deal with him once we are out of battle,” the gith shouted over the roar of the ship’s engine and the wind rushing through the shattered helm windows.

After a glance at the others, giving them each a nod, Tav inhaled sharply, her heart hammering as she began to move, flinging a flame bolt at an imp as it dropped toward her from the ceiling. It let out a screech as the flames licked through the skin of its wings, dropping to the ground like a stone. A squealing was all the warning any of them received as a hell boar charged toward the group, its eyes and tusks glowing like embers.

“Watch out!” she shouted, instinct kicking in as she leapt just in time to avoid the tusk goring her calf, staggering as she landed, and turning to check on the rest of the group.

To one side, a silvery dagger flew through the air and landed firmly in the neck of an imp, stopping its chittering laugh. A gurgle of blood emptied from the wound as Astarion pulled the blade from the creature’s neck. Without breaking his stride, he turned and ran full tilt in her direction.

A bellowing cry shifted Tav’s attention to the gith warrior as she buried her sword deep into the spine of the hell’s boar. So far, in fact, that it burst out the other side of the creature and wedged itself into the chitin floor. She yanked, but to no avail, another imp rushed down toward her, the crackle of flame sparking in its claws.

“Incandus!”

The shout stopped the imp before it could strike, engulfing the creature in a radiant golden flame from Shadowheart’s outstretched hand. The creature made no sound as it disintegrated, leaving behind nothing but a flutter of ash in the hot wind coursing through the helm.

“Change of plans!” Tav said, as Shadowheart ran up beside her with the gith on her heels. “Can you make him drop his sword?” she said, tilting her head at the cambion.

Shadowheart’s eyes narrowed, but she nodded. “Yes.”

“Do it.”

She turned to their disarmed warrior. “When it falls, you should take it. Then we break for the transponder.”

Yellow eyes stared at her grimly for a long moment, interrupted only by the sound of the battle between the cambion and mindflayer. “Very well.”

Tav bounced on her toes, gripping her quarterstaff in both hands. “Are you sure now is the time to be indulging your penchant for loot?” Astarion hissed in her ear. “I think giving the strongest among us a blade is the right idea, yes.”

She looked to Shadowheart and nodded. The dark-haired cleric stretched her hand out, calling out an incantation over the howling of the wind. With a clatter, the flaming blade fell to the floor at the cambion’s feet, just as the mindflayer unleashed another wave of psionic energy.

“Time to move!” Tav shouted. The gith sprinted forward, her hand wrapping around the hilt of the sword, hefting it up as she sprinted toward the transponder, falling in with the rest of them. They made it up the stairs to the landing where the console sat, only to see a dragon swoop by, its roar only muffled by the sound of the wind.

More hellish creatures charged in from the shadows. The imps and the hellboar were easily dispatched as they ran, but it was too late - the cambion had called for allies. With three cambions and a mindflayer on their heels, there was little any of them could do but throw spells as they ran. It barely slowed them down, and they had to scatter to the sides until Tav was alone in the center, enemies advancing on her.

Tav could feel the tingling of electric heat in her fingers again, and knew it wouldn’t abate. She squeezed her eyes shut and reached out, her hand making contact with the console of the transponder. The energy inside her grew, roiling near the surface now, the magic that was so deeply a part of her that she couldn’t access or control.

She inhaled raggedly, attempting to hold off just a moment longer as her hands reached behind her to pull two of the tendrils together. She stared down the enemies bare feet from her. Tiny sparks crackled from the tips of her fingers.

“What are you doing! Connect the damned things and get us out of here!” Astarion shouted, and she turned in the direction of his voice. Her eyes widened in panic as her vision clouded. An inky phthalo green cast over her irises, shadowing and pulling at the color of the previously silver pools. Blackness seeped from the edges of deep green and enveloped the whites of her corneas. Her pupils dilated as her magic surged within her irradiating and glowing.

Astarion took a step back, his brows furrowed in surprise, watching as Tav became enveloped in clouds of radiant neon energy, bleeding from every pore.

Her vision faded away entirely as the tendrils connected, and a floating feeling swept over her pulling her loose braid apart. A strong pulse of fire and lightning crackled through her, more insistent now.

“Hold on to something!” she shouted, but in her own ears the voice sounds foreign, deeper and more resonant.

A whoosh of air swept down toward her behind her. Without looking, she grabbed at the wrist of her attacker with her free hand. The texture of the skin beneath her fingers was slightly damp and slimy, and she knew this must be the mindflayer.

She turned to look over her shoulder, "You should really be more mindful of the types of people you pick up."

The power vibrated within her, like a million thorns pricking the underside of her skin, the magic in her blood trying to push its way through. She shoved the offending hand away with gritted teeth, inhaling a breath and smelling the sky after a storm. The air crackled like a live charge, a growing buzzing filling the air, the sound of the ship’s engines and wind gone, in place of a deadly stillness. Silence swept over the room.

Please be a good one, She thought.

Then she screamed as the magic escaped her. An almost deafening crack thundered from the sheer force of the magic radiating off of her. A beam of light burst from her in waves as enemies that surrounded her disintegrated into dust. The beam tore through the ship around them. It shoved her backward, over the console, her only tether was the hand still wrapped around the transponder’s nerves. Her eyes blinked open, vision blurred like upon first waking. The ship crumbled around them, bits of the flooring falling past her as the ship hurtled toward its final destination. For an instant, she felt weightless before gravity reasserted itself with a heavy pull.

Opening her mouth to call out, she glanced around, looking for the others. But there was too much debris; crumbled pillars and floors and a thick sheet of dust along with it fell toward her, sending her into a round of coughing as she clung to whatever she could to stay stable. Just as she opened her eyes again, a large section of a pillar fell toward her, her eyes widening as she flung her body to the side with what little control she had as they plummeted downward.

But even that did nothing, as a moment later a smaller, dreadfully heavy chunk of something fell onto her chest. Her fingers released on instinct and she was sent careening away from anything she could find purchase on. Her fingers slipped over the strange fleshy remnants of walls as she fell through the debris.

Then she made contact with something solid. A body. Cold fingers wrapped around her, grasping and clinging. She used every ounce of strength she had to wrap herself around the body, a head of white hair slipping into her field of vision as she tucked her head down closer. She locked her arms around Astarion’s back, her own hands icy in the wind. She felt him go limp as soon as they latched around him, his weight pushing against her, knocking the breath out of her once more.

She inhaled, the cold wind like knives in her lungs as she closed her eyes. The ship, and its fire and smoke, didn’t matter now. All that mattered now was this feeling, the endless feeling of falling. The sharp and high whistle of the wind as they cut through it.

She tried to call up her magic, but she felt drained, as if the magic were at the bottom of a deep well. She tried again, and once more, before giving up the attempt.

Her mind wandered as she fell, trailing back over a century. The cold gripping her limbs, pulling at them until she could fight it no more. Her eyes fell closed, listening to the wind whistle past, her head falling back. Her limbs feel heavy, unable to fight the exhaustion and pressure and cold that pulled at her from every direction.

It was so easy to just give in.

As she let go, she wondered if perhaps death brought peace.

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iampikachuhearmeroar · 11 months ago

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ugh just remembered when I was in that useless fucking social services job hunting workshop.... and the presenter, when she called me for my resume consult basically told me I was liar when I had the usual complaint that "oh just about EVERY entry level job where I am is DEMANDING that I have anywhere between 2 to 5 years experience already before applying"... and instead of confirming that is the problem with the job market today, she instead condescended to me saying "oh no honey that's bc they're HIGH LEVEL admin jobs demanding that and NOT ENTRY LEVEL. learn to read."

actually, no, sandra (not her real name). they're NOT high-level jobs. they're run of the mill front desk reception or call centre jobs, which are also basic data entry jobs.... that only 20 years ago (probably) would've been a walk-in off the street and be employed tomorrow thing, or NO experience needed, we'll train you!" type shit if you applied online.

now these positions are DEMANDING 2 to 5 years experience AND sometimes a combined traineeship for 1-2 years in business admin, pr that you ALREADY have the tafe cert III in business admin, bc they don't want you wasting time studying or waste their time training you. that's why I keep applying for traineeships bc half of these positions already come with one, or "the chance to take on a traineeship" which means, "we'll make you do it anyway and not reduce your workload to accommodate study time". if the job is advertised as a full-time position without the traineeship attached in the title (like a junior admin officer job or something that i've applied for at a local lawyer before).

just. I hated how dismissive this woman was all around. I know I should probs complain tk social services about her, but idk if anything would actually happen. and plus she'd be all like "oh everyone else in that class loved me, why don't you? just keep vibrating at 70htz in loathing and resentment and GET NO OPPORTUNITIES EVER bc of that. why did my teaching not get the IMPORTANCE of vibrating at 500htz ie. LOVE AND PEACE AND ACCEPTANCE is the ONLY thing that'll give you abundance and opportunities, through to you????"

uh maybe bc I see job hunting as a practical thing and not all the batshit reiki shit that I like in asmr for entertainment.... and the vision board mumbo jumbo of self-help internet is great coming from youtubers like Anna akana.... but NOT in a jobhunting working shop.... where you're guilting people about this mumbo jumbo is exactly why they'll never employed ever again. and esp since my old workplace tried to fire me for "ruining the positive family vibe of this workplave bc you rolled your eyes at me twice and are sarcastic from time to time 😥" during my performance meeting in November 2022. so obvs, I'll refuse to take that side of it seriously.

anyway my point was originally that im pissed of that this woman insisted that entry level jobs that are advertising 2 to 5 years experience aren't "entry level jobs, they're high level." when she was posed as an "employment expert" for this course.

no. they're NOT high-level jobs the bulk of the time. they're fucking run of the mill data entry which really only requires minimum skills in microsoft office and admin etc and a professional phone manner etc.... but instead they're asking for 2-5 years experience and intermediate to advanced microsoft office skills (or google suite etc) bc they want the applicant to do 25 jobs in place of 7 different people. which is shit I should be able to do with an arts degree. you're the one who really knows nothing.

but instead they want to drag me through another whole ass certificate 3 course and ANOTHER traineeship bc apparently an arts degree and a years worth of actual solid office experience isn't enough to man phones, do data entry, do front office reception and whatever dumbass shit "done with minimal supervision superhero" tasks they write in the job description on seek et al

#life #about me #shut up ilona #ilona's jobhunting thoughts and woes lol #ilona's work thoughts #ilona's work dilemmas #also posting this here bc i was supposed to comment kn something similar on linkedin #but then i accidentally refreshed my feed and lost the comment.... and i also thought better of it tbh

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texasobserver · 2 years ago

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From “The New Children’s Crusade: Recruiting for America’s Culture War” by Texas Observer McHam Investigative Fellow Josephine Lee, in the March/April 2023 issue of our magazine:

Wearing a blue America First cap, 19-year-old Max White stood among a dozen protesters, softly mouthing the Hail Mary prayers over and over: “Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners now and at the hour of our death.”

Around White flew the flags of right-wing extremist groups, including the American Nationalist Initiative and the New Columbia Movement, carried by men who looked to be in their 20s, strapped with rosaries or assault rifles or both. On a cloudless January day in Dallas, they faced off against a group of nearly 100 community members who showed up to support the drag show performance that White and his peers were protesting.

“I started going to these events last year, starting with the Pride event in Oak Lawn. … I was like, ‘If these people are going to go and protest this kind of stuff, just perverse sexual stuff for kids, I’m going,’” he said.

Since he was 16, White has been following young white-supremacist agitator Nick Fuentes and groups like Protect Texas Kids, which has been targeting drag shows in North Texas, including the one that day in Dallas. The organization was founded and is directed by recent college graduate Kelly Neidert, who achieved notoriety by calling for transgender people to be criminalized and Pride event participants to be “rounded up” while she was the chapter chair of the Young Conservatives of Texas (YCT) at the University of North Texas in Denton. Now she is using the activism skills she learned from YCT to lead other young conservatives like White, a freshman political science major who hopes to become a lawyer one day.

“You have all these groups that are weaponizing young people in ways that we really haven’t seen before,” conservative political consultant Micah Bock told a group of teenagers and younger children to thunderous applause at last fall’s Texas Youth Summit. As he spoke, young girls at the front of the crowd took notes with their pom-pom pens bobbing.

It’s all part of a nationwide effort by multiple well-funded groups, many of which originated or are based in Texas, to mobilize young people, mainly Christian youth, to engage in right-wing politics. These groups and their leaders are part of a roll-call of Christian nationalist power players who defend the January 6 riots, promote hate speech, and aim to build their economic and political power by instilling Christian and constitutional “originalism” in the public sphere. To achieve their goals, they are increasingly defending the use of violence, particularly anti-LGBTQ+ violence, which has shot up in frequency since the start of 2022.

What’s more, the leaders of the movement are set on convincing young people, starting even before high school, that they are the underdogs in this fight—the under-funded rebels fighting a rich, powerful leftist establishment–and that what they’re engaged in is a holy war for America’s soul.

The movement is meeting opposition from more progressive Christian leaders.

“What I think they really are concerned about is their loss of a privileged place in terms of influence and power. I think Christian nationalism is being used as a tool to maintain and to galvanize that power,” said Fort Worth Pastor Michael Mills, an outspoken critic of that movement.

“It feels a little bit like a form of indoctrination [in which] these poisonous ideas are passed from one generation to the next,” he said. “If there are no checks on that, it’s almost like, [as] each generation gets older, they get more and more dangerous, in a sense. And that’s the scary part.”