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waywardangel-wilds · 1 year

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In tonight's episode of siblings or dating... both!

Okay so the girls in my Everlark discord said some very funny things and I had to write a one-shot about it:

[AU where hijacked Peeta fully forgot about the romantic tension between Gale and Katniss and he truly believes they are cousins -- using the real book dialogue as a base then going off on my merry fanfiction way-- I will be adding this to my 'cellar conversations' collection (I finally made the funny one!).]

“Thanks for the water,” Peeta says.

“No problem,” Gale replies. “I wake up ten times a night anyway.”

“To make sure Katniss is still here?” asks Peeta.

“Something like that,” Gale admits.

There’s a long pause before Peeta speaks again. “That was funny, what Tigris said. About no one knowing what to do with her.”

“Well, we never have,” Gale says.

They both laugh.

“She loves you, you know,” Gale says. “The way she kissed you in the Quarter Quell… well, she never kissed me like that.”

Peeta frowns. Kissed him? He must have misheard. “It was just part of the show,” Peta assures him, although he can't help the edge of trepidation in his voice.

“No, you won her over. Gave up everything for her. Maybe that’s the only way to convince her you love her.” There’s a long pause where Peeta wonders what the hell this conversation is about. “I should have volunteered to take your place in the first Games. Protected her then.”

“You couldn’t,” Peeta speaks somewhat slower than usual. “She’d never have forgiven you. You had to take care of your family. You matter more to her than her life.” You. Her family that you are a part of. Because you're cousins. Close cousins who look like siblings. Cousins.

“Well, it won’t be an issue much longer. I think it’s unlikely all three of us will be alive at the end of the war. And if we are, I guess it's Katniss’s problem. Who to choose.” Gale yawns. “We should get some sleep.”

“Yeah,” Peeta slides his handcuffs down his support. Maybe this is one of those normal things he forgot were normal. But whatever, who cares, he's probably going to die tomorrow anyway. This is really not his most pressing concern.

"Night," Gale rolls over and he's left to stare at the ceiling.

[Several months later, before 'so after' during 'Peeta and I grow back together']

Peeta picks up the stack of unopened mail that sits precariously on Katniss's mantle. He shuffles through the letters and sees a variety of names, including his own. Katniss sits patiently on the couch, watching him without speaking a word.

"Why haven't you opened these?" He asks with a smile as he waves some of the letters around with one hand. "Looks like everyone and their mother wrote to you."

Katniss tries to hide it but she lets out a little laugh. She rolls her eyes. "I don't think everyone wrote me a letter, Peeta."

He shrugs and goes back to shuffling the letters, taking care to tuck his own at the very bottom of the stack. No use reading those now. He pauses his shuffling when his eyes land on a familiar name. A name that's been bothering him for some time now, in the back of his mind, with an old question.

He clears his throat and attempts to appear casual. "Hey, you have a few here from Gale Hawthorne. You two got along well, right?"

Katniss visibly tenses. "Yeah." she offers nothing more.

"Well, maybe you should open those first." He smiles and offers the three envelopes to her. "Should be easy."

Katniss purses her lips. "I'd rather not start with him, thanks."

Peeta nods rapidly. "Oh. Okay, yeah that's fine." Remain casual he reminds himself. He doesn't want to offend her or anything like that. He holds the letters in one hand and reaches up to scratch the back of his neck. "Hey, um, is it okay if I ask you something?"

Katniss raises one of her ebony eyebrows. She smiles at him quizzically, "Uh, you just did."

"Ha," Peeta smiles and rolls his eyes good-naturedly. "Right. Yeah. But um it's a bit of a dumb question." He pauses. Katniss doesn't do anything other than stare at him expectantly. "Um, so, no judgment or anything like that, I mean, I'll still like you of course, but uh, was Gale actually your cousin?" He frowns almost with embarrassment as he asks. Katniss raises both her eyebrows in surprise. "I mean, ah, maybe that wasn't that big of a deal back then? I don't actually remember. I mean, well, I think I do? But uh, maybe your family was different, I mean, not that your family was different bad or anything but--"

"Peeta," Katniss interjects but he's already on a roll.

"I mean, I guess there weren't that many guys around our age who were visually interesting--"

"Peeta!" Katniss is laughing. She covers her mouth with her hands and shakes her head, but he can still see the laughter shaking her frame and lighting up her eyes. "No. No. Gale and I aren't cousins. That was just something the Capitol made up. Not real."

"Oh." Peeta nods. He presses the stack of letters to his chest and nods again. "Well, okay."

Katniss drops her hands back to her lap. She's still smiling. "Is there something else?"

"Well, I know you kissed him. He told me," he admits. "Um, was he your boyfriend or something?"

She shakes her head. "It was... complicated. Nothing ever really went anywhere. We were barely friends at the end. Probably strangers now."

Peeta takes a moment to absorb that and feels a deep sadness for her. He looks down at the letters. Maybe not strangers.

"Why don't you read these?" He insists gently, extending Gale's letter towards her. "It looks like he wants to talk."

Katniss frowns but takes them. She places the closed envelopes in her lap and pats them gently. "Maybe," she concedes. "Sometime later. When I'm ready."

He nods, "Sure." He smiles at her and walks around the coffee table to join her on the couch. "Sorry about that dumb question by the way."

Katniss laughs again, her eyes crinkling, "No it's okay. I mean I would want to know."

[and that's it! I didn't know what else to write to end it, but this was kind of funny to me]

#everlark #the hunger games #peeta mellark #thg #katniss everdeen #katniss and peeta #fanfic #gale hawthorne

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pleasestaywithmedarling · 2 months

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Sin of Purity, Purity of Sin: Part XXIII

previous masterlist next

see end note for content warning

“If Vato is as you claim—”

It had felt so good to say it out loud.

All her life, Kiri had listened to her father tell her the will of Vato for her life, along with the many ways she failed Him. She hadn’t been allowed to be anything less than flawless.

If she forgot to put her doll away, she’d been deliberately lazy. She shouldn’t be playing with toys anymore at her age anyway; she should be focusing on her studies and chores.

If she’d taken shelter from a sudden rain and was late coming home, she’d only pretended not to see the clouds forming so that she could talk longer with her friends. She shouldn’t waste any more of her time with girls who would influence her to such willful irresponsibility.

If she tore her skirt on a fence post, she’d purposely exposed that thin sliver of her thigh and invited all the men of the town to lust after her. She couldn’t ever be trusted around any man but her father.

Everything she did was yet another example of the evils lurking in her core; any infraction meant an hour on her knees reciting the prayer of sin. And none of this was unfair. It couldn’t be, because it was the will of Vato; Vato couldn’t be unfair, because Vato was the god of justice.

Though she’d accepted every word as truth, she’d still dared to dream of escape. Rather than leave the rule of a father who expected perfect obedience, only to enter the dominion of a husband who would demand even more, she’d sought a way out of both. A life of service to Vato, she’d hoped, would provide her with some measure of protection. But her years of training to join the ranks of priestesses had only proven that she would find no safety in the temple.

If her favorite cousin’s betrothed grew pregnant, Kiri had to turn them both away from temple services until they were married and no longer living in sin.

If the carpenter’s widow was wasting away, skipping meals so that she had more coin to donate to the temple, Kiri had to promise her that Vato would consider healing her tiny daughter in return for her generosity.

If the boy from next door reached the age of fourteen—the official age of accountability—and still openly insisted that Vato was cruel to let his sister die, Kiri had to stand alongside the priests and watch as he was beaten in the town square for his small blasphemy.

Every practice of the temple had to be carried out unquestioned; any doubts she expressed meant five days locked in a prayer cell. And none of this was unfair. It couldn’t be, because it was the will of Vato; Vato couldn’t be unfair, because Vato was the god of justice.

Though she was praised as a shining example of purity and piety, she’d never felt more monstrous.

And then she’d been thrown in a cage and carted off to the High Temple.

She’d escaped the injustices of her girlhood, only by pledging herself to serve the temple. She’d escaped the injustices she herself had committed there, only by being pledged to a year of imprisonment and torture and the looming presence of death.

Where was Vato in all this?

She no longer knew whether she believed He or any of the gods were even real. She didn’t know if it mattered. All she knew was that if He was anything like the god of her father, of Emitis, of Ilyrna’s High Temple, then He did not deserve her worship.

She’d watched countless people suffer in His name. But none more so Anden. When she’d stood by his side as the Prince Firon took the lashings intended for him, when she’d seen for herself the shredded skin and rivulets of blood, the cries she’d heard had instead been Anden’s. How many times had she lain in her cell, listening to his screams?

He didn’t deserve any of it. No one did. And no true god of justice would have stood for it.

“—Anden is far more worthy of my devotion than He ever was.”

It had felt so good to say it out loud, to finally speak against the cruel lies she’d been inundated with her entire life. She’d never felt more at peace with herself than she had in that moment.

Gods, she wished she could take it back.

The orange light streaming through the High Chamber’s western windows announced that Midsummer’s Eve was drawing to a close. Her final day leashed to her pillar had been spent failing miserably to ignore the gag that pressed down on her tongue. She had to constantly fight back the urge to try to push it out; any efforts to do so only distressed her more. It never grew less horrifying, the way her mouth had been so entirely adhered shut around the thin plate of metal. After a full day of this punishment, the back of her tongue and the insides of her cheeks had been scraped raw. It didn’t help that her mouth was so dry—she’d been unable to drink anything since the few swallows of water she’d had the evening prior, and her thirst was so strong that it made her lightheaded.

And this wasn’t even her real punishment. That, she and Anden would both face later that night, during the High Priest’s personal partaking of the rituals of purity and sin. Sickening Fear and guilt swirled in her core as their final day came to an end.

While they were led back through the temple halls, she watched Anden struggle to keep the guards’ pace. All through the day she’d kept an anxious eye on him; the prince’s strange visit had shaken him terribly. He seemed to have regained some semblance of calm since last night, but he was clearly exhausted, and still in so much pain from last week’s rituals—from the last year’s rituals, really.

His suffering would be all the worse tonight under Emitis’ vengeful wrath, all because she’d so foolishly ran her mouth. Perhaps she deserved to have it sealed away.

The door of some hidden chamber in her mind rattled in its frame. She quickly checked that its lock was intact, and focused on the rapid tapping of her forefinger and thumb until she forgot all about it.

During their brief respite alone in their cells, Anden reluctantly ate his meager dinner in silence while they both tried to ignore the growling of Kiri’s empty stomach. When he was finished, he took a deep breath and asked, “Can you do something for me?”

Anything. She nodded.

For a long moment, he was silent. “This is so fucked up,” he muttered at last. “I, uh, I need you to be alert tomorrow. Cause I’ve got to sneak that blade out with us. And I can do it, but it’s gonna be hard. And I—I think it’ll be easier if you can find some way to keep everyone’s attention on you. Whatever you can do. So you need to stay alert.

“And that means tonight—” His eyes searched hers. “That thing you do where you—you just sort of go away? For days, sometimes. Like you’re here, but you’re really not.” Looking down, Kiri began tearing her fingers through the end of her braid as he pressed on. “Look, I don’t know how much you can control it. And I know, I know this is such a fucked up thing to ask. But whatever happens tonight, you can’t go away like that. At least, not so far that you can’t come back tomorrow. Not if you can help it.”

Squeezing her eyes shut, she jerked her head in a nod. What other response could she give? She’d have to find some way to do as he said. She didn’t know how, but if this was what he needed from her to help them break free of this nightmare, she’d have to find a way. It couldn’t all be up to Anden. Especially not after he could have escaped two nights ago, and had stayed because of her.

Especially not after they could have both escaped last winter, and she’d ruined it.

Especially not after how agonizingly he’d been punished for every single one of her mistakes.

“Kiri?”

Somewhere inside her, a door rattled violently. A small whine ripped itself from her throat; her lips quivered, pulling painfully at the adhesive that held them together.

“Hey, look at me?” When she forced her eyes open, she saw that she’d been scratching deep into her left arm, and she quickly clenched both fists around the thin fabric of her skirt. She braced herself for Anden’s alarm, or even anger, but she found neither in his gaze. “It’s okay. If you do have to go away, it’s okay. I won’t blame you.”

Something within her went still. Before she could identify what it was, though, a loud creak resounded from the outer chamber.

Anden’s eyes widened, reflecting her own terror back at her. He quickly schooled his face into a neutral expression, a clenched jaw his only tell. “Just one more night,” he said meaningfully.

Just one more night. This time tomorrow, if by some miracle nothing went wrong, they would be free. They just had to make it through one more night. They’d been through so many awful nights—what was one more?

This night, however, would bring a very different kind of anguish. Her first sign of the change to the routine came as the guards began binding her. Rather than crossing both her wrists over her breast, only her right arm was tied in place, with her left hanging free. Anden, meanwhile, was still entirely unrestrained as they were both dragged from their cells and into the outer chamber. His brow furrowed as she caught his eye—he was just as worried as she was.

Waiting for them in the outer chamber was the usual assortment of priests and attendants, and Emitis clothed in full regalia of scarlet. “I stand ready to make the High Priest’s offering of prayer,” he announced to the whole chamber. “And I see that you, our Vessels, stand ready to act as my substitutes in the rituals of water and of blood, as is customary,” he added in a low growl. Kiri shuddered to see that his anger at Prince Firon’s strange behavior the previous night had not abated. “You stand also ready to face the consequences of the Vessel of Purity’s latest transgressions. The both of you, enter the pool.”

The air seemed to thin; Kiri’s nostrils flared with each rapid inhale. Anden moved to stand at her side, easing her free hand from its death-grip on her skirt. Clasping it in his, he guided her toward the bathing pool. “You’re okay,” he murmured as they stepped down into the—

The water—

“You’re okay. Just one more night.” But he was shaking, too.

The water came up to her knee, to her thigh—

Just one more night. Just one more night.

Just one—

Oh, gods, the water—

Anden shouldn’t be here. Gods, he shouldn’t be here, in the—

The water—

Just one more night. Just one. She couldn’t fall apart. Just for one night—Anden would need her tomorrow, so she couldn’t fall apart, and she couldn’t go away.

But she worried that she wouldn’t have any choice.

When she was ordered to present her left hand to the guard kneeling at the edge of the pool, she already felt a familiar haze begin to settle over her. The manacle that was locked around her wrist felt too heavy and too light, and the clinking of the chain that hung from it was oddly muted.

Anden’s hand settled on the small of her back, solid and real, and she fought to keep her focus on his touch.

Standing over them, imperious, the High Priest said, “You, Vessel of Sin, have observed this ritual many times; I trust I need not explain its steps. Tonight, it will be your responsibility to ensure that our Vessel of Purity remains submerged throughout each stanza of the prayer. There will be consequences for her, should you fail to do your duty.”

Anden inhaled sharply, his hand shifting to grip her waist protectively even as it trembled. Though her own fright had her heartbeat thundering in her ears, one look between the unchecked horror in his eyes and the answering gleam in Emitis’ was all it took for her to realize: this was not her punishment, but Anden’s.

And it was entirely her fault.

Something inside her rattled, something she could not allow to escape her control—not tonight.

Just one more night, she told herself.

“Let us begin,” Emitis said coolly.

Just one more night.

Without waiting for Anden to have to force her down, she sank to her knees. She couldn’t give herself any time to think; taking as deep a breath as she could through her nose, she closed her eyes and leaned back.

Instantly, she realized her mistake, as her body was seized with a panic so strong—

Water, all around her was water.

—that she nearly surfaced. She was stopped by a solid weight on her chest, and she thrashed against it until something cradled her head. A hand, Anden’s hand, and it was Anden holding her, and it was Anden’s punishment, and it was her fault.

She shouldn’t fight him—she had to stay under.

Water, water, all around her was water.

But she had to stay under.

Just one more night. Just one more night. Just one more night.

Suddenly Anden raised her back up, and she had just enough time to get in one good inhale before she saw Emitis open his mouth, about to begin the next stanza. And then she was being pushed back under, and she couldn’t go—she couldn’t be there under, under the—

But there above her, though distorted by ripples, was a face she recognized. It was Anden pushing her, and she shouldn’t fight him.

Just one more night, and it was Anden. Just one more night, and she shouldn’t fight him. Just one more night, but the water—

Everywhere was water.

Gods, everywhere was water.

She needed out, needed to breathe. She shouldn’t fight, but she couldn’t remember why not—she needed to breathe.

Suddenly there was air, and just as suddenly there wasn’t.

Water, everything was water.

Twisting sharply to one side, she broke free of whatever was holding her down and forced her way to the surface. Overwhelmed as she was by the alleviation of her lungs, she didn’t realize what she’d just done until she felt a tugging at her wrist. From the other end of the chain, the guard at the side of the pool was drawing it in rapidly, pulling her hand toward him. He quickly fastened the manacle between two small rings embedded in the floor at the pool's edge.

She couldn’t make sense of what was happening, why Anden was pleading that it had been his fault, why the guard was ordering him to hold her back.

It was only as the guard was swinging it down that she saw the hammer.

She hummed out a cry when she felt the impact. Then the pain hit, a sharp ache that radiated down her littlest finger and through her hand. As the guard unfastened the manacle from the floor and jostled the broken bone, a scream tore through her throat.

Cradling her hand to her chest, she couldn’t hear Emitis’ words over her own rapid pulse. But she felt Anden’s grasp on her shoulders, saw his eyes wide with panic, and dimly registered that he was telling her to breathe. Suddenly the water was rising; instinct took over and she inhaled just before it enveloped her completely.

She tried to jerk back up, but the hands keeping her down held firm. Though she knew she needed to let this happen, it was hard to do when she didn’t know the reason for it; all she knew was water, water all around, and she was going to drown.

A quick breath—

Her hand throbbed, and that was Anden’s voice, where was Anden?

—and everywhere was water.

Another breath—

Anden, he was right there, and she tried to reach for him but her hand, oh gods it hurt, it hurt.

—and everything was water.

Twice more she surfaced. Twice more she felt the sudden relief of air in her lungs, of Anden at her side, of remembering just one more night. Twice more she was thrust back under, and the whole world was water.

The whole world was water, and she wasn’t supposed to fight it. But something was wrong.

She didn’t know why she was supposed to stay under, but she was sure she wasn’t supposed to for this long. Her lungs were burning. As strange shapes and colors flooded her vision, she knew something had gone very wrong. Thrashing wildly, she nearly broke through the surface before the grip on her shoulders tightened. But she couldn’t stay under; if she stayed under she was going to die. Gods, she was going to die. Her movements grew weaker as the colors began to fade.

Then there was air, precious air, and she was alive, but her hand—she let out a garbled yelp as it was jerked to the side, striking hard against the edge of the stone pool.

“—talking too slow, I had to let her up!”

That was Anden’s voice. Anden was there with her; it was his hands on her shoulders, his arms drawing her closer to him. And she remembered: just one more night. But she didn’t think Anden remembered; she could feel him shaking as he pleaded, “I had to, I could have killed her! Please! Please, don’t!”

The manacle at her wrist was secured to the poolside. As the hammer was raised, Kiri hid her face in Anden’s tunic. An awful crack, a sharp pain in her fourth finger, and half her hand was now throbbing with a fierce ache. The metal plate that was cemented between her teeth cut into both her cries and her tongue; she swallowed down blood or maybe it was water because suddenly everywhere, everything, the whole world was water.

She lost all sense of how many baptisms she had left to endure; all she knew was water that engulfed her and colors that faded to blackness and the hammer that swung down and gods it hurt, it hurt so much. And the gag, and the ropes, and the hands pinning her down—Edric, he was pinning her down and she had to get away, she had to breathe and she had to get away. But she couldn’t get away. She couldn’t breathe and she couldn’t get away and she was going to die, she was going to die.

And then she was lying at the edge of the pool, water burning its way out of her nose. When her dripping hair was brushed out of her face, a scream lodged itself in her throat. How, how was he here? How the hell was Edric here? Whining, she tried to push him away, but her hand—gods, the explosion of blinding pain was like nothing she’d ever felt.

“I’m sorry, Kiri—”

She knew that voice.

“Fuck, I didn’t mean—”

Anden. Was Anden alright?

“I couldn’t, I couldn’t—gods, I’m so fucking sorry!”

Anden was far from alright. As she took in his wide eyes, his heaving chest, his shaking hands that hovered over her as though both desperate and afraid to touch her, she realized all over again that this had been for him. This had all been his punishment, his punishment for her actions.

And that had to mean that her own punishment was still to come.

There was no time to reorient herself; far too quickly her ropes had been cut loose and she was standing before Anden. He knelt in the center of the chamber with his arms bound high overhead. Although his eyes glistened with unshed tears, he did not let them fall. But as a guard began to cut through his tunic, he would not meet her gaze. The homespun fabric fell open, revealing the latticework of scars that ran across his chest and down his stomach. Many were old, fully healed but still present reminders of past torments. But some were almost fresh, scabbed over or held together with neat black stitches. From the multitude of even thicker lines of pale, raised flesh wrapping over his shoulders and around his sides, it was clear that his back must have seen even worse damage. Kiri’s heart shattered; she couldn’t imagine how he could have endured so much.

No one should have to go through such suffering. But she knew that she was about to inflict even more.

Something inside her rattled. She couldn’t hold back a small whine, and Anden reflexively looked up at her again.

“Kiri, it’s okay,” he told her, his voice strained. “It’s just one more night.”

Yes. Yes, just one more night. Cradling her injured hand to her chest, she focused on the warm throbbing. She had to stay present, she couldn’t go too far away.

Just one more night.

But as she listened to Emitis’ instructions, she had to fight not to vomit into her gag. Her hands began flapping, sending jolts of nauseating pain through her broken fingers. Falling to her knees, she cried to Anden that she couldn’t do it, she couldn’t. But the words were stuck inside her sealed mouth, piling up until she feared she would choke.

And then a horribly familiar object was pressed into her palm.

Every muscle of her right hand recognized the exact texture of the polished bone handle, the precise weight of the blade. She’d held this knife before.

Her gaze travelled upward, where Anden’s wrists were bound overhead. There, on his left forearm—they had long since healed, but the scars were still perfectly visible.

She’d done that to him. That winter, she’d ruined their escape, she’d gotten caught, and she’d gotten them both punished. She’d done that to him. And now, and now—

The High Priest smiled.

The rattling in her mind grew louder, faster, until a door to some forgotten inner chamber burst open. Out crashed a river of thick, oozing darkness, and there was nowhere she could run, nowhere she could hide. Emitis was beginning the prayer of sin, but she couldn’t make out the words over the rushing black.

Though she could breathe, she was drowning all the same.

“Kiri—”

The faintest whisper cut through the darkness’ roar. Anden, she realized. Gods, he looked so scared.

“Kiri, please,” he begged softly. “Just do it. You heard him. They’ll—they’ll break my arms. I can’t—” His eyes searched hers. “Just one more night, remember?”

Just one more night.

They were going to die tomorrow, unless somehow, by some miracle, nothing went wrong. Kiri didn’t possess the skills to smuggle out their tiny Amantian blade on her own; it had to be Anden, and he would need the use his hands. She glanced at the guard standing just a few feet to the side; she whimpered as she watched his grip tighten on the long, sturdy baton. Emitis’ sinuous voice was still winding through the first stanza of the prayer, but she knew they only had seconds left.

“He’s almost done,” Anden whispered, beseeching. “Please, please, just fucking do it!”

The blackness was choking her, strangling her from the inside. It was going to kill her; she couldn’t survive it.

But she couldn’t let Anden die tomorrow.

“Kiri—Kiri, now!”

Just one more night.

Raising the tip of the knife to his chest, just above his heart, she swiftly carved out a small, bleeding letter “P.”

“Thank you,” he gasped out. “You—you’re doing good. Just keep going. It’s okay.”

But it was in no way okay. Black flooded her core, fogged at the edges of her vision, clung to her throat like bile. She couldn’t keep hurting Anden like this—it was going to kill her. But she would have to let it. She couldn’t stop hurting him now, not if it meant he would die tomorrow.

The High Priest completed his recitation of the second stanza, and Kiri sliced the letter “I” into Anden’s skin in one quick stroke.

On and on it went, letter after letter. She was so lightheaded she could barely hold herself upright. It could have been from the day’s complete lack of food or water, or the nauseating pain shooting through her left hand, or the dreadful terror of that whole godsforsaken night. But she knew, she knew that it was the blackness, consuming her at last. The rapid rise and fall of her chest meant nothing; she knew that she was not truly breathing—her lungs were filling not with air but with the thick, inky darkness.

She shouldn’t go away, to hide in that hazy place within herself; Anden had said he would need her tomorrow. But he also needed her tonight, needed her to make sure the guards didn’t hurt him any more than she already was. And she couldn’t keep doing this. She couldn’t keep hurting him, scarring him like this.

She couldn’t keep drowning.

So she hid.

Safely tucked away deep within, where the black could not touch her, she watched herself etch the hideous lie in blood. She heard Anden’s far-off whispers that it was okay. That he didn’t blame her. That it wasn’t her fault.

Maybe he really did think that. She couldn’t tell. Whether he did or not, the words were false.

At last Emitis reached the end of the thirteenth and final stanza. Kiri raised the knife, her hand perfectly steady. Before she could break skin, she was startled by a blur of motion just overhead, followed instantly by a sharp crack. Anden howled, his face contorted in pain. When her dazed mind caught up to what had just happened, she looked up to see his left arm bent at an unnatural angle.

“What the fuck?” he spat out between ragged breaths. “She was doing what you wanted!”

“Not quickly enough,” the High Priest replied glibly. Turning to Kiri, he demanded, “Now finish the job.”

Wordlessly, she began to make the final series of small cuts, centered above all the others. Her gruesome task was more difficult now, with how heavily Anden was breathing; he was trying to hide it, but he had to be in a great deal of pain. He shouldn’t have to bear this much pain. And he shouldn’t have to bear this terrible scar.

Watching the blood dripping down his torso, she wondered numbly why only Anden was being punished for her own actions.

It was entirely her fault. If she had only held her tongue—

“Anden is far more worthy of my devotion than He ever was.”

—none of this would have happened.

Why had she lost control like that? Because Emitis was so wrong about Anden?

“You’ve shown more devotion to that contemptible piece of filth…”

Because he was so wrong about Vato?

“…than to the just and mighty god to whom you once pledged your service.”

Or because he was right about her?

Not that the reason mattered. What mattered was that she shouldn’t have reacted. She should have simply let Emitis’ words wash over her, instead of giving him a reason to hurl them so violently at the man she loved.

There on Anden’s chest below his left collarbone, a small crescent moon, the ultimate symbol of sin, had been drawn in bleeding lines. Below that the text, “PIECE OF FILTH.”

Why was only Anden being punished for her actions? By what logic was this Vato’s justice? She should be angry, she realized. From her hiding place deep within, though, she couldn’t seem to feel anything. Hot tears streamed down her face all the same. She let the knife fall clattering to the floor as guards pulled her and Anden to their feet.

“I go now to the High Chamber for an audience with Vato,” Emitis announced to the room. “I will beseech Him to accept the Vessels of Purity and of Sin, that Ilyrna may be granted another year of prosperity.” Smiling coldly at Anden and Kiri in turn, he said, “Rejoice, for tomorrow’s your life’s purposes will be fulfilled.” With that, he swept out of the room.

With no further tasks she needed to accomplish, Kiri fell deeper into her hiding place, drifting along through the passing night. It was only by the sharp stabs of pain that she was aware of the healer priestess binding her four broken fingers. The next thing she knew, she’d hit the floor of her cell after being shoved inside—she hadn’t even noticed the mitt being fastened around her good hand.

Anden’s mouth was moving, but the only words she heard were a repeated refrain of “I’m sorry,” and that didn’t make any sense. She was the one who should be sorry—she couldn’t quite remember why, but she knew it was true.

Gods, why was she so dizzy? She closed her eyes to shut out the way the room was beginning to spin, and when she opened them again Anden was curled up on his pallet. Watching the steady rise and fall of his chest as he slept, she realized it was very likely past midnight.

Midsummer had arrived.

She’d been at the High Temple for an entire year, she reflected. Today, finally, she and Anden would escape, or they would drown.

The thought should scare her, and she was sure that she would be plenty terrified before the day was done. But for this one quiet moment, she let her mind linger in the Midsummer of last year. She remembered Anden, so full of righteous fury—though she’d thought him stupidly reckless at the time, even then a small part of her had admired him for his refusal to play along with his assigned role, regardless of the consequences.

Some other young man and woman would be brought in today, to begin their own long year here. They would be just as frightened as Kiri and Anden had been.

Escape, or drown. Only two possible outcomes today. But she wished there was a secret third ending, one where no one would ever be hurt by Emitis, by any priest, by the Temple itself, ever again.

She couldn’t remember much of the past couple of days, but one moment suddenly stood out to her, one that seemed to have rooted itself deep into her core. She had spoken up, she realized, spoken against the temple’s teachings. Gods, it had—it had felt so good. Freeing.

For one peaceful moment, she let herself imagine how it would feel to burn the whole place to the ground.

Well. Guess it's Midsummer now! Thank you all so much for reading!!! tag list: @starlit-hopes-and-dreams @monarchthefirst @emmettland @whumplr-reader @scoundrelwithboba Please let me know if you'd like to be added or removed!

content warning: captivity, religious abuse, restraints, torture, near-drowning, knives, dissociation, mention of parental abuse, mention of attempted sexual assault, a whole lot of victim self-blaming

#whump #whumpblr #whump fic #whump writing #captivity whump #fantasy whump #religious whump #multiple whumpees

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stevetonyweekly · 1 year

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SteveTony Weekly - July 16

Hello, friends! Short list this week because I spent several days re-reading a favorite of mine. Enjoy the list and be sure to leave your authors a comment/kudos!

What do you think of the new banner??

***Recent favorites

~*~

***Enchanted by iam93percentstardust

This night is sparklin', don't you let it go

I'm wonderstruck, blushin' all the way home

I'll spend forever wonderin' if you knew

I was enchanted to meet you

Steve starts making his way back towards the directions of the cars, wanting to greet her, only to stop dead when he realizes who her date is.

Natasha has brought Tony with her.

Tony of the pictures, of the stories, of Steve’s infatuated little heart even though he’s never met him in person.

***once in a lifetime by meidui

“You should be worried that I'll break into your apartment, steal your identity and flee the country with all your money,” Steve says, one arm slung lazily across Tony's chest, playing with the key to his safe. “You shouldn't go around handing out keys to people, you know.”

Tony makes a low, offended noise and grabs Steve’s chin, making him laugh. “Is that what you think I do?”

bake my breath away by earliebirb

Steve develops a crush on one of his bakery's regulars, charming businessman-slash-inventor Tony Stark. He is not stupid enough to think Tony would ever like him back, though.

Besides, Tony is already in a relationship.

As it turns out, Steve might have been wrong about a couple of things.

A Place In My Mind by KandiSheek

The Avengers all swap bodies, with Steve ending up in Ironman's. It's a nightmare for multiple reasons, mostly because Steve has no idea who Ironman actually is, and he'd rather die than be the one to expose his friend's well-kept secret.

What Ironman doesn't know is that Steve has a secret of his own. One of the mushy, romantic kind. And being this close to Ironman, after all these years of desperately wanting it?

It just might be a bigger temptation than he can resist.

Dark Matter by RurouniHime

A mission goes wrong with troubling consequences for Steve. (Based in the world of sabrecmc's Celestial Navigation and its sequel Orbital Mechanics)

an anger that you crush and fuel by starvels (dinosaur)

“I’m mad at you,” Natasha says, gripping Steve’s collar so tight the shirt seams strain.

Steve glances down at her hand, and his arm quivers beside her head. “I know,” he says, voice rough.

Symmetry Breaking by Annie D (scaramouche)

After the Battle of New York, Steve rode off on his motorbike. That's how it went the first time.

This time he rides back, all the way to Stark Tower, where he asks Tony for help.

The God of Solid Life Advice by kehinki

It's 2012. Steve is just informed by Loki that Bucky's alive.

Loki also tells him some other things.

The Hazards of Falling in Love (Rescue Me) by EmmaLostInWonderland

“So that’s your name?” Rogers hasn't looked away from him once. His eyes are a piercing blue, and Tony barely manages to keep from squirming under his gaze.

“Yeah. Or Telecommunications Operator Stark, if we’re getting technical about it.”

“Are we?”

Tony tilts his head slightly. “Depends. Can I call you Steve?”

The man grins. “Wouldn’t have it any other way, Tony.”

// Tony Stark doesn't date firemen. But he'll make an exception for Battalion Chief Steve Rogers.

written for BladeoftheNebula as part of the Stony Loves Steve 2023 Gift Exchange

Trying not to lose my sensibility by Girl_Back_There

In the weeks leading up to his heat, Steve rethinks about his relationship with Brock. And his fading friendship with Tony.

i'm wonderstruck, dancing around all alone by iam93percentstardust

The real reason Tony wanted to do this movie, the one that he'll never tell anyone about, was because when he’d asked his agent who would be playing Chris, she’d slyly smiled at him and told him that it was Steve Rogers.

“Oh,” he’d squeaked, cleared his throat, and tried again in a more normal octave, but by then it was too late. Natasha had laughed at him and made the call without even waiting for him to agree to the audition.

He’s not quite sure if he should thank her or fire her for that.

Chamber of Reflection by Thahire

A few years after retiring, Steve and Tony get a surprise visit from another Steve. Steve Rogers from Earth 1610 is lost, grappling with the new century he’s been unceremoniously dropped in, with confusing feelings for his new teammate, with himself.

Steve and Tony decide to get involved.

Soft Robotics by isozyme

“I promise this is all non-toxic. The silicone is medical-grade, even.”

Steve makes a choking noise. “I would hope so,” he says, going bright, tomato red as he says it.

Tony makes some cool robots. Steve makes an assumption.

***Celestial Navigation by sabrecmc

Celestial Navigation: 18 year old Omega!Tony finds himself Bonded to Captain Steve Rogers. He isn't happy about it until he is.

#stevetony #stevetony weekly #stony #stony weekly #stevetony fic #stony fic #stevetony fic recs #stony fic recs #steve rogers #tony stark #iron man #captain america #fic #fic recs #fanfiction

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owlseeyoulaterpal · 4 months

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Like Real People Do, Chapter 7

Gale Dekarios x Named! Tav x Astarion Ancunín

Chapter Synopsis: Seraphina spends the night of the party with Astarion and does some introspection.

NSFW | 18+

Chapter One. Chapter Two. Chapter Three. Chapter Four. Chapter Four and a Half. Chapter Five. Chapter Six.

Read on ao3.

Word Count: 2.8k

Learn more about my Tav, Seraphina.

Chapter Seven: Eyes Always Seeking

“Seraphina!”

The sorcerer turned her head. Alfira was hopping and waving her hand at her.

Oh gods she thought as she sipped her wine and walked over towards her, Lakrissa, and Astarion. She enjoyed Alfira, but being summoned over near Astarion’s tent right after speaking with Gale so honestly made her stomach churn. She didn’t know if it would be possible to have such an open conversation with Astarion and get a sense of how he felt about what this was between them.

“Hello, loves. Do you mind if I steal him for a bit?” Seraphina asked.

“Go ahead but promise me you’ll help me with the song I’m writing about you!” Alfira exclaimed.

“Write a song about our people, Alfira. But yes, I’ll come help you soon,” Seraphina smiled, squeezing Alfira’s arm as Lakrissa dragged her away.

“My savior,” Astarion sighed dramatically, looping an arm around her waist and yanking her close, their bodies pressed against each other. “I thought you were going to let me perish under the weight of all this praise and adoration.”

“Could never let that happen.”

He took a sip of his wine and leaned in close, his lips brushing her ear.

“It would be such an unsatisfying way to die. I’d much prefer a little death with you tonight,” he whispered.

“Is that right?”

“Yes. Isn’t that what you want? Or am I the delusional one for thinking of our last night together ceaselessly?” His hand on her waist began to stroke up and down her torso, his fingers brushing against the side of her breast.

Seraphina giggled and pressed her forehead to his chest.

“No. I’ve thought about it too,” she confessed. For a moment, he didn’t respond. She heard a quiet clink as he sat down his glass and his other hand pushed up against her chin, forcing her eyes up. He was smirking down at her.

“Then let’s get out of our heads and experience each other’s full portfolio of talents again,” he purred. “Though honestly, I was beginning to get worried the wizard had swooped in and stolen your affections for the night.”

“Worried? And why would that be?”

“I’d prefer for him to continue sticking his nose in books rather than between your legs. I quite like that spot,” Astarion said, his thumb gliding along the edges of her lips.

“Do you now?” she teased.

“Yes. Now, you will come to my bed tonight, won’t you?” Astarion asked directly.

“Hmm…maybe. I don’t think I’ve made my mind up yet about where I’ll spend my night,” Seraphina hummed, twisting her lips as if she was in deep in thought.

“Ah, you need to be seduced. Let me see,” Astarion pulled away from her and straightened his posture, pushing his shoulders back. “All these accolades from the refugees are nothing compared to the sound of my name cried from your lips.”

Seraphina sputtered and placed a hand over her mouth to stifle her giggles.

“You can do better than that,” she said, raising an eyebrow and straightening her lips in mock disapproval. Astarion smirked at the challenge.

“Your perfect body is the embodiment of temptation. Tymora herself must have made you just to ruin me,” he orated dramatically.

“You’re actually quite silly, Astarion,” she laughed.

“Still not good enough? Then how about three words? Everyone’s favorite,” Astarion’s smirk slowly fell.

“I love you.”

Seraphina’s chest tightened. The world was spinning, but not from the wine. She hadn’t heard those words from someone who wasn’t her family in months. What was she doing? In all the lovers she’d had, she’d never been with someone like Astarion. He was brash, selfish, and morally bankrupt. Her attempts to temper his urges towards power and bloodlust and his efforts to pull her away from altruism and modesty had become a tug-of-war.

How was she supposed to reconcile that harsh reality with how he made her laugh and the ways he made her heart race, like right now? Or with all the instances so far that he’d saved her life in combat? Or the connection she felt when they talked and he let her in, even the smallest bit? He reminded somewhat her of Awe, the ice mage who had been a whirlwind of a distraction from Vadan a few months ago. Maybe it was time to admit she had a type – people she definitely shouldn’t be with.

She snapped out of it and met Astarion’s concerned gaze, probably wondering if he’d taken it too far.

Seraphina smiled to hide her unease.

“Having fun, are you?”

A gentle smile spread on his face.

“It’s hard not to with you,” Astarion said softly.

Her heart soared.

“I’ll find you later,” Seraphina whispered. She turned on her heel before he could respond and let her feet carry her over to Alfira, Lakrissa, Cal, and Zevlor. She let the children swing around her in dance. She let Alfira sing, sing, and sing.

Anything to keep from hearing Astarion’s beautiful lie over and over again in her head.

x x x

When the chatter died down, the bottles of wine ran dry, and the campfire began to turn to embers, Seraphina felt anything but tired. Their guests in camp laid out their bedrolls and the members of their party began to retreat to their tents. The cleric was idly kneeling by her tent, as if she was soon going to retire to bed soon, when she made eye contact with Astarion. He winked at her and crooked his finger, urging her to come over, as he crawled inside of his own tent.

She quickly did a scan of camp and all the tired eyes around her had a singular focus that was not at all where she was going to spend her night. Gale had turned in some time ago.

Seraphina quickly and, as discreetly as possible, scrambled across camp and slipped into Astarion’s tent. Save for two candles providing a small halo of light, it was incredibly dark inside. The earthy, musky scent of camp was replaced by the subtle perfume of bergamot and brandy – Astarion’s scent that she had come to enjoy.

The one that she sought out was lying on his bedroll, propped up on his elbows, his back surrounded by a semicircle of plush pillows, only wearing his pants with the pearlescent skin of his sculpted torso and defined arms bathed in dim golden light. Her eyes traced the muscles of his abdomen up to his wide chest, to his pouty lips, and finally landing on his crimson eyes, half-lidded and unabashedly hungry – in more ways than one.

“There you are,” Astarion said. Seraphina smiled at him as she clasped the tent flaps shut.

“Get over here. I’ve been waiting all night,” he continued, sitting up and grabbing her hips. He pulled the tiefling into his lap, squeezing her ass as she straddled him.

“You think I haven’t been?” she said as her hands traced a path from his neck, over his chest, and down his front. One of his hands grabbed her hair and pulled her lips down to his, Astarion grunting in satisfaction as Seraphina rolled her hips.

“You seemed content with spending the rest of the night singing songs around the campfire. You could’ve been in here hours ago singing my name instead,” Astarion breathed as he began to kiss down her neck. He stopped in the crook of her neck and inhaled deeply, letting out a sigh as he exhaled.

“Feed,” Seraphina said, one hand cupping the back of his head and the other beginning to unlace his trousers. He wiggled slightly while she pulled down his pants just enough to free his half-hard length. Once he settled, Astarion licked over Seraphina’s pulse point before he bit down.

Seraphina moaned as the familiar mix of pain and pleasure filled her as he began to drink. She spit into her hand before reaching down and beginning to slowly stroke his cock, forcing a gurgled moan out of Astarion as he continued to feed. Hearing the sweet sound from him was enough to make her clench around nothing, desperation for him to be inside her already starting to sink in.

She moved her hand faster, and his hips began to rock, pumping into her hand. He pulled away from her neck with a gasp, licking and kissing over the bite marks.

“I can smell you, you know,” Astarion whispered, his hand moving from her ass to cup her sex. Seraphina whined as the ball of his hand rubbed her clit through her pants.

“I can smell how badly you want it,” he went on, his head dipping down to her chest. His tongue licked over the ridges and bumps that went across her collarbone and between her breasts. He hissed and his hips jerked as she continued stroking him. Astarion grabbed her hand, forcing her to stop, before he pulled her shirt from her trousers, peeling it off her skin, and tossing it somewhere in the tent before diving back to her chest, his lips now firmly suckling one of her nipples while one hand groped at her other breast.

“I don’t want it. I want you,” Seraphina moaned, throwing her head back.

“They’re one in the same, darling.”

She leaned away from him and Astarion continued sucking at her breast, arching his back until he finally let go with a ‘pop.’ She smiled devilishly at him as she crawled backwards on her knees before settling on her stomach between his legs. He quirked an eyebrow at her.

Seraphina said nothing as she reached out and gently gripped the base of his cock. He let out a small breath and his eyes followed her every movement. She leaned forward, her eyes fixed on his, as she slowly licked the underside of his shaft from base to tip, a hiss escaping from his lips again.

Her tongue swirled around his tip, licking through the slit, before going down the side and licking another long stripe. Astarion’s breaths turned into pants as Seraphina’s teasing went on, licking and swirling her tongue but never closing her lips around his cock.

“Seraphina, you beautiful minx,” Astarion panted, his hands tangling in her hair. She smirked at him before she opened her mouth wide and took his cock into her mouth. He moaned as she began to move, but then she saw a flash of mischief in his eyes. He smirked at her now as he flipped his hands, palms up, and his fingers wrapped around the base of her horns.

Carefully, Astarion began to move her head up and down his cock, his eyes trained on hers. She let out a moan as he pulled her all the way down, the tip of him nearly reaching the back of her throat. She let her neck go limp, fully giving him control.

“Darling, your mouth…ah,” Astarion’s eyebrows furrowed, and his face twisted in pleasure, his mouth falling open as he continued to move her head, now thrusting into her mouth to meet her halfway.

Seraphina whined, all the sounds from him making her wetter. He thrusted one final time, making her gag. Slowly, he pulled out of her mouth, his hands falling from her horns to grab her waist, pulling her up into his lap.

“You sweet thing,” Astarion breathed, cupping her face and kissing her. His passion and fervor left her panting and moaning into his mouth, as he moved her legs to remove her pants and smallclothes, leaving her bare in his lap. A finger dipped into her folds, making Seraphina gasp as he carefully stroked around her hole and clit.

“Astarion,” Seraphina moaned.

“What is it, darling?”

“Please put it in. Give me something, anything.”

“Louder.”

“There are people sleeping ou –”

“I don’t care.”

One finger slid in. His thumb started circling her clit. The finger, agonizingly slowly, pumping in and out.

“If you want more, say it louder,” Astarion growled, kissing and sucking at her neck.

Seraphina’s head was fuzzy, her panting and whining already too loud as she desperately grasped at Astarion’s shoulders. She was too far gone with her inhibitions lowered, courtesy of the wine. She tilted her head back and moaned loudly.

“Astarion!”

A second finger entered her. She looked at him, only to see a wicked grin. He wound her up as easily as he picked a lock.

“I didn’t expect you to do it, but you keep surprising me,” Astarion nuzzled her neck as she started to ride his hand. “May I?”

“Yes.”

His teeth sunk into her. His fingers moved faster; the rhythm set by her moans. Whenever she bit back a moan or a whine, his movements would cease. When she cried out his name, surely loud enough that people sleeping close to Astarion’s tent would hear, he would reward her with quicker, deeper strokes.

In this moment, pleasure hummed through Seraphina’s body as much as magic did. When she came undone on Astarion’s fingers, he unlatched his mouth from her, licked her blood from his lips, and kissed her. She could taste the iron of her blood, but all she could think of was how she never wanted this to end.

He flipped them over, putting her head into the pile of pillows, before turning her pliant body over onto her stomach, his hands pulling her onto her knees and elbows. She was still whining from reaching her peak as he removed his pants and she felt his hands return to her hips, stroking and squeezing at the skin, still bruised and battered from the battle.

Seraphina gasped as Astarion’s cold, wet tongue licked from her clit to her hole. She arched her back and pushed back onto his face as he continued to lap, suck, and kiss at her core. His tongue fucked her in a cycle that made her see stars – circling her clit until she was close to her climax, only to flit away to stroke at her walls and then back again.

His reciprocal moans sent vibrations through her core that finally tipped her over the edge. She grinded against his face as she rode out her climax, Astarion’s grip on her hips keeping her up in the air as her legs weakened.

“Please fuck me. Gods, I need it,” Seraphina moaned. She felt Astarion pull away and she could hear the smug grin on his face when he spoke.

“Since you asked so nicely.”

He pushed himself inside her and the sounds of their skin and moans filled the tent. Seraphina clutched at the pillows, holding on to anything to keep herself up against the force of Astarion’s thrusts. She tilted her head slightly to look back at him and her whining paused.

She saw it again. The look on Astarion’s face that she had only glimpsed last time. His eyes were glazed over and unfocused, as if he was looking at her without really seeing or thinking about her or this moment at all.

“Astarion,” Seraphina whispered breathlessly.

He blinked and it was like he came back to himself as his thrusts slowed.

“Are you okay?” she asked.

“Why wouldn’t I be?” Astarion panted.

Seraphina gently pushed him away and turned onto her back. She spread her legs and reached for him, pulling him on top of her. His sweat-slick chest pressed against hers, the undead cold of his body cooling the heat radiating off her. He looked perplexed as she wrapped her legs around his hips, not pushing him inside quite yet, while her hands softly carded through his hair. It took a few moments, but eventually he sighed, closing his eyes, as her fingers massaged his scalp, traced over the points of his ears, and settled on his cheeks.

Seraphina gazed into his eyes, trying to decipher what secrets he held in that beautiful head of his. She looked at the creases that framed his crimson eyes, the pinkness of his lips courtesy of her blood coursing through him.

She felt her heart flutter and then, she knew for sure.

She was falling.

This vampire had her wrapped around his finger. Just as the wizard did. What a curse it was to have a heart that sought love as freely and carelessly as hers did.

“Do you want this?” Astarion murmured.

“Yes. Do you –”

Astarion covered her mouth with his hand, thrusting back inside her and dipping his face to her neck. His thrusts were merciless and determined. Each one pushed a wanton moan out of her, making her clench around his cock, and with each clench, he responded with a groan, creating a sinful symphony. When a wave of pleasure washed over both of them, Seraphina didn’t leave his tent. He didn’t ask her to. Instead, he put out the candles and laid down next to her.

Their skin wasn’t touching, but she could still feel the ghost of his hands all over her. She wanted to be close to him. She could touch him if she reached out her hand, but it was like Astarion was leagues away. She wanted to open her heart to him.

But she could already tell that he wasn’t ready to do the same.

#Baldur's Gate 3 #BG3 #Gale Dekarios #Gale Dekarios BG3 #Gale BG3 #Gale of Waterdeep #Gale x Tav #Gale x !Named Tav #Gale x OC #Seraphina Hellwhisper #My OCs #BG3 Fanfiction #Astarion x !Named Tav #Astarion x Tav #Astarion Ancunin #Astarion x OC #my tav #BloodyFortune #LuckyWeave

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teabookgremlin · 1 year

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hello lesbians and also others who follow me. you all know what fucking time it is lets fucking do a yellowjackets 02x06 recap

- first of all taivan in the sex ed scene hehe my girlies more pre crash moments of them PLEASE, i’d love a flashback to like their friendship/start of relationship

- lottie being horrified at misty showing up at the cult so real. imagine you’re just trying to vibe w/ your homoerotic friend then said friend’s other homoerotic friend shows up? a rough day

- “it honestly would’ve been better if she just had sex with him” SHAUNA MY BITCH WORST MOTHER OF THE YEAR

- mari saying she hopes shauna doesn’t die top five things not to say when your friend is about to give birth with no medical care in the middle of fucking no where

- nat was wounding me this episode, she has so much guilt and hates herself for having survived its just awful

- van rightly pissed about tai’s sleepwalking (especially kiss). she clearly does not want to be dragged into this and honestly valid but bc she’s van she’s gonna let herself be dragged in

- “you’re married taissa there’s no us anymore” everything van says to tai just leads me to want to know more about how their relationship ended bc clearly she’s not happy that it did

- misty being unable to focus on the birth bc of crystal was so sad, the bit where she saw the blood on her hands that was intercut with crystal’s death was great very nice scene

- lottie’s psychiatrist is so sketchy. like the encouragement of the visions is so bizarre and just bad vibes

- thinking that “it” influenced travis, nat, and misty to return to lottie’s life

- “it was part of us” “the god of that place, we did terrible things in it’s name” WHAT DID THEY FUCKING DO also furthering my agenda that the antler queen is it’s own spirit/entity rather than one of the girls

- tai trying to flirt with van BITCH YOUR WIFE IS IN THE HOSPITAL YOUR KID IS GOD KNOWS WHERE

- TAI PUTTING THE DEER BONE NECKLACE IN SHAUNA’S HAND YEAH THAT’S THE GOOD STUFF like it saved van maybe it will save shauna and i mean hey she didn’t die so

- jackie’s voice, i knew she’d have some sort of presence during birth and definitely liked this especially given it was in the dream

- “yeah the past where we thought being happy was something that was possible not what happened” OW?????

- van having given up on love </3 her relationship with tai really did a number on her huh. representation for the girlies that never get over anything ever

- lisa giving nat the fish and that whole conversation was so good their friendship is important to me

- jeff just fucking jamming to “fuck the police” was hilarious. yes they need to tune down the jeff this season but i did enjoy this bit

- this is not plot related but honestly so glad the baby did not survive bc those few minutes of baby crying were making me insane i cannot handle the sound of babies crying (one of many reasons i will never have children lol)

- loved loved loved shauna’s monologue to creepy cop man, just saying out loud that literally her whole life is how it is because of guilt just UGH melanie did amazingly (as always)

- dream lottie being weird with the baby so fun so good “we need to feed” —> “he needs to feed”

- callie continuing to be so proud of herself about lying to the cops this is her season for real

- i should’ve known the baby was doomed the second it started to nurse like that and shauna being so loving to it were my real red flags that something was weird

- “if you see any barrels of kool aid powder in there consider me on call for an extraction” van i love you. also her being like lets leave and just go to ihop or something

- misty asking if taivan is back together she’s so real for that

- the moment of van seeing lottie and lottie seeing that they’re all there ugh i cannot wait to see the interactions between them all next week

- OK dream baby eating time: my favorite part was nat, the way she was wiping the blood from her mouth when she saw shauna, the guilt in her eyes, just perfect. also ben being the only other one who looked fully human/guilty in the scene. and then the rest of them being so animalistic i just loved it. bummed we didn’t get real baby eating but this is a good compromise i think

- shauna saying “why can’t you hear him crying” was so fucking heartbreaking sophie nelisse needs all the awards. i did not think i would be satisfied with the baby being stillborn but i loved the way they did it. i do hope that next episode we do see the body, specifically for one reason and that is i want shauna to keep seeing jackie in the baby. like she looks at it once and sees jackie’s eyes, next look it has her nose, etc. maybe even give it some sort of animal features at some point. i just want her to not be able to look at the corpse and see a baby. i want her to look at it and see jackie and her own guilt. next week’s episode is called “burial” so i’m assuming they will be disposing of the body and i want shauna to look at it as it’s being dispose of and just see jackie laying there instead. do you see my vision? i think it would be very fun. either that or they actually eat the baby. also we better get some placenta eating next episode bc not eating it would be a huge waste

#yellowjackets #yellowjackets s2 #yellowjackets spoilers #lila’s yellowjackets recap #anyway yeah i enjoyed this episode #definitely a few things could’ve been more fucked up but i think they did well anyway

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scalamore · 11 months

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Novel Summary from Ch 110-111 (Part 5)

Lariette kept on frowning, despite being asleep. Rupert, who’s staring over her, wondered if she was dreaming or was experiencing a nightmare; but based on her expression, it looked as though she’d rather sleep forever, choosing to experience those nightmares over reality. He felt like he could do anything in his ability to wake her up, and chewed on his chapped lips again. I want you.

He calmly admitted. It was a bitter acknowledgement. It as a mess of denial and confusion.

He didn’t want her because she was the perfect one. Simply, it had to be her. He had no real reason otherwise.

He looked down at her, who was breathing heavily.

“You don’t like me, do you?” He knew those eyes held hatred for him. That was fine. What wasn’t was her running away. Even if she escaped by crossing the river of the dead, it was unacceptable for her not to be his.

Rupert didn’t possess much. As such, he wasn’t the type to let his things go easily. At first glance, he was similar to the Emepror who desired his mother. He could somewhat understand why that man clung to a doll that was neither dead or alive. But that small misunderstanding was enough to cause him to hate himself. After all, how could one understand such a beast, worse than a monster who destroyed everything?

However, he also believed that there wasn’t anything he could do if Lariette died there and then. There was no way he wouldn’t use force to save her. This was the first time he saw someone’s life like this. The emotion he felt was so new, it was impossible for him to define it. When Eva had died, he was simply relieved because he felt bad for her. He was glad when her horrible life finally ended. “Do you want to die because I desired you?”

It wasn’t right, or wrong. He buried his hands in her arms and sighed.

I ruined you.

He was a coward. Although he was afraid of becoming like that man, he was more terrified of her dying.

But she was much, much more cunning than him.

He wondered as he watched Lariette slowly opened her eyes. He admired how pretty she was as the beams of sunlight casted on her snow-white face and eyelids. His feelings grew stronger. He had fallen hopelessly for her, the one who completely deceived him with her innocent gaze. You are sly, Lariette Isabelle de Belois. Out of all the people he’d met in his life, she had manipulated him in the most cowardly way – she stole his heart. She most likely knew he wouldn’t bat any eye to any personal threats or danger. She didn’t threaten to seize the throne using House Belois’ forces. She didn’t try to run away either. Instead, she threatened him by using her own life. It was such a small threat, but he was so scared she would go through with it, so he watched helplessly, unable to do a thing. In terms of risk and benefit, her death was not a loss at all. How useful could the former Emperor’s daughter be, when the people didn’t even remember his name? She wasn’t a particularly useful maid either. However, it would be a big deal for him if Lariette disappeared. He felt as though the world will collapse completely. “Lariette.”

He could see her scarlet lips wince as he called her name.

“Get up now.”

Usually she didn’t listen to his commands properly, but this time she magically came to her senses immediately. He was relieved to see her awake, but would soon regret it.

“Please leave me alone.”

His heart shattered to pieces before he could even ask her why she tried to die. The first thing she said as soon as she woke up was to leave her alone. She was begging him to let her die.

She didn’t request to return to Belois. She also knew how ridiculous that request was – but it was much more ridiculous for her to ask him to let her die. She should’ve known that. He became upset knowing she was aware that he would never be able to watch her take her own life. He was also devastated by the fact she didn’t trust him at all.

“I’m sorry...”

“Don’t apologize.”

Laliette sobbed and kept apologizing, but Rupert didn’t want to hear anymore. She was cruel. Despite her crying he did not feel sorry at all. He lifted his barely moving hand to wipe away her tears. She kept crying to the point that it seemed her body would completely shrivel up.

It felt like if he touched her, she would vanish like a ghost.

Was she always this pale?

“Don’t cry.”

“Your Highness– I mean, Your Majesty should not cry.”

“When did I cry?” He gave a faint laugh – it was a while since he last laughed, but before he could finish, she spoke up. His mouth dried.

“Do you love me?”

“…What’s love?”

It was a childish but genuine question. Rupert didn’t understand what she was asking.

"Can you do something when you don't know about it?"

"Of course I can."

Laliette's expression was unreadable. It was an ambiguous face that showed no indication whether she was smiling or crying. Although her tears were soaking her cheeks, she was trying to smile.

"Does Your Majesty know how it feels to die?"

“.......”

"Can you continue living forever just because you haven’t experienced death? Things like that exist in the world. Things you won’t understand until you experience them firsthand. Love is one of those things. It's the same for me."

“So?”

"Please don’t love me."

"I don't love you."

She seemed to be relieved hearing Rupert's flat answer.

"You told me to tell you what I desire, right?"

“Yeah.”

"As long as I don't die?”

Laliette's voice became clearer. Rupert was overcome with anxiety when her round light-brown eyes fixed on him. What would she say to him this time?

"I won't die. I won’t return to Belois either, so you don't have to worry about a rebellion."

“I never worried.”

“The only condition is that I never see you again."

“.......”

“For the rest of my life, I don't want to see you ever again."

It was hard for him to breathe.

"I don't want a relationship with you. We have a terrible relationship."

Rupert couldn’t say anything. He wondered if she knew how cruel she was being. He stood there, unable to breathe, but she continued speaking. He felt cold. It was as if she ripped his heart out and submered it in a frozen lake.

“Why.” Rupert quietly asked.

She stopped speaking.

She stared at him with widened eyes before looking down at the floor. She was crying again.

"Because it hurts so much."

"What is?"

"Deceiving you, Your Majesty. Don't let me hurt you in another way again."

"I said it's fine. I told you I don’t care.”

"Even if Your Majesty is okay with it, the guilt consumes me. I'm very selfish so I don’t want to endure it."

"It's okay if I don't love you then.”

"No, Your Majesty. If you don't listen to me now, I won’t have any other choice."

"Why not?"

"I apologize for my impertinence... But it’s too difficult for me to stay by Your Majesty’s side."

“Lariette.”

"Your Majesty, if you don't listen, it’ll be so hard on me I’ll want to die. I want to leave."

Rupert was speechless. Just hearing those words drained him. How could such a weak voice have that much impact? He didn't even have the energy to complain. He felt numb and hopeless.

“…Don’t die. I’m sorry.”

“Your Majesty, don’t hold onto me.”

Ah.

Rupert gave a small nod. He heard those words before from Eva. It was the last words his mother cried out before she died.

“Don't hold onto me,” she cried out as she tore herself apart from the emperor’s grasp.

Laliette had allowed it though.

"You said I could.”

"I don't think it’s possible anymore."

He was upset at Laliette for telling him to do this and that. But he realized she was just like Eva. That desperation was understandable. She must’ve wanted to run away. She probably didn’t even want to breathe the same air as him.

Rupert had no choice but to nod. It was natural. There was no way an ordinary person like her would want to stay by his side. She wanted to protect House Belois, and he had already promised her he would.

Rupert could have turned into a doll like his mother. However, he had no desire to do that. He could have snapped her ankles so she couldn’t go anywhere, then locked her up inside a bird cage and watched her for his own pleasure.

But he couldn't.

It’s not that he didn’t want to act like the Emperor had, rather, he was afraid Lariette would become just like Eva. Her heart would stop beating but she was still alive. However, she wouldn’t be the same as she was before.

He didn't want to make it so that she could never comment on the pretty wild flowers again.

“Alright...”

If you hate me, I'll live like a dead man.

"Don't even dream about me either."

Those cruel words cut deep like a knife, shredding him apart and leaving nothing behind.

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soartfullydone · 2 years

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@editoress asked: A kiss to prove a point for Yuna and Seymour.

Yuna’s return to Bevelle was no homecoming. The holy city of Yevon had stopped being home the moment her father, Lord Braska, left for his pilgrimage to defeat Sin. Her father, who she loved but knew better through other’s stories and memories than her own. A father who had brought the Calm but never returned.

A father whose footsteps she tried walking alongside rather than step-for-step. Yuna wanted to defeat Sin forever, to bring the Eternal Calm, one where no more summoners and their guardians had to die for a hollow victory. She wanted to end the spiral of suffering in Spira.

She felt farther away from achieving that future than she’d ever been. She couldn’t see her father’s steps. He had never walked this path before.

“Bevelle has never known such a lovely bride,” said a deceptively soft voice as its owner entered the room. “Nor will it again.”

Yuna’s attendants scattered, fleeing the room wordlessly as Maester Seymour approached. The train on Yuna’s wedding dress swept across the dark, marbled floor as she turned to find him in striking black robes, his chest covered and a white cravat at his throat. Her groom. “Please,” she said, with all the kindness and authority she had as a summoner, “let me send you.”

“There is no need for that.” As Seymour raised his hand, the sleeve of his robe exposed how his fingers were a little too long to be fully human, his nails talon-like but well-kempt. “I don’t plan on remaining as an unsent for much longer.”

If she had her staff, Yuna would begin her dance, fruitless though it would be. Defiance rose like a pyrefly’s glow within her, but the only show of it she could make was to ball her fists. The silk gloves she wore didn’t even give her the satisfaction of friction. “Nor will our marriage last. So why…?”

Why go through with this farce? Why abduct her from the heart of the Bikanel Desert, from her guardians? Why dress her like a blushing bride, in pure white with wings of freedom upon her back, if what she would marry was a patricide and undead malice personified?

“I told you,” Seymour responded. “To give the people of Spira hope.”

Yuna might’ve trusted the answer more if he’d displayed any hints of irritation, but he was as serene as when he’d first proposed to her. Her heels clacked too loud against the stone floor. “How will you give them hope,” she asked, soft but firm, “when you have none yourself?”

Seymour’s eyes met hers, and it took everything Yuna had not to recoil. Was it because he was unsent that his eyes appeared so devoid of life, of feeling? Had that spark she’d seen when he’d talked of Lady Yunalesca and Lord Zaon in Guadosalam been real, or had he always feigned at life? “You have enough,” he replied bluntly, “for us all.”

“No,” Yuna replied, on the cusp of hopelessness herself. “This isn’t about hope. Not for you.”

“If I tell you I love you, will that make it easier?”

“Only the truth will do that.” Yuna squared her shoulders, the action built of a quiet but dogged resolve she had always possessed. For a long time, she believed it had come from her father. Now, she believed it was born from the tenacity of her mother’s people, the heretical Al Bhed. “Why did you murder Lord Jyscal?”

Seymour’s mouth slanted into a mockery of a smile. “Didn’t his sphere tell you? You killed me over it, as I recall.”

“Yes.” What did you call an emotion that was neither all pity nor all rage? Yuna didn’t know. “But I’m asking you.”

“Yuna.” He said her name so wistfully, so futilely. “What does it matter?”

“He said he couldn’t protect you or your—”

“Protect me?” Seymour’s soft tenor dropped dangerously low. “What a curious interpretation, considering he never once tried to.”

There was no mistaking his eyes for being lifeless now. Their purple depths gleamed with an unholy wrath, a mixture of pain, hatred, and bitter amusement. But his face… The skin had gone so pale it was close to translucent. The Guado veins arching down from his forehead were to blame. They were so shockingly blue against his bloodless skin, Yuna almost believed if she were to reach out and touch one, they’d prick her finger.

“He confessed to his failing, and—”

“No,” interrupted Seymour, advancing a step. Then another, gliding ever closer. “No, Yuna, I do not believe he confessed to anything.”

Forgetting her surroundings, Yuna’s back collided with the floor-length mirror behind her, crushing the tiny angel’s wings sewn into her dress. The glass was shockingly cold against her skin, but at least it was a natural cold. Yuna went very still as Seymour loomed over her, giving off no warmth. His hand cupped her cheek, sending a chill down her spine.

“My father foolishly brought a child into the world that no one wanted. An abomination.” Seymour brushed his thumb along Yuna’s cheek to soften the cruel worlds, but Yuna was all too aware of the sharp tip of his nail. “Instead of condemning the people’s hatred, he succumbed to it. I grew up in exile with my mother, whose only crime was bringing that abomination into the world. Both of us shunned because he chose them over those he should’ve loved.”

His breath was a cool mist as he leaned his face toward hers. For a wild, frightening moment, Yuna thought he’d kiss her. “It was my mother who took me to Zanarkand. My mother, who made a sacrifice of herself for my sake. She became a fayth, so I would use her as an aeon. So that when I defeated Sin, the people would finally love me.”

“An aeon,” Yuna breathed, shocked. “You don’t mean—!”

“Anima, yes. In a way, you and I have upheld a long-standing marriage tradition. You’ve gotten to meet my mother.”

Yuna shook her head, unable to process the events at Macalania Temple all over again. Of what was happening now. The maester seized her, his touch becoming biting in keeping her still. “Surely, Lord Jyscal didn’t—”

Seymour’s haunted, grief-stricken expression hardened into deepest loathing. “My father knew of the whole affair, and still he did nothing. He let her die, let her take part in the world’s endless suffering. And still, still, I could not go home, remaining at Baaj alone. So tell me, Yuna. To a summoner who fights to give all for Spira’s sake, does that sound like protection to you?”

Yuna didn’t answer. She couldn’t. The images Seymour painted were too horrific to contemplate, and yet she did. The events played out in her mind, and she saw what a child would see and felt what a child would feel at watching the only parent he knew sacrifice herself. Yuna didn’t know when it happened, but at some point, she didn’t see the child Seymour had been and his human mother anymore. In their place was Yuna, as she’d been at seven years old, and Braska, his broad back the last thing of him she’d ever see.

Seymour brushed away Yuna’s tears, his touch tender and his voice a soothing coo.

“Yes, a part of you understands,” Seymour continued, a hair above a whisper. “I see it there, shadowed in your beautiful eyes. You don’t want to acknowledge it, but you do.” His mouth curled ruefully. “In another life—no, in another world, perhaps, we would have been a good match. We might have learned to be happy.”

“We still can,” Yuna tried, “if my pilgrimage continues.”

“Your pilgrimage ends here, my love. Be grateful. Nothing awaits you in Zanarkand but death. I’ve seen it firsthand. Even if you survived it, it would never let you go.”

Seymour did, but it was only long enough to reach for the gossamer fabric that would serve as her veil. He worked with sure, gentle hands to pin the veil to the tiara fashioned on the crown of her head, the rest of her hair pinned in an elaborate up-do. It was all gone, the emotion that had shattered his tranquil expression and inflamed his speech. Now, he was a groom breaking the most sacred of traditions, seeing his bride before the wedding. Worse, he was adding the finishing touch himself without the slightest hint of joy, anticipation, or lust.

Yuna would take lust if it meant being free of this sudden lifelessness.

He’d taken the edges of her veil to pull over her face when she stopped him, her hands catching each of his wrists. “Is this,” she challenged, “to save Spira?”

“There is no saving Spira,” Seymour answered at last. “Its spiral of suffering will continue unless someone brings it to an end. Not just Sin, but life. The world. Everything.”

“You truly believe that’s the only way?”

“I know it is. And which is more merciful? Letting the world’s pain continue, or bringing it to a peaceful end?”

Yuna’s eyes, one Al Bhed green and one blue like her father’s, flashed. “I cannot accept those choices.”

“I know that, too. But your fire, as beautiful as it is, is why you suffer.”

“And yours,” she rebutted, “is because you can’t see why any of it matters. Why we fight. Why, even now, my friends are coming for me. Seymour, life is about so much more than suffering.”

Yuna let go of his wrists, burying her hands instead into his robes and the fabric of his cravat. She pulled him down fast, closing her eyes. Seymour gave no resistance as her mouth found his. Yuna kissed him, tentative and scared at first, but he was right. Her fire was never far, and she reached for it now. Finding her nerve, she slid her mouth deliberately against his, her tongue darting out to brush his lips.

It changed everything. Seymour moaned into her mouth, sending a deep vibration straight through her. Defenses broke down and their lips moved together, an unspoken question meeting its forbidden answer. Seymour’s hand clutched the back of her head over the veil while his other found the curve of her waist, bringing her flush against him. It didn’t matter anymore that his body gave off no warmth when his mouth was so hot. The kiss—the need it had uncovered in them both—turned desperate. Yuna found herself willing to succumb to its sweet poison if she could just—

With a surge of strength that would make Kimahri proud, Yuna broke the kiss and shoved herself away from Seymour. “No!”

They both stumbled back, Yuna out of breath but with Seymour fairing no better. His eyes were wild with want, but all too soon, they narrowed with suspicion and resentment. Seymour looked alive, felt it, and that realization brought him to his full height, a hand upon his mouth. He was torn between wiping Yuna’s kiss away or pressing the remnants of it there to immortalize forever. Instead, he did neither, remaining frozen to watch Yuna’s next move, the summoner proving she was less prey than predator, one biding its time for a day like today.

But where the flush of desire clouded his face and caused him to hesitate, righteous anger hardened her features and strengthened her resolve.

“It’s only suffering, remember?” Yuna said coldly into the quiet space between them. “That’s all life is. You don’t get to have more. You don’t want to have more.”

Outside, Bevelle’s temple sounded the hour, signaling that it was time for the wedding to proceed.

#this was so much fun to write liz thank yoooouuu #yeah yuna and tidus are the otp buuuuut #yuna and seymour's relationship has always scratched an Itch y'know?#it's about how doomed they are despite all their similarities #final fantasy x #final fantasy #cue scene

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teaandinanity · 1 year

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So back in October I was doing a writing prompt thing and most of it was fic but some of it was not and I was reminded today of one of the ones that was not (thank you to tumblr for displaying other text posts with no relation to the current one except that I also wrote them) and I reread it and you know what? I like it.

So here, have some nonsense about a witch who would really rather none of this be happening to or near her;

[snip]

Agathe is a very improbable assassin. The only thing she’s ever used a knife for is chopping ingredients or food, and while a few of the concoctions she dispenses can be poison in excess, they’re medicine by the dosage instructions she impresses upon those receiving them. She isn’t small or quick or light on her feet.

She would not be anyone’s first choice as a champion, either. She’s tall and broad-shouldered and strong, sure, but you need a lot more than that to win a fight, and she’s never learned any of it. She’s a second-year journeyman witch, too young to have really come into her power. She’s young and green, and Absalom is a senior master and also demon-ridden and like 300 years old. It’s hard to sneak up on a man who doesn’t sleep. It’s hard to poison a man who doesn’t eat. A real assassin could probably get around those problems, but she isn’t one. A real warrior–

Well, a real warrior would die even faster than she will, so at least she has that much going for her.

Honestly, killing Absalom head-on would probably take a circle working of similarly powerful and experienced casters, or a bomb detonated right next to him.

Agathe is nineteen and freshly graduated; even if she had a circle for the working, she wouldn’t qualify as ‘similarly powerful,’ forget similarly experienced. She hasn’t even lived here long enough to wake the land to fight, and she’s not old enough to have her own power aged into fullness; she’s far more sapling than well-rooted oak. She’d need to be at least a century old herself to even give Absalom a workout.

But Eckersfield doesn’t have a circle, or a seasoned war mage, or a shadowborn assassin. Eckersfield has her. Eckersfield also has Absalom at the head of an army about to roll right over it, so she has to try to kill him even though it’s obviously futile. She walks into his tent, because she can at least shadow-walk past the mundane guards, with the ritual words to challenge him to single combat already in her mouth. It’s a formality, but he’s demon-ridden. He respects formalities and he won’t kill her out of hand while she’s observing them and being reasonably polite.

So she starts talking as soon as she comes out of the shadow-step, as soon as she sets eyes on him;

“Absalom of the house of eyes general for the throne of Gist I challenge you on behalf of Eckersfield and all her people–”

He doesn’t actually let her get through the whole thing, which is a break from tradition but not altogether shocking since she showed up in his tent while he’s dressed down. Not for sleep, of course, because he doesn’t need to and doing it now would be idiotic, but fewer layers, more comfortable and relaxed. He accepts (“yes, fine, shut up”). It doesn’t matter if she says all the words, not really. They both know the terms. Single combat. She’s not actually putting up any collateral but her life, but that’s obviously going to be forfeit. If she wins, he has to leave her home alone, can’t hurt the village or any of her people, since they’re the named party she’s fighting on behalf of.

If she wins. Hah. They both know how likely that is.

“You know better than this,” Absalom says, frustrated, and she nods agreeably. She absolutely does. She’s surprised he’s so irritated about it, but it does explain why he interrupted her. Demons usually don’t get annoyed about things, being incomprehensibly ancient, so when they do, they get impulsive. “You knew better than this as an idiot initiate, at twelve!” She nods again. “So, Witch Agathe,” ooh, he’s enunciating very clearly, biting the syllables into neat pieces. He’s well and truly seething, isn’t he? “Explain to me why you are choosing a foolish death.”

She’s too surprised to lie, even if it would do any good, so she tells him the truth:

“Because a death curse will delay you long enough for the village to evacuate.”

Of course that’s why; she’d thought that was obvious.

She’s not going to survive attacking him. He’s a senior master warlock; naturally, he can squash her like a bug. But she’s lived in Eckeresfield since graduation. She’s been its witch for two years, caring for the old and ailing and bringing babies into the world, blessing fields and marriages, pulling apart the little ill-will curses a few nasty people manage to lay on their neighbors with nothing more than spite and wishing. Trying - sometimes succeeding - in talking them out of doing it again with friendly smiles and good tea sweetened with honey and a thoughtful listening ear.

She did curse-bind the blacksmith’s boy her first year, but he was escalating from simple boorishness to the kind of bullying that scared the other kids. He figured out right quick that the curse wouldn’t do him any harm as long as he wasn’t an absolute clot. She took it off him this year, because it’s not good to leave a curse to fester.

She’s been settling. It’s been good.

Maybe to others the town is nothing much, nothing special, but it’s hers. It’s hers enough for her to protect it, and for a death curse to hit anyone trying to harm it. To hit hard enough to pause Absalom, for all his power, and the army following him, too. She’s nothing, but she’s got a village behind her. Villages are stronger than cities, if they love you; villages can know you the way a city never will, and Eckersfield embraced her entirely when she settled in. Their witch had been dead a decade, but he’d loved the place hard; when Agathe settled in and reached out, the spells were all still there and they soaked up her magic like thirsty roots, like they’d just been hibernating through a long winter and she’d brought spring with her. The spells and the land tied themselves to her as soon as she decided she might like to live there. The place, the people, wanted to love her. They do love her.

And she loves them, so she’ll die for them and buy them time. Absalom can kill her. He can do it easily. He will do it, even if it’s going to annoy him.

But she’s a witch, so when he does it, it’s going to hurt. Witches are like blackberry bramble; they grow wild, and there’s plenty of sweetness to them, but they have thorns, too. Tearing them out of the world has to be done very carefully if you don’t want them taking their pound of flesh for your trouble.

Absalom looks like he wants to hit her with a frying pan, though, not a combat hex. He was the strongest war mage in half a millennium even before the demon got involved; she’s kind of surprised he let her get a word out instead of just obliterating her, but the curse still would have gone off. Maybe he thinks she’ll slip on holding the purpose in her heart if he gets her talking, thinks he can kill her fast while she’s distracted and the curse will fizzle out.

Joke’s on him, if that’s the case; she’s been meditating on this since the army started moving, and this was the thing she was best at in school. Holding a purpose in her heart, intention and a spell ready to fire. She used it for blessings and healing, before; she’s never cast a curse bigger than an Inconveniencing. But he knows that, both parts. He’d hated teaching, but he said she had the best intentionality he’d ever seen in a student. The compliment had meant more from him than any of the other instructors because he didn’t care to give them without good reason.

He knows she has a curse ready. He knows that when she dies, it’s going to hit him, and the army, and probably the king and the country that sent them, because she holds the king more culpable than any of the soldiers or even the warlock leading them.

The soldiers aren’t war mages. The soldiers are going to be mightily inconvenienced and probably won’t be able to move for two days, expelling misery at both ends. They’ll be disgusting and deeply unhappy, but none of them will die. She doesn’t want them to die. That’s not the point. She needs them stopped (Inconvenienced), but she doesn’t need them dead.

She’d like the king dead, but killing kings is a costly business if you do it with a spell. They tend to push hostile magic into their country, and it’s messy. It hurts their people and their land badly, even if it works. Better by far to do it with plain steel.

She could, with all the possibility she’d be pouring into her death curse, probably kill a king; she’s dying young with the potential to grow into something great. She never aspired to greatness, but she could have been a sorceress strong enough to carve out a kingdom of her own, if she’d wanted to. She didn’t want to, so it’s never mattered, but it matters now. She could probably kill a king. But that’s much less important than disabling the army, because the king isn’t here, and the army is, and so are half the people she loves in the world and also her cat.

So instead she’ll afflict the king with a dreadfully sensitive stomach and fourteen new food allergies and chronic cystic acne and a throat too sore for speeches about glory, and she’ll put his army down for two days. The king won’t be feasting in celebration, even if his vanity could abide the rest of it.

Death is expensive, but Inconveniences are cheap, and all Agathe needs is to buy time for little Gail to get her cat from her cottage and her goats and jennet from the little lean-to shed and get gone with the rest of the village. If she were stronger, if she were a barrier maiden rather than a witch, she could have just made the army go around Eckersfield entirely, but she’s not strong enough outside her chosen school, not to stop someone as powerful as Absalom. Her magic doesn’t like to work that way, now that she’s spent years training it to be something else. She’s taught it to be an oak tree, not a stone wall.

The army has already burned and murdered their way through three villages, anyway – including one that did have a barrier maiden, so it’s not like trying to wrap them up in magic would necessarily have even worked. This army is disinclined to go around, and Absalom can flatten almost anything in front of them into level road. She couldn’t shield them and it probably wouldn’t have worked even if she could do it, so she needed to move the village. They’re still going to lose the harvest and their homes, but her village will live. A village is people more than place. The people will survive, and the people can rebuild.

And her magic is good at growing; she blessed the seeds they’re carrying away with them. They’ll manage to get enough out of them, even planted so late in the year; enough to not starve overwinter.

Meanwhile, Absalom’s irritation has built enough that he’s started pacing and finally he turns to her and snarls,

“Do you ever think at all?!”

She watches, intrigued. She’s never seen him this emotive, this heated, this sincerely angry, and she saw him trying to teach a room full of magical preteens, kicking up their heels like yearling foals and flatly refusing to learn the material before them. He’s not done talking;

“So you told them to flee and then turned around and came here? You could have run with them!”

She snorts.

“You didn’t let Henge or Indimere run.”

“Henge and their wizard were arrogant enough to attack us, and Indimere has strategic value.”

And the barrier maiden thought she could stop him, and he’s a warlock, and demons take offense if you challenge their pride. She understands, she just wants to strangle him for thinking that makes any of this okay.

“And Eckersfield supplies a quarter of the country with grain, so you were always going to burn the village down and it took me until this morning to convince them to leave the land their families have worked for generations. There wasn’t time. I’m getting them time.”

“You are EIGHTEEN–”

“Nineteen.”

“You are nineteen and you’ve been here for two years, and this pissant village is not worth your life.”

His canines are elongated when he bares his teeth, his eyes ember-bright in the dimly lit tent. She ought to be frightened, probably, but instead she just asks,

“Then what is?”

She’s curious what his answer would be.

The question stops him cold. He just looks at her, stock still, and she says it again;

“What is worth dying for, if a home and people who love me aren’t? I can’t level an army–” at least not without a lot more than a week of warning, especially not in a contest against a man who could level an army in his sleep, if he ever did sleep “--and I can’t cast a barrier to circle them in safety, although apparently that wouldn’t have done more than piss you off. I’m a witch. I can give them little boons and blessings and herbal remedies, and deal with curses or, if I’ve got to, since I’ve got to, I can deal in curses.”

“So you came to face a warlock and an invading army by yourself, armed only with a death curse.”

“We use what we’ve got.”

“What you’ve got. You were the best healer in your year or for a decade on either side, you could treble crop yields when you were TEN–”

“Yes, I know it’s my fault the army came. Eckersfield certainly wasn’t strategically important before it was a breadbasket. That’s why I have to save them. Your king wouldn’t have been able to find us on a map if we weren’t suddenly producing so much grain that Makram could export a surplus. I’m not an idiot.”

“You’re not an idiot?! You’re in some nothing village when I know King Ezbar asked you–”

“I don’t want to be employed by your king. The magic every single place he rules feels like slime. The magic here loved me instantly; it covered my cottage in jasmine and the hens gave me eggs every morning and the bees sang to me and stung a rabid raccoon to death before it could get close to me, and that was in my first three months. The raspberry bush by my door fruited year-round both years. My pastures were full of clover, my goat had twins and still let down so much milk that I only drank water when I wanted it. My neighbors brought me fresh bread twice a week. I handfasted three couples and their marriages were full of love and joy. I blessed the herds and the whole village made ice cream this spring because what the dairy was getting was so plentiful and sweet. I midwifed nine babies and none of them or their mothers even sickened, let alone died. Eckersfield and her people gave me a home and loved me and let me be part of something, and a king and his highest vassals would only have thought me useful for wringing a little more gold and misery out of their serfs. I don’t want what you think I should want, but that doesn’t make me an idiot.”

She feels Gail, Grizzle in a basket in her arms, step into the wagon, feels her goats joining Ara’s flock, feels Apple being hitched to a cart, feels everyone trickling out of the village, heading to safety. She can’t bless anything, now, with a curse locked in her heart, but she blessed all the donkeys and oxen and horses already. They’ll be sound and they’ll be swift.

(Apple more than the rest; she’s been a witch’s transport for a year and change, now, and that makes a beast a little odd, mostly in good ways.)

Agathe smiles at Absalom, who doesn’t even look angry anymore.

“So I came holding a curse, and I also have a fire talisman prepared and eight pounds of nitroglycerin in my petticoat.”

Because she doesn’t have a circle or power, but she took top honors in alchemy, and she’s entirely capable of detonating a bomb right next to him and smiling while she does it. They’re far enough out that she won’t kill any of the soldiers unless they’re very stupid and decided NOT to flee the area when Absalom accepted her challenge; she got past them with magic, but they had to have heard the ritual words and known what they meant. A mage duel might sometimes involve some pleasant chatting before hand, but after that they tend to get wildly destructive.

Absalom goes shock-still for a moment, his eyes flickering a brighter demon-gold, and then he – laughs. She’s never heard him laugh, not really. He snorts, sometimes, to indicate he recognizes a joke has been told and he doesn’t think it’s funny, or makes a derisive noise saying he’s amused at your expense, or at best, chuckles in a soft, barely-there way that hints at a genuine feeling, but the demon-ridden don’t usually feel a lot of joy or mirth. He hated teaching, and doesn’t like children, and had seemed perfectly pleased to go to court instead to serve a vicious man on a stolen throne who was still so hungry for more land and power that he’d gone to war against his neighbors three times before he became neighbors with Makram and went to war with them, too.

Absalom grins, though, now, and drops to one knee, wrists crossed at his breastbone, towering height and fine robes and staggering power folded down into–

Into obeisance.

Wait, she thinks, and he says, grinning and gold-eyed and sharp-fanged,

“Witch Agathe, this one is outmatched and outplayed. I surrender to superior force, Lady of Eckersfield, and to you I yield–”

“No,” she says immediately, because what. No. He’s saying the words to surrender to a–to a ruler, someone who.

Shit, she did claim the village by doing this, didn’t she. Oh, damn it, she doesn’t want to be a sorceress-queen, it’s a pain in the ass and people expect things. She just wants to go back to her cottage and her cat and her chickens and her bees and her goats, going to the towns around on Apple, now and again, to see to them as well.

If they find out about this she’s going to have five villages in a fortnight and the king of Makram is going to be justly pissed off with her and–

“You aren’t allowed to refuse a surrender,” Absalom points out, which is true. She’d have to kill him if she won’t let him surrender, and she took oaths that she wouldn’t kill anyone in her power when she became a healer, and he’s already put himself in her power, entirely, whether he says the rest of the words or not. That’s the first part of a true sorcerer’s surrender, the crossed wrists a binding magical geas preventing him from harming her unless she breaks her end of it first.

He’s still grinning at her, the asshole, like someone who has taken her ‘I have a bomb’ threat and gone ‘I have a bigger one! Here,’ and plopped it right into her idiot, untrained hands. What the fuck is she going to do with a warlock, and a bomb, and a village she’s apparently now queen of, having already burnt most of her useful magic on getting here in the first place before the army was close enough to see her village very literally running for the hills?

She puts her face in her hands.

“You are an asshole,” she tells him, and wishes it didn’t sound a little like admiration.

#sometimes I write things #I'm not sure what this is #it does feel like there could be more story but this was what I got out of the prompt #babble tea (blacklist this for less chatter)#Tea you may say did you lean into your 'everyone has A names' thing #and the answer is both yes and also neither of them would agree to be renamed #and Apple is a reference that amused me

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fantasy-fields-rescue-unit · 8 months

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Dessert Rescue

Name: Dazzle

Species: Dessert (Underfell!Muffet from Fantasy Fields)

Morph: Furmuff, Vitiligo Type N, Off Color

Variant: No Variant

Age: Teenager

Size: 4’4” Feet Tall (Average Fullsize)

Personality: Protective, Greedy, Territorial

Compatibility: Dazzle and her younger sibling Razzle are a dynamic duo that try to sell their baked goods to pretty much everyone that walks into the rescue center!

Dazzle is a business woman, and she’s very good at it. Using her charm, she can often trick other bitties into paying ridiculous prices for her sweets. It’s not like she’s selling them garbage, though. She has a real skill when it comes to baking, her specialties being Alexandertortes and Berliners! It amuses her when people don’t know what those are.

She doesn’t really care what the household uses as currency. Whether it be monopoly money or buttons, she just likes to be able to collect something so she feels powerful. Dazzle really likes to be in power, and can get aggressive to anyone but her sibling if she feels helpless or endangered. She has a similar reaction to her sibling being threatened, perhaps even stronger. Her care for her sibling can’t be overstated, and she refuses to go absolutely anywhere without them.

Despite her sibling’s insecurities, she doesn’t see them as any less than her. Even if they’re not very good at lying, she cares about them so much and will never abandon them for any reason. She’ll be by their side until the day both of them die. Dazzle needs an owner who can put up with all her flaws for the good parts of her personalify!

Feeding habits: Dazzle, much like their sibling, prefers to eat things the two of them made rather than something given to them. However, she’ll happily allow you to help them when they make food!

Additional info: When not baking or scamming others, she’ll often be found crafting little spiders with whatever she can find! She’d really like to learn origami so she can make more!

Injuries: N/A

Special requirements: Dazzle is part of a bonded pair! This means she absolutely HAS to be adopted with her sibling, Razzle! We will refuse to let you adopt only one of them!

Warnings: N/A

Reasons for rescue: Dazzle and Razzle were rescued from an overly cramped home where bitties died from neglect frequently.

Once, Dazzle was bonded to a Muffin bitty in the house, selling pastries to all the bitties that were gullible enough to actually give her the large amount of small objects that she asked for. The two were inseparable, no one ever saw them apart from one another. That was, until the Muffin bitty fell down. It had gotten sick and there were barely any remedies around. There was no hope for it.

It was around that time that Razzle experienced a similar tragedy. The two, who had barely known one another before this, saw themselves in the other and grew closer as a result. Dazzle found an younger sibling in Razzle, and they haven’t been separated since!

Difficulty: Advanced

Color/Pattern: Black hair, Denim Blue skin, Eight Navy Blue eyes, Light Blue patches on skin, Black fur on ankles.

#bittybones #bitty info #rescue bitty #adoptable #advanced

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quibbs126 · 2 years

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I decided to do some more sketches of Witch Hunt characters, since that original picture was just a small part of the canvas

So I already mentioned Glaive and Arcana, so I won’t repeat myself (I will put a link here). So let’s get on to the other two here, Inferno and Ruby

So Inferno is the fire witch, as you can probably guess. For her personality, instead of like a raging fire, like I usually see with fire based characters, she’s closer to a warm fireplace, being comforting and someone you feel safe around. However, this was definitely not the case when she was younger, as she was a pure wildfire. This is how she would be in the prequel game. She lives on a very cold and snowy mountain, and her fire’s proven very useful, especially during the cold winters.

I’ve actually drawn Inferno quite a bit before, so I think I could get a handle on her design, and I like what I got

Also, if you notice that she looks sort of out of place in a snowy mountain, with her extremely tanned skin and bright hair, you would be correct, as she’s not native to the place, she’s only been there the past 15 years or so. She’s actually from the desert, and feels far more at home in the scorching sun, she cannot stand the cold. If you’re wondering why she’s living there then, it’s because of her adopted daughter Rime (who happens to be the ice witch), who is native to this place. The problem was when taking her in, since she has no real experience with heat, she’d probably quickly die of heatstroke if they went back to the desert. Inferno figured with her fire powers, it’d be much easier for them to just move there, so that’s what they did

Oh yeah, another random thing about Inferno, she likes to make baked goods, particularly cookies. This part I did add because of Cookie Run, because I thought it was funny. Thankfully Inferno is not bringing her desserts to life, and if they were alive, she wouldn’t eat them

Inferno happens to also be happily married (and a lesbian), to the character right next to her, Ruby

I was originally going to draw one of the other three older witches, particularly Cascade, but I couldn’t get the design to work. This is always what makes me stop drawing these guys, because I can’t figure out the designs for these four. But then I realized “hey, I don’t have to draw the other witches. Why don’t I just draw Inferno’s family instead?” And so yeah. I’ll get to the other three when I feel like it

Now Ruby is part of a group of warriors that go all around the world, helping people where they can. Ruby happens to be a veteran member of the group. Everyone in the group has gem names, and they all wear white/light colored armor with their respective colors. Also, a random weird quirk, but their armor is all scented. Nobody knows why it’s scented, including the members themselves, but they just choose not to question it. Ruby’s armor smells like cherries. Also, for some reason the scent never fades, so Ruby has been smelling of cherries for over 25 years. I think I chose to do that because I remembered having toys when I was younger that had fruit scents (I think it was Strawberry Shortcake?), and it sort of just stuck with me to do that for them. Also in my mind, their armor is almost toy or plastic like, rather than typical metal armor. Or like a color coded gundam team

Unlike Inferno, who I’ve drawn before, I’ve never drawn Ruby before, and to be honest, I’m not entirely satisfied with her design. Given everything about her, all I could think was that she was just like Hollyberry Cookie (despite the fact that I first made Ruby nearly 2 years ago), and I both tried to incorporate some elements of Hollyberry, but also try to make her not like Hollyberry. But I think I also just didn’t get what I wanted. I really wasn’t sure what I was doing with her armor, and I think I need to play around with the armor design before I get something I like. Also, I feel like I didn’t get across her body type. Ruby is supposed to be BULKY, large and muscley. She’s supposed to be nearly 7 feet tall, and it isn’t all just vertical either, she’s got width too. By comparison, Inferno is barely over 5 feet, and she’s relatively skinny. Granted her body type is more lean and she does have muscle, but she looks like a small twig in comparison to her wife. But to be honest, she doesn’t look much different from the other characters. I think that’s a limitation of my style, as it’s hard to show different body types. I think I’m going to have to rework my style more so I can better incorporate that.

Also immediately once I finalized the sketch, I saw the weapon and went “she should have an axe instead”. Unfortunately I just couldn’t be bothered to go and change it, as I had already merged all the sketch layers. But yeah, I’m changing her weapon to an axe

In the prequel, we’d meet them as only a small group of around 5-6, Ruby among them, and they’re all siblings. And Inferno has a massive crush on Ruby. Inferno’s type is “women who can snap me like a twig” (which Ruby can absolutely do by the way. But she wouldn’t do that to her firecracker). But it wasn’t just physical attraction, they actually were able to get along really well, and fought quite well together, and along the way they properly fell in love and eventually got married, later adopting Rime after taking a job about strange happenings in the snowy mountain

In the first game, Glaive would meet Ruby during his quest. Originally she was just supposed to be going about doing her job, but now I realize she should probably instead be trying to help her wife and daughter. But regardless she’s an ally to Glaive, and is probably the introduction for Glaive (and the players) to the warrior group (that I don’t have a name for yet). Also when they first meet, Glaive doesn’t know that she and Inferno are married, but they might make references to it. He’d either find out later when they all meet up, or we’d only find out in the credits, when we see them together

I think that’s about it, I hope you like them!

#original characters #witch hunt #wh glaive #wh arcana #wh inferno #wh ruby #also I realize I now currently have three characters with a name “ruby” but this one came long before the other two #my art #my ocs #character design #witch #knight

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