#Wildlife Scanning

[fogaminghub]

🌟 Prepare for an intergalactic adventure! Revenge of the Savage Planet is coming in May 2025! 🎮 Get ready to explore colorful planets, build your own habitat, and uncover hidden secrets. With local and online co-op, the fun never ends! Check out the full details in our new blog post!

[internetarchivist]

Southern Flying Squirrel from Zoobooks Magazine - Night Animals edition

[starfall333]

random pages from the sketchbook i worked on for 2 weeks in outback queensland

[yodeldog]

"Cherry Eyes" - 2018

Another piece done for Fauna Focus. This is another art card! Dimensions are 2.5 x 3.5 inches. Colored pencil on cardstock.

[arcanefox207]

The Warden.

GameWarden!Joel Miller x F!Reader Explicit 18+ MDNI | 3.8k WC | AO3

Summary: Your hike into the woods doesn’t go as planned when a depraved Game Warden catches you breaking the rules.

Warnings: DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT. Power imbalance. DUBCON (could be considered NONCON). Reader is into it but she still doesn't have a choice. Reader is smaller than Joel and has hair he can grab. Explicit smut. Oral (male receiving). Fingering. Violence. Manipulation. Unprotected P in V. Cum talk. Creampies. Dark!Joel.

Notes: Please read the warnings. HUGE thanks to @joelmillerisapunk for beta'ing (love you, Odi!) Also FYI Game Wardens (also sometimes known as conservation / wildlife / DNR officer) can have broader authority than police and can even search your person / property without a warrant, are expert marksmen and usually work alone.

M A S T E R L I S T | A O 3 | N O T I F S

You saw the sign and ignored it, like you always did, as you walked down your favorite hiking trail. The one that few people knew about. The trail that was always peaceful and quiet and you rarely met another soul. Your hidden secret that you loved to escape to. The one that had been marked as “Trail Closed” for months now for reasons you could never quite figure out.  

As the forest thinned you finally reached the majestic bounty you sought. A quaint pond, nestled in the pines. The waters edge pebbled with rocks and ferns. Water lilies sparsely decorated the surface. What once was a sprawling picnic destination was now overgrown. Serene and abandoned to nature.  

You knelt down and ran your hands over the stones, picking up and admiring their unique beauty of the ones that caught your eye.

You were so preoccupied taking in the comforts of the world around you that you never heard him. Never even considered there were eyes on you, watching you from behind some overgrowth.

“Excuse me, miss,” his voice startles you as you stand quickly and turn around. “You’re in violation of State Park rules and regulations.”

“Huh?” Your words come out sounding dumb and caught off guard. You quickly scan for the source of the voice and see some movement in the bushes, revealing a man. 

He walks towards you, emerging from his hiding spot. A tall and broad man, head to toe in the standard olive green uniform that the wardens wore. A tactical belt and vest and a scoped rifle slung on his back. His toned physique mesmerizes you with each step forward.    

“It’s my sworn duty to enforce the law and enact justice as I see fit.” His words were robotic and rehearsed. 

As he got closer you could see he was an older man and incredibly handsome with some greys in his beard along his jawline. His hair was shorter with wavy curls, pushed back neatly with some silver catching in the sunlight. His skin weathered by the sun. His aquiline nose made his face look even more intense and powerful, matching his words. Broody and serious. This was a man who was in control.

“And you’re trespassing,” he lowers his voice, “in my territory.” 

You were trespassing. He wasn’t wrong. You felt your body flush with a wave of panic, with a hint of arousal crawling somewhere deep inside you. Lurking and waiting with intrigue and fear.  

“Area’s posted.” he says as he now stands in front of you. You are at a loss for words, caught doing what you thought was harmless.

He senses your panic and it rallies him to toy with you. 

“This is a protected wildlife conservation that you’re messin’ with, sweetheart.” He pauses and changes his tone to intimidate you as he leans in close. “And you see, I don’t like that.” 

You feel your heart race. Were you actually getting in trouble for taking an innocent hike in the woods?

“You know who I am?” He crosses his arms in front of his chest while he waits for you to speak. His veiny, chiseled forearms distract you. He looks so scrappy and dangerous. 

“The Game Warden?” You hesitate.

“That's right.” he nods with a cunning smirk. “Name’s Joel, but you’re gonna call me Sir.” He enunciates it firmly.

You feel your body overwhelmed with conflicting emotions. You were scared but also felt a pulsing go through you when he spoke. You didn’t want him to be upset with you. Everything about him was screaming: dangerous, do not piss off.  

“I’m sorry about trespassing. I didn’t know… Sir.” You added his title for good measure.

But you did know. You knew every time you walked past the sign at the entrance telling you not to. Bullshit was not going to fly here and only fueled him more. 

“Lying to an officer too?” He shakes his head as it hangs low. He circles you with intimidation, looking you up and down. Lecturing you with silence and waiting for your reparations to be determined.  

You can’t fight off that lukewarm feeling inside you that grows warmer. Slowly it gnaws away at your resolve. Seeing him with the tactical vest on that snuggly accented his chest and left his belly exposed with nothing but his green shirt covering it. The only spot that was vulnerable and soft. The rest of his body was strong, protected by his excessive gear, lean muscles and mean looks.   

You see his name badge embroidered with ‘MILLER’ and accidentally whisper his name out loud like it's a question. Wondering who this man is and what his intentions are. In the peaceful calm of the woods in the middle of nowhere, your whisper may have well been a shout.

“Officer Miller.” He corrects with authority in his tone as he leans over you. “And I’m gonna have to discipline that mouth of yours.”

You’ve never been in trouble with the law before, and certainly never had a run in with a Game Warden. You knew they were essentially lone wilderness cops with a god complex and few restrictions. Still, you knew this was far from acceptable behavior. Everything about how he was acting was wrong. You open your mouth to protest, but hesitate on his threats. He relishes in how you work it out in your head that talking back isn’t going to get you out of this. You can only bite your tongue so long.

“I’ll report you.” You threaten back, acting like you have some moral upper hand to hang over him. 

“Go ahead. Ain’t nothing you can do about your situation right now, sugar plum.” He scoffs. “Not to mention, s’your word against mine.” He stops circling and leans into your ear as his southern drawl makes the words sound smooth and buttery. Hot and melting on his breath as they drip out of his mouth. 

“Wanna take a guess who wins?” He says deviously and you can feel his patchy beard scrape against your jaw as he pulls away. A shiver pulses through you, right down to your pussy. Beating to his unsought touch. 

Why is this turning you on so much?

“You see darlin’, I’ve been watching you for a long, long time.” He circles again. “And you keep breaking the rules.”

Your heart races. This was getting serious. The realization hits that he can do whatever he wants and get away with it, and that is exactly his intention.

“On your knees, and hands where I can see ‘em.” he barks. 

You obey, folding under his commands. Hoping your obedience would lessen the blow. 

You drop down gently unsure of what exactly he was playing at, treating you like a violent criminal. You stretch your arms out to your sides with your palms up in submission. He stops just in front of you, scooching down so he is eye level. A tiny grunt as his knees bend. Tobacco and leather scents accompany him. 

“I’ll let you off with a warning… if you promise me you won’t be doing it again.” He offers. Sweet words coming out slow and sticky like honey.  

“I won’t. I promise. It won’t happen again.” You quickly plead. Foolishly hopeful this was it. Ignoring the conditional implication of his terms.   

He stands back up with his arms crossed before raking one of his hands through his hair, thinking. He wasn’t buying what you were selling. 

He paces in front of you. The obscene bulge in his pants was impossible not to notice as he parades it past your sightline. Back and forth, back and forth. He was packing more than just a firearm. 

He stops directly in front of you so your eyes are mere inches from it. You look all the way down to his feet in an attempt to hide the red that flushes your face. Trying to dismiss your own arousal that was getting louder and wetter. 

He reaches down to your chin and cranes your neck up to look at him with an urgency. 

“Gonna’ need some convincing, sugar plum.”

Fuck...

He releases you and walks to the nearby weathered picnic table and lays his rifle down. He unsnaps his utility belt that was strapped over his waist and leg and tosses it along with his handgun in tow. It made his broad shoulders look even wider with his waist unhindered by the bulky gear.

The uppercase “WARDEN” embroidered on the back of his green tactical vest serves to remind you that he is an officer of the law. It taunts you as he takes his sweet time laying out his things neatly on the table while you wait with anticipation for whatever was happening next.  

As he turns to walk back towards you, snatched in his vest, he tries to conceal the smirk pulling up from the corner of his mouth. You hate how good he looked, as if it could ever excuse how disgusting he was behaving.  

He stands coolly just a foot in front of you and unbuckles the modest leather belt. The metal clasps clank loudly as he lets it hang down and unzips. He clocks your reaction as he pulls up his shirt enough to show his messy thatch of hair trailing down his lower belly.   

He can’t be serious… 

Reaching a hand inside his boxers he pulls them down slowly as his cock peeks out. Big and fat and leaking. Aching to be touched. 

He is serious.

His eyes are focused intently on yours, watching them widen as you take in his cock. It's just in front of your nose as you look up and sit back on your haunches.

“Go on,” he growls and lowers his voice. “Convince me.”

He reaches his hand around his cock and pumps it. The broad head glistening in his precum as he drags his hand down his shaft. You wonder how long he had been watching you and if he had been stroking himself before he approached you. Maybe this interrogation was all foreplay for him. In fact, you were certain it was.   

The hot feeling surging in your core surprises you. You were actually turned on by this pig. Still, you knew this was beyond fucked up. You hesitate with what to do next, conflicted by his abuse of power and the inappropriate way your body was betraying you.     

“You gonna disobey a warden?” He threatens, getting impatient. 

You wonder what if you refused? What if you didn’t play his game? What would he actually do? It still didn’t feel like there was an option other than what was right in front of you, demanding your obedience. 

This was only ending one way. His way. 

“No, sir.” You swallow and fight back the tears. You place your palms and claw your fingers into his thighs as you sit up straight. You start to open your mouth and look up at him with glossy eyes. Conceding to him. 

You catch that spark of darkness igniting in his eyes. Burning hot and formidable as it spreads through him. Your misfortune was making him harder.

He parts your mouth open with the tip resting on your bottom lip. He teases it in and out, letting you feel the weight as the ridge catches on your lip. 

God he was big.

“Give it a kiss first and be real polite.” 

You close your lips over the tip and appease him with your gentle touch. Polite even. You suckle it delicately, drawing out beads of saltiness as it drips onto your taste buds. You can’t stop your natural impulse to flick his slit with your tongue and it makes him stiffen even more, twitching in response.

“Good girl.” he praises as he tangles his free hand in your hair. You wince as his firm grip pulls you closer to him. He pushes into your mouth. Inch by inch. The hand on his cock held it steady until you were adjusted to his size. He lets go and slides his hand above your nape, letting you take the full weight of his cock as you hollow your cheeks.

He was so thick. 

You decide to give him something he wants without asking, attempting to entice him to be kinder. His roughness was starting to hurt when he pulled at your hair and dug into your skin. Relaxing your mouth he pushed further in without your protest. Nestled tight in your warm and wet paradise. You notice his urgency shift.  

“Nice and slow. No need to rush.” He commands as you take him deeper. This order sounds more like it's for himself so he doesn’t cum too early. You can feel how close he is. He was ready to burst the moment you dropped to your knees. 

You gag as the head hits the back of your throat.   

“Oh, you sound pretty like that.” He moans as he closes his eyes and leans his head back. “Choking on my cock.” He makes a guttural sound as he nudges his cock even deeper into your throat. He was impossibly large as he fights to stuff you full.  

“Hold still.” He fucks into your mouth. Harder. Harder. Harder. Pulling your hair too tight and pushing your head too far onto him as he bucked into you.

With tears in your eyes making your nose run you can hardly breathe. Gasping and choking  and a cock stuffed in your mouth, bruising your throat with each plunge.

He snarls as he looks down to you, locking eyes. Blown out. Feral. Dark and desperate like he was giving in to his wildest, forbidden desires with no regard for you. It was a selfish need he was taking for himself and only himself. You were nothing. A wet hole for his cock to fuck.  

He was coming undone. His moaning and panting echoing across the serene pondscape and tainting your safe escape forever. Even that memory he was taking from you. 

You were waiting for it. Bracing for his hot spend to pour into you but instead he slowed. Thrusting deep into you with a grunt before dragging out his wet, dripping cock. He winced as it popped out of your mouth and you gasped for air.

This sick fuck was edging himself. 

He wanted more. Needed more. 

“Get up.” His haggard, breathy words bite at you.

He lifts you up by your hair. You quickly comply to relieve the pressure on your scalp as you stumble to your feet. A whine escapes you as he lets go roughly. 

“Gonna make sure you learn your lesson today.” He gestures to the picnic table just a few steps away and you shamefully go to it. 

He pushes you to lean over the bench and bends you in an ‘L’ shape. You press your arms against the seat to hold yourself up. He drags his hand down your back and around to your hips, admiring your delicate form laid out before him. He wanted to lose himself inside you.

He drags a hand between your legs and feels your cunt hot and wet against your shorts. He lets out a growl as his fingers get soaked along your seam. 

You hate how good it feels to have him touch you where you ache for friction.

“Mmm…” he groaned as he breathed in your arousal on his fingertips. “Knew you wanted this cock inside you.” He ruts his hardness against your ass. 

He slides his hands over your back. Over your hips. Down the sides of your legs until he stops abruptly. Fingering at something jagged in your pocket. Something you forgot was there. 

“What's this?” 

Your heart stops. You can tell from his tone that he knew exactly what it was.

He slips his hand in your pocket and pulls out two shiny stones you had collected from the waters edge.

Fuck.   

“Caught stealing from the cookie jar.” He clicks his tongue to scold you. He was stacking his case with further evidence to hang over your head.

“Oh, Darlin.” He fakes a sympathetic tone. “You’re in big trouble now.”

It was then you realized he knew all along. He was watching your every move. He was waiting for the right moment to manipulate you to his will. 

“Bad girl. Larceny is gonna cost you more than just an apology.” He drops the rocks carelessly and grabs your waistband, pulling your shorts and panties down to your ankles in one motion. You gasp as he makes you step out of them as he pushes you forward so your knees are on the bench seat. You catch yourself on the edge of the table. Half naked, exposed and totally fucked. 

“Spread 'em nice and wide for me.” He knocks your legs apart with his knee as he stands behind you, his cock notched against your entrance and it sparks an adrenaline surge inside you when you feel his tip press into you. 

“Please!” You beg him. “Please stop. I’m not letting you fuck me!” You spit out with an attitude. This was a line too far. A line he was intentionally pushing to see how far he could go before you fought back. 

Unsurprising to you, he liked playing with fire.  

He reaches out and grabs your neck with his wide grip, roughly pinning you prone against the table so you can’t move. He leans over, and hovers low to your ear as his shaft drags against your seam. 

“Ain’t making you do nothing, sugar plum.” He pauses and breathes in the sweet scent of your shampoo as he prods you gently with his nose. Tantric and hungry with his movements. 

“I can take you now and then we’ll be done with it, or I can take you in. S’your choice.” He loosens up his grip on your neck and sits back slightly. He feels the way you tremble under his touch, and the way your cunt throbs against his heat still pressing against it.

You feel it too. Something you can’t explain. A primal feeling of desire. Surrendering to your most basic human needs. That having him inside you might not be so bad. A rationalizing in your brain that you did wrong after all. It’s only sex. 

Only sex. You’ve certainly done worse with lesser men under the guise of alcohol. 

“I can promise you, they won’t be nearly this forgivin’ at the state prison.” He traces his finger down your spine, being delicate and gentle. Tracing until his finger runs into his belly pushed flush against you. He leans back and grabs his cock. Painfully hard and still soaked from earlier. He presses the head right against your swollen clit and rubs it against you. 

You let out a moan and he knows he has you.  

“Tell me you don’t want this. That you don’t want to cum all over my cock.” He strokes your clit with his head again and again. Knocking at your door and waiting for you to answer. 

“I’ll make it real good for you, sugar plum.” Your clit pulses on his cock. Needy and hedonic. Forsaking any restraint you have left to say no.

You take a deep breath and curse under your breath, curling your fingers around the edge of the table as you sit up and face forward.

“Get on with it.” You concede. 

He smiles wickedly. He was always going to get what he wanted in the end.

With you still sitting on your knees he locks his body against yours, his feet planted firmly on the ground. He pulls you up so your back is flush with his chest and wraps a hand around the front of you, rubbing and pinching at your clit with his rough fingers and dipping them into your hole. Spreading your slick. Stretching you open as he scissors his fingers.    

His body against yours was so much bigger. Broad and strong. You were the mouse and he was the lion about to pounce. His heat piercing through your skin. You felt him line up at your entrance, nudging you with his tip. 

There is no more patience or preparation. He needs to fuck you now. Needs to have that friction choking his cock that has been rock solid for too long. Without warning he thrusts into you again and again and again. Each time a little deeper and harder. His fat head catching on all your ridges as your pussy grabbed onto him.

It felt so fucking good and you hate it. You hate him.  

He stretches you more than you’ve ever felt before. The initial pain subsides as he rubs your clit fiercely with his fingers. The pleasure inside you builds. He kept his word that he would make it real good for you.  

He puts his leg up on the bench for leverage and bottoms out inside you with a grunt as he pulls you down on his cock. Fucking up into you and impaling you with his cock.   

Your moans run away from you, loudly filling the air with obscenities. You feel your climax building up inside you. You’ve never been fucked so hard in your life and you are soaking him. You know he won’t last much longer.

“Please..” you beg him between moans. 

“Please what?” he snarls as he fucks you harder, his cock ready to spill. 

“Please... Sir. Pull out,” you beg him.

He laughs at your ridiculous request and ignores you, wrapping his arms around you to pull you hard against his body. One hand wrapped around and splayed over your belly and the other curled around your breasts and pushing on the front of your throat. He had you held so tightly to him there was no way you could stop him. 

Your climax tears through you. 

“Carry in… Carry out.” He recites the most basic of park rules between grunts while you brace for it. “Leave nothing behind.”

He releases into you. His hot cum coating your deepest walls as he empties into your cunt with the loudest orgasm. He pushes you down prone and fucks it deep inside you before he starts to soften, making sure you know he was deliberately filling you up with his seed.

He collapses on you and you breathe together for a moment. He leaves an unexpected kiss on your shoulder and another on your neck, silently thanking you for letting him use your body. 

“Next time pay attention to the game cams, sugar plum.” he nods up at a nearby tree and he gives a side smile. Mocking your mistake. 

He withdraws his cock from you and lets you fall forward, his cum already running down your legs. He eyes your mess with a smirk, pleased with his conquest. 

“I’m always watching.” He says with a wink.

Tagging some cool people that I love very much and fellow Joel Hole comrades (please note if it’s too dark for your taste it’s totally ok to skip!)

@magpiepills @for-a-longlongtime @milla-frenchy @itwasntimethatdidit40 @youandmeand5bucks

@toxicanonymity @wethairjoel @evolnoomym @almostfoxglove @beardedjoel

@aurorawritestoescape @hellishjoel @lotusbxtch @murder-wife @joelstummy

@pearlessance @pedropeach @tonysopranosrobe @sawymredfox @macfrog

@slimybeth69 @whocaresstillthelouvre @joelsdagger @baronessvonglitter @covetyou

@chronically-ghosted @skbeaumont @yourcoolauntie @yopossum @beefrobeefcal

@sp00kymulderr @moonlitbirdie @wheresarizona @syd-djarin @punkshort

@sin-djarin @guiltyasdave @strang3lov3 @frannyzooey @tightjeansjavi

@cavillscurls @gasolinerainbowpuddles @pedgito @survivingandenduring

@ozarkthedog @mountainsandmayhem @schnarfer @pedrospatch @penvisions

[kyumisyumi]

Tentacles and Tendrils

Shaking off the rust and giving monster smut(writing in general) a shot again.

Prompt: monster partner is in rut/heat and the partner has to deal with it

Rating: 18+

Monster type: M!Merfolk x F!Reader

Word count: 6k

~Taking requests~

     You stare out at the unending, blue horizon. The cool ocean breeze preparing you for the temperatures of its water as you linger along the edge. You wore the company certified diving gear: a wetsuit, mask, BCD, the works. A spear weighed down one hand while a cylindrical container weighed on your shoulder. Hope and pessimism fought to be at the forefront of your mind as you scan the empty waters with heavy disappointment. This area was always relatively vacant, but not too far off you can spot a duo entering the water with matching gear. Their actions take you out of your haze, and with another gauge check you finally approach the water. Getting a feel for the sea's surge, you make your way in. And with practiced hands you slipped on your fins before turning to greet the seas with outstretched arms.

     Beneath the blue your body instantly goes into autopilot. Swimming was as natural as walking and these seas might as well have been a second home; a wayward beauty that will switch it's mood at a moments notice but home nonetheless. You took it all in, familiar as it may be, the ocean never stopped being a sight to behold. A world beneath our own full of wonderful blues, outstretched greens and terrifying blacks. The current had a bit of force behind it but nothing near the cruelty you knew any large body of water could deal. Your darting eyes couldn't help but search around, scanning everywhere for even just a hint of... There! You moved with haste. As much as you could as a land dwelling animal in aquatic terrain. You didn't get far before the shape you eagerly chased revealed itself to be just a particularly thick and unruly swatch of seaweed. You sigh internally before resolving to begin your original task.

     Nearing a gorgeous station of coral, you couldn't help but linger and watch the busyness. Schools of varicolored, itty bitty fish swimming through the equally colorful pseudo-flora. Despite your love for marine life, you never quite learnt the names of all the little guys much less how to differentiate between them, say for a handful that stick out. Your interest was usually for the larger lifeforms mother nature had to offer; you smiled as you watched a wary grey eel eye you with suspicion. Soon your eyes fell upon your reason for being here. It's bright red colors were slightly muted by the depths, with white tiger stripes outlined by black to break up the pattern. Its form was lined with spines and frills that flowed and fluttered with each graceful swish of it's body; an absolutely gorgeous creature. You readied your spear. The black strap trigger pressed into your skin as you carefully aimed, hoping not to hit anything but the target. It helped that the lionfish lingered in one spot before you speared it. You moved to put it in the container before opting to offer it to the eel you saw earlier. As gorgeous - and delicious - as they were, these guys were invasive here and the effects of their persistence was a constant strain to the native wildlife. They seemed highly concentrated around this sandy patch of substrate, driftwood and dead coral. It didn't take long after the first few kills for one of your friends to make their way over. Gently, you caressed the top of the nurse shark eyeing your spare eagerly, this one you named Lisa... or maybe it was Madeline. It was no surprise your face blindness extended to animals as well, even the cute ones that made your dives feel a little less lonely. The creature began gliding and swirling around you. You liked to believe the fondness was mutual but it was equally likely they were just in it for a meal. You speared another lionfish and offered it to the grey and white cutie.

     The spot you were in. The shark. The scenario. It brought back the memory of the first time you saw him.

     Back then you were collecting lionfish, same as now with a duo of nurse sharks tailing your every movement. At the time you were overly cautious, so you'd sit in one place, removing the venomous spines of the fish before handing them over. You could see him out of the corner of your eye, he'd been there for quite a while, watching you. From his position partially behind the rocks, you'd think he was hiding -or rather, on the defensive- but you just can't imagine something that big and powerful hiding from tiny 'ol you. Yes you had a spear but you doubt it would do you much good if he decided to attack. Merfolk. Given your job at the Aquatic Wildlife Center you were relatively familiar with them. Your company was more than welcoming when programs were made for them- as well as the other species- who showed interest in coexisting during the realm migration. The Merfolk you were familiar with, however, had to undergo numerous lessons on etiquette and culture to live among humans. The one near you now... The word 'feral' came to mind. You didn't quite like using such an animalistic term towards something that looked a little too human, someone that you knew had equivalent intelligence. His skin was primarily muted greens with a burst of parchment white down his chest and undersides of his arms. Unlike the fish tails merfolk were known for, this one's body ended in a myriad of tentacles, not unlike an octopus. Height wasn't exactly something you could measure but in terms of body mass he was more than twice your own. He seemed to tense any time you held direct eye contact so you settled on keeping him in your peripheral and keeping your movements slow and measured. You're not sure what he wanted but if he was content to just watch you, you didn't mind.

     The next time you went out for a dive he'd made another appearance, this time resting on the rocks instead of behind them. Looking at the way his tentacles gently swayed against the current, you realise the way they'd writhed restlessly the day before may have been a sign of anxiety. It tickled you that somehow, in his mind, you were a threat to be worried about. You'd never even been in a proper fight. His relaxed demeanor gave you a bit of courage and you contemplated offering him one of the lionfish but ultimately chose not to. Doing so would feel as though you were treating him like an animal at the petting zoo. Then again, he was watching you like an animal at a regular zoo, keeping his distance as if he thought you'd lash out at any opportunity. You focused on the task at hand. Either the sharks had developed more patience or they were full from yesterday, this time they seemed more interested in dawdling around and getting pets than playing Russian roulette with your spear. You'd gotten into a rhythm of pull, aim, release as you moved slowly across the sandy substrate with him never too far behind.

     On the third day he was almost as close as the sharks were. There was still a respectful distance but you'd only have to reach out your hand to touch him. Despite your determination to hold strong as he approached there was a hint of fear in your eyes when he first got closer. He wasn't threatening but the size difference was all to blatant up close, his chest so broad and arms so thick you didn't doubt they could snap you in half like an oatmeal cookie. In response he seemed to try to make himself look smaller, drifting at a lower level so that his head wasn't much higher than yours. This gave you a good look at his features, he had round pupils unlike the rectangular slits you associated with octopi, his sclera was a light grey and his irises a saffron yellow on downturned eyes. He didn't seem to have any patchwork of iridescent scales like your work colleagues. His eyes aside, everything about his face was sharp, from the hooked nose to the prominent chin and brow bone. As curious as you were, you tried not to look any lower than the slits along his neck; gills, in case your gaze made him uncomfortable. You briefly wondered if he'd try to say something once he got closer but he didn't, he just looked back with a gesture you interpreted as 'continue'. So you did.

There actually weren't anymore lionfish nearby so you decided to take a moment to clip the spines of the one on your spear, hoping to feed it to Joel the eel... or maybe this was Geoffrey. He took this lull in your movement as an opportunity to interact. You stared wide eyed as his hands reached out. It looked as though he was going to reach for your spear but thought better of it and reached out for your free hand instead. He took your smaller hand into his much larger ones. He inspected each finger, pulling them apart and tracing the curve in between, where his held a thin membrane. He ran a thumb over your blunt nails, where his held thick black claw. His movements were slow - cautious - and you get the feeling that it was more for your benefit than his. Wary as you were, you were equally enthused to learn more of the  man... fish... octopus being before you.  He inspected the sleeve of your wetsuit, running his fingers over the material. When it seemed like he was going to pinch the fabric between two claws you tugged your hand away, shaking your head in hopes the gesture was universal. Thankfully he understood. He then circled you to take in the rest of your form, a possible sign he understood touching anywhere else on your body might be unwelcomed. 

Unsurprisingly, he took particular interest in your legs, watching the way they swayed to keep you afloat. He didn't touch you yet you somehow felt pressure over every inch his eyes laid upon. Was this how your coworker felt during those awkward introductory meetings where there would always be one person asking to touch their fins. The memory made you giggle and the merman suddenly shifted his focus from your legs to your face. Your breath caught as his eyes focused on yours, it was mesmerizing how they looked as fluid as the ocean; the colors swaying as the black center zeroed in on you. For a moment you wondered what did you look like through those eyes. He raised a hand to rest his knuckles against your cheek. His gaze then lowered to your lips. Your body -so ready to flee when he first approached- now froze. No matter how much you tried to reinforce that his actions were of innocent curiosity you couldn't stop thinking they weren't. Or maybe you just hoped they weren't. Oh dear. Before you could figure out where your head was at, he pressed a thumb against your lips. There was a subtle shift in his features as he stared at you intently. A question? Was he asking to kiss you? Your heart sprinted. He wanted to kiss you... and you- you were actually considering it. You must be insane; yes you thought he was gorgeous in a unnatural -captivating- way but you weren't going to kiss a creature you haven't known for more than a few hours. You hadn't even exchanged words with him. Words... Oh! That was it! You would've face palmed  if your hands weren't occupied. He wished to speak, and prior knowledge reminded you that merfolk could adapt a language through lip contact. Well, that cleared your brain a bit. If that's the case surely you could spare your lips for a moment. It wouldn't have to be long, just the slightest peck was enough. A fraction of a second. He was patiently awaiting your answer, somewhat pulling back as if to tell you 'no' was a more than acceptable answer. With a tad more hesitation you finally nodded. You pulled out your mouth pieces, angling it downwards to prevent excess air loss. Trying to show some initiative you moved closer but you just couldn't bring yourself to close the kiss. Graciously he did and your lips met. Your rushing blood brought heat straight to your cheeks. It was such a minute amount of contact but your body responded as if he was already tongue deep inside. You felt... something. Like faint streams of electricity that moved from the corners of your lips to the center before vanishing. You figured it was the magic at work, now would be the time to move away but your body and brain can't seem to get on the same page. Or maybe they were on the same page and the voice telling you to move away was something foreign, something unwanted. You opened your eyes to see his, half lidded but looking at you with an intensity that couldn't be misconstrued. Neither of you wanted to break the contact. You're not sure where the confidence came from but just as you moved to press closer to him, your lungs reminded you where you were. They called for oxygen. It took more effort than you would like to admit to pull away from him and return your regulator to your mouth. You looked back at him to see his fingers pressed against his mouth, eyes swirling with mixed emotions. Maybe it was your eyes playing tricks on you but you swear he licked his lips. His adam's apple bobbed in his throat and he moved his lips as if testing the motions.

     "Can you understand me?"

     You nodded in the affirmative. And by Gods, the smile on his face could outshine the sun on a clear summer morning.

     This opened up the pathway to your budding friendship. Underwater, you couldn't have full conversations but with the barrage of questions he had there was hardly a need to speak. It especially amused you that he had to confirm that you were indeed human. Do humans walk everywhere? Do we forms pods? Do we dream? Do humans fly was a weird one to answer under the limitations. It was an eye opener to the fact that you were as alien to him as he you.

     At some point you remembered that you were on a timer and though there wasn't really a quota, resurfacing with only four lionfish would definitely not look good for you. You went back to spearing, trying to be quick while he asked about this and that. It only got better when you finally resurfaced. You perched on the old abandoned dock, it was barely more than a couple planks of wood hanging on for dear life. You were especially glad that this area remained as vacant as when you left so you didn't have to worry about worried/wondering gazes at the two of you.

     Unfortunately diving was only something you could do 2 maybe 3 times a week, it was essentially a freebie session offered to break up the office work you dread. Still, even after you clocked out, you'd take a stroll to that same dock where he'd be waiting beneath the surface. You learnt that, though most merfolk would declare otherwise, his species wasn't rare. Just distant and reclusive. The only reason he was close enough to the shore to spot me was because he seeked a precious stone to complete a trade. Based on his description you believed it was Larimar or Blue calcite, which you may have in your personal collection. When you asked why he decided to approach you, his answer was a sideways glance and a shrug before quickly changing the subject. There were moments, you noticed, when he'd rest his arms along the wooden planks and caress your overhanging legs. The movements were slow and feather light, almost absent minded. It made your mind fuzzy, you wished to just close your eyes and focus on nothing but the feel of his skin against yours. Occasionally, he would gently rake a claw over your soft skin and you'd try your best not to trip over your words. In return, you'd run your fingers over the mix of tentacles and tendrils that sprouted from his head- similar to hair. The prehensile limbs would wrap around your fingers. The gestures were unmistakably intimate but neither of you spoke against it. Amongst the many questions and conversations would be these moments of content silence, these you treasured most. His hands on you, your hands on his, as you both enjoyed the world around you and each other.

     Now those memories fill you with a hollow feeling in your chest. It's been almost a week with no sign of him. What had you expected, really? He has a life down below that he has to attend to after all. Even you have missed a day or two. What if he's hurt? The question gnawed at you many times these past few days; you despised the small part of you that preferred that outcome over having been left behind. But then the idea that somewhere down there he was facing unknown perils that you'd have no means to help him with would solidify in your mind. No, you'd rather the hurt of having been abandoned. Summoning your mental fortitude, you aimed to focus on the task at hand before you accidentally harm one of the sharks by being distracted. There was a new face this time... at least you thought they were new. They nuzzled your body as if sensing your distress and to your delight; it helped

     Seconds dragged into minutes then hours before it was time for you to get out. You wished you could say you were strong enough to just go but instead you swam around for a bit; hoping. Praying. But there was nothing around except you, the water and your pitiful heartache.

     Above land you safely shed the equipment. The smart thing to do would be to go home as soon as possible. To finish your day, change your clothes and curl up in blankets while playing some video games. However, you've always been a creature of habit so instead you sat at the old dock. Alone. The sun was so warm but the winds were relentless, they licked at your skin as if trying to shoo you away. Maybe this was Poseidon's way of telling you to get over it. It's not like there was anything between the two of you. You'd only known him for a handful of weeks after all, that's barely enough time to form a friendship much less... As if shutting down the thought, your brain replayed a memory of him pressing his face against the palm of your hand with pure bliss etched into his features. As if your touch alone could push away all his problems. Then there was the time you touched your forehead to his during a momentary spur of boldness. The look he gave you spoke so loud in the silence. You would've kissed him then if not for your shyness winning  out. That was one of the last moments you'd shared before his disappearance. A treasure in your heart that now caused you pain. Packing up your things, you got up to leave, however something clutched your ankle. Something, rather, someone you recognized all too well.

     You gasped violently as you were dragged down. Thank goodness you did because it was all the air you'd get to take with you in your rapid decent below. He shifted so instead of being pulled by his tentacles, you were fastened to his side by a firm arm. He stared straight forward as he swam, allowing you only to see the tendrils whipping around the back of his head. You could hardly process how fast you were going down the bottomless blue. The water shifted from a bright, comfortimg azure to ultramarine as you went deeper and deeper. Your panic rose the further he swam, which did your lungs no good. Was he trying to drown you!? You couldn't call out, couldn't scream so you tugged and pulled at his thick, unyielding arm, trying desperately to get him to stop. He turned to you then, there was a look of pained and haunted thoughts scribed into his face. The lovely grey of his sclera had darkened into a soulless black making the yellows of his eyes that more vibrant, almost glowing in the waters inky depth. The word 'feral' again came to mind as he blinked his second eyelids. He looked at you and looked at you and looked even more. As though his eyes processed one thing but his brain was stuck on something else. It took a moment but he finally said your name. Not said, growled it. His usually velvety deep voice was now strained through gravel. He pulled you closer to him and buried his face in your hair, your heart would be fluttering were it not currently banging in your chest wondering where the hell was the oxygen it ordered. You tried, you really did, to struggle against his hold. Hoping he'd wake up from whatever spell he was under and bring you back to solid ground. Hell, you'd make an attempt to swim for it, knowing how futile it would be. But once his long tongue was on your throat you became putty in his arms. You feel three distinct fingers rake against the other side of your neck as he nipped at you. You can't tell if your breath hitched or your lungs made another vain attempt to reach for air. You raised a trembling hand, trying to alert him to your situation but he seemed solely focused on tasting your skin.

     "Breathe." He spoke in-between licks, his tongue venturing down to your clavicle, and you wondered if he'd actually gone mad. His hooded eyes met yours and he repeated the word.

     It didn't matter anymore, the choice was no longer yours. You had held onto that final breath for dear life but it was time for that life to come to an end. A stream of bubbles left your horrified lips as you now fought not to breath in; that was a far shorter battle. You inhaled, preparing for the sting of water invading your airways in it's rush to your desperate lungs. For your body to heave and cough as the waters reminded you you were not it's friend but a guest who had overstayed their welcome. Would your body float up to be picked at by birds or sink to be fodder for the sea floor scavengers? You waited and waited. But... It never came. You, somehow, were breathing air. Opening your eyes in confusion, you looked around to see if you were suddenly back on land, if all this was some dream or hallucination spurred on by your guilt and heartbreak but no. You were still surrounded by the open seas and all it's inhabitants. Your breaths felt slightly strained but you weren't going to complain about life saving miracles. Especially when a giant tentacled man was tracing his finger down your spine. Now that your life was no longer at risk(mostly) you calmly rest your palm against his head, trying again to get answers out of him. He stilled, dissolving into your touch as he had many times before. You saw a bit of clarity in his eyes before he closed them.

     "I'm sorry." He said after a moment, his voice was lustful and strained, like a warning sign dipped in want and desire. "It started; my heat. I tried to stay as far away as I could but when all sense had escaped my mind the only thing left were thoughts of you." He pulled you closer, his eyes remained closed as if one look at you would break the little control he had. "I thought I had overcome it when I began searching for... Methods for you to survive beneath the waters. But the moment I had my answers it overtook me. It possessed me. It still does. I want you...desperately but only if you'll have me."

     You listened to his words, in confusion then understanding. Then you actually understood! Oh! Suddenly your body had forgotten all it's woes, focusing on your core instead. He wanted you. You bit your lip in thought, noticing that the water couldn't pass some unseen threshold of your mouth. You wanted him, you couldn't even pretend to deny that but... Was there a 'but'? You searched your tainted mind for excuses but your brain and your body were again in unison, the only outlier was you. You slid your hand up his face and caressed a cranial tendril, he opened his eyes and you felt his body vibrate. Purring.

     You didn't have the courage to look him in the eye when you spoke. "I will." You consented.

     He was on you instantly. His lips crashed into yours with reckless need. There was no slow build up, no questioning nor tentative tongue touches. His tongue snaked pass your lips and devoured you in kind. His large hands ran down either sides of your body, meeting when they both grabbed at your ass. There they lingered, kneading your flesh through the stretchy materiel, before one devious hand ventured even lower. You felt him slide a finger along the fabric covering your sex. Back and forth, his finger glided creating a nice little friction that almost touched your eager clit. Your hips moved on their own, seeking the contact. You craved more of his touch and suddenly the thin, synthetic rubber was a dense barrier. As if hearing your thoughts, there was the slightest pinch against the crook of your behind before a sudden coldness seeped in. You could feel him carefully swipe his claw to just above your clit, creating a opening in the fabric. The new sensation of cold wetness against you warm sex made you gasp but it was soon replaced by the warmth of his... hand? No, the texture was far different. Before you had a chance to investigate, the feeling of suction against your clit gave you all the answers you needed. Something between a gasp and a moan left your lips, the sound must've pleased him greatly because he tore himself away from your mouth to look into your eyes. The limb covered your whole sex, with the tip lightly teasing your entrance but it was that one suction cup upon your clit that was really putting in the work. It took a rhythm that was brain meltingly pleasant against the sensitive bud, thoroughly teased by his phantom touches prior. A sudden surge of pleasure began to build causing you to reflexively try to squeeze your thighs together. However, the  action was impeded by two tentacles quickly wrapping around your legs to keep them parted. They squeezed as if to reaffirm their hold on you. He took your chin in his hand and watched you intensely as you came undone from the stimulation. His grip was light but unyielding when you tried to turn away. Closing your eyes would lead to him stopping completely until they fluttered open again to meet his. He would take in every dip in your throat, every curve in your lips, every crease beneath your eyes and flush upon your cheeks. He wouldn't miss a moment of your first orgasm at his hands. His gaze was dizzying, as if whatever possessed him was now reaching out for you.  Having him inspect you with such cold fondness only made the experience that more salacious. The rising tide of pleasure finally crashed and you were left a buzzing, panting mess. With a look of gratification he released your chin, wrapping his arms around you once more to knit your body to his.

     "You're so beautiful." He cooed before trailing off into words of his own language.

     You didn't get a moment to say anything back before you felt something probe against your opening. One of his tentacles slid inside you fully, welcomed and aided by the slick lube of your still pulsing walls. You shuddered in his arms, thankful for the support. It was a comfortable fit and suddenly you're reminded that it's been ages since anyone has had you like this. It made the experience slightly more alien atop the fact that you were being intimate with a lust driven sea-beast. Rather than the expected thrusting, the appendage grazed along your insides. It twisted and pushed as if getting a feel for you, learning you before pulling back out. The sudden emptiness made you whimper, you looked at him, ready to beg if need be but it didn't come to that. You felt your entrance being prodded again. It was the familiar tip of a tentacle, ready to enter you once more. However, the more it pushed, the wider it got; so very much wider. And Gods, it held a bumpy texture that was absent before. Just as your mind went hazy you realised it was two of them, wrapped around each other. It finally gave you the thrusting motion you desired, it's ribbed texture grazing parts of you that remained untouched for too long. Your movements were limited but you attempted to grind against each wonderful thrust, moaning your delight with feather light whispers. This was all too good, soft and pliable enough that it writhed inside you but firm enough to press against your hungry womb.

Despite all senses seemingly being focused on your trembling hole you felt something press against your stomach, forcing it's way into the tiny space between your body and his. You peek downward to see the spearheaded tip of what you assumed was his cock. Suddenly, his preparation of your cunt made sense, you'd expected him to be big but geez. It was identical in color to his body, darkening at the tip in a similar fashion to his fingers. It throbbed and twitched as he began to grind against you. Even with two tentacles stretching your insides, your greedy eyes craved the feel of it. Craved the connection to him. You reached down and grasped it at the base, shock almost pulling you out of your haze when it wrapped around your hand. It tightened as if begging for more of your touch. You acquiesced and began running you hands up and down his massive length, taking great pleasure in the way his body vibrated with resonating groans. His thrusts inside you growing wilder, taking you further and further and you were determined to take him with you. His voice held a softer, pleading tone as it goaded you on, praising you between strained hisses. His cock swelled and hardened, his words devolving into senseless mumbles. The limbs inside you became more erratic as his pleasure grew. His grip on your body tightening to the point of leaving small tears in your suit and nicks in your skin. He released a long animalistic huff as he coated your arm in slimy white fluid, your body responded by coating his tentacles with your own. You rest your head against his chest, moving in time with his heavy breaths, counting them as you both recovered. You're not sure when he began moving you but suddenly you were face to face. He kissed you. Slowly. Gently. Tasting and savoring you.

     "Do you think you could take me, my treasure, or do I need to stretch that greedy hole of yours even more?" He asked between kisses.

     Words were beyond your tired brain so you just nodded. As spent as your body was, this moment would not feel complete until he was inside you. Slowly, as if moving you too much too quickly could break you, he turned you around so that your back was pressed against his chest. He snaked his hands around you -he really did seem to love having his arms on you-, one hand moving to grope your breast while the other traced a line down your stomach to caress your mound. You feel his lower half angle itself to bring his leaking member to your slick opening. Oh so slowly you feel him slide into you, spreading you wider with each inch. You couldn't help but try to squirm against him but his hands held you steady. He was only half way in when your body began to show resistance. He started pulling out slowly and thrusting into you, getting a little bit further each time.

     "You're being so good for me." He whispered just above your ear, his voice held a lovely cadence. Singsong; as if haunted by a melody that compelled his body to move.

     You couldn't hear it but you felt it, it rang through your body with each sway of your hips and out your lips with each whine. Down to the way he held you, like an instrument to be adored. Every moan a crescendo and every voice stopping bite at your neck a diminuendo. He was playing you and you were loving every moment of it. In and out, in and out like he was timing bars on sheet music. That was up until the flat, tapered tip hit the deepest part of you; he'd hilted. Then everything stopped. Fermata. You're only warning for what was to come were the tentacles that slithered around your legs to ground you. You hardly even felt him pull out, just the force as he thrust fully into you. The sound that left your mouth was a guttural whine of shock and pain. He kept going.  Slamming. Pounding. Taking your body over and over. It hurt and yet you desired more. He fucked you like he was craving this moment his whole life. Your body eased and the pain slowly dissolved into pleasure, never quite leaving but become something more. Something better. Something wholy obscene. Your body was an inferno in the cold, dark water. Pleasure overtook you; you no longer felt like a person, just a mass of emotions and senses. You could hear his grunts and growls behind you, the sounds he made were truly animalistic. Wild. Primal. Savage. As though he couldn't fathom being anything but a creature of vulgarity. Couldn't fathom doing anything but driving himself into you. Desired nothing more in the world than to fill the emptiest parts of you. Your walls tightened around him, as if intending to learn every bulge and vein of his cock. Pulling and sucking him in with no desire to let him go, that was where all your strength went. You felt the recognizable build of another orgasm and judging by way his pliable member was now a hardened monolith, he wasn't far off.  He no longer needed to lead, you danced with him as you both came together. His seed seeped out of him, filling every bit of (nonexistent)space inside of you before oozing out. He continued to thrust, making sure you milked his cock for everything he had. It's throbbing was like a heartbeat inside you.

     You collapsed against him, laying your head flat against his chest, your cheek barely touching the flesh above his heart. After a moment you looked up to see him already staring down at you, the affection in his eyes fueled your already thrumming heart. A moment of tenderness as the tainted waters surrounding you both whisked your indecencies away.  His sclera lightened to their usual soft grey. An eagerness popped up on his face as he seemingly wanted to ask you something then but thought better of it. A somber look taking over his features instead. Using what little strength remained in your body, you turned fully to him. He immediately took your head in both his hands and rest his forehead against yours.

     "I- Did i hurt you?"

     "Did-" You gave him a droll look. "Did you hurt me??" You flicked his head. Well, you tried but there was less than no force behind your fingers. "Of course you did. Lucky for you I enjoyed it."

     "I'm so sorry, I'll be gentler next time." He sounded genuinely apologetic. "If you would allow for a 'next time'."

     "There better be."

     "And a time after that?"

     "Don't push your luck, ocean boy."

     You felt him smile against you. It may have been an innocent one but you couldn't help but wonder if he was already plotting.

     He took you above land after that and you thanked the Gods above that your towel and pack was still waiting for you. At least you could walk(limp) to the company building without catching a charge for indecent exposure. He watched you from his usual spot on the dock. His downturned eyes hooded by his lashes had him looking like a distraught child watching their best friend board a plane to unknown lands. Did he think he scared you away? That you'd never return? Maybe as a bit of revenge you'd let him believe it.

((You also had to deal with the urge to sink into the floor at the knowing and amused looks on your merfolk coworker's face every time they saw the marks on your neck D:))

[orteil42]

some undifferentiated thoughts about my Starfield playthrough as i have them. i am a game developer with a strong interest in procedural generation and i've enjoyed a bunch of other bethesda games so this might get pretty mean sorry

(this is a long one)

starfield dialogue is already exhausting me "oh you must've been living under a moon rock ;)" get it! because they're in space! this would've been too corny for the Jetsons

there's a kind of cheap dusting of space theme over everything. the food isn't salmon but alien salmon. it's not seaweed but alien seaweed. cooking alien stir-fry. come on

cannot get over how clumsily the theming is handled. books, board games, weapon names revolve heavily around space. these people have been living on alien planets for hundreds of years yet have this unending sense of novelty about it. the game takes itself completely seriously but feels like it's attempting to parody itself

people's EYEBALLS are CLIPPING THROUGH THEIR EYELIDS

a woman is speaking to me in french. her accent is about as believable as her haircut

these are some of the worst reflection maps i've ever seen

next to nothing is interactive. you can sit in chairs and sleep in beds and that is about it. can't even drink from people's toilets. disgraceful

game helpfully crashes 5 seconds after i decide i should get some sleep. very handy!

my character has not said a single thing since i started playing. not one peep. this is an unmitigated improvement over Fallout 4 i'm so glad honestly

the more i poke around the big city the more the NPC quips feel like something out of gen-1 pokemon. can't get enough of this coffee :) this city is where it's at :) spacesuits are comfy and easy to wear

very strange sense of altered reality from the quest dialogue too. has anyone at bethesda met a person before? i move on to some mission that has me scanning wildlife on a faraway planet hoping this will, somehow, feel less alien than human conversation

just as with No Man's Sky, every planet is uniformly dotted with equidistantly-placed points of interest that you slowly make your way to (no vehicles besides your jetpack) which always turn out to be some cave or building identical to those you've cleared before

unlike with No Man's Sky, the seamless exploration is faked and the biodiversity is nil. you do get an impressive amount of raw loading screens however

the prefab bases and power stations found everywhere on planets seem to have very sparse, very specific slots for spawning consumables, which results in encountering some giant industrial installation in the middle of nowhere with, i don't know, a loaf of whole-grain sandwich bread just casually sitting next to it all proper. there is no breathable atmosphere here. who is eating this

planetary traversal is a CHORE. i am saying this as someone who loved Death Stranding

heinous "hold to confirm" buttons sprinkled in various flow-breaking places throughout the interface

enemy AI is abominable. nobody is pathing their way to get my ass. "must've been the wind" taken to the next level. an infant playing peekaboo has more object permanence

hoisting yourself up on ledges when jumping is…nice

companions randomly nowhere to be found. persists through multiple fast-travels and loading screens until, just as randomly, they pop back up

storage space is now limited! unlike in Fallout 4 and virtually every other bethesda game, your containers now hold a finite item capacity. god forbid we let the player have fun

baffling inventory UI. i imagine there's a mod out there that completely overhauls it the way SkyUI did for Skyrim. this should not be needed! how are your UIs getting worse a decade later!

scanning the precious few species inhabiting some dusty planet; one of them is this arching red root i've already seen several times before. my job done in this biome, i travel (read: teleport with a loading screen) to the polar region to find some other species. the first one i catalogue is the exact same red root again but this time it's named "boreas root" todd howard is a genius

some alien horror comes at me full fangs out. i hop on a pebble. obscenely, i am safe

procedural terrain generation beyond dull, impossibly unimaginative. these people have not had one critical thought on what makes a procedural world interesting. beginning to feel validated in my belief that only i should be trusted with proc gen. along with perhaps tarn adams

jokes aside this is making me feel genuinely insane. there have been excellent procedural generation techniques that produce compelling explorable maps for decades now. bethesda absolutely has the budget and know-how to do miles better than this yet somehow they just…do not? the same way Pokemon has decided to just no longer bother with their mainline games despite being the highest-grossing media franchise in history? hello? what is for real going on

some of the most cynical breadcrumbing i've seen in years. approaching some random cave and this person in space gear, who in the vast immensity of the infinite cosmos just happens to be snapping pictures right here, tells me more-or-less verbatim "if you like this place, you should see this other place" [other random cave has been added to your map.]

i do not like how good this makes No Man's Sky's gameplay look. it depresses me how much i have to hand it to No Man's Sky for at least not fucking up this bad. please stop making me wish i was playing No Man's Sky instead this is grotesque

i think i've exhausted my interest and patience for this game at the moment. i'll get back to the main story at some point and try some other systems ie. crafting and base-building to see if there's any engagement to be found but so far, my god. my god

[affectionatecorpse]

I'm once again getting overly philosophical over horror movies, so here's a study of the death angels from A Quiet Place as observed by a very enthusiastic animal loving veterinarian.

Every time people talk about death angels, it is, understandably, about how violent they are. These creatures are brutal and merciless, and will tear apart anything that makes too much noise. Hence the title of the movie.

Death angels are frankly terrifying, and show no empathy towards the creatures of the planet they invaded. No living thing is safe from them.

... so here's why they COULD be--

Look. Death angels are simply not suited for our planet. It's a noisy, chaotic place full of noisy, chaotic animals. From humans, to raccoons, to birds, to cats, nearly everything in our world is a potential trigger for a noise sensitive animal such as these.

But that's exactly what they are. Animals. And no one seems to remember that fact. People talk about them as though they themselves are sentient, anthropomorphic monsters, but the way these creatures act mimic many real life animals. Animals that don't belong here, but are trying to survive here. On a noisy planet covered in water, which they despise and cannot swim in.

Death angels are completely blind by nature, as seen in many other creatures such as cavefish, moles, and my personal favourite, the olm. Due to a lack of sight, they very clearly use echolocation in the film, to scan their surroundings and... well, not get dead. But echolocation is far from their only tool, as their ears are the strongest asset they have.

Their ears are INCREDIBLY sensitive. Just the slight ticking of an egg timer when heard from their perspective in the first film, is like a pounding drum in their ear. This is fine in a naturally quiet planet, but if a very subtle tick is that loud, then imagine the rest of the noise. Screaming. Explosions. Crashing. Little toy planes. Holy CRAP, that's gotta hurt.

Sounds that loud would definitely cause extreme hearing problems from pressure over time, and easily result in lifelong illnesses and disabilities such as deafness, infection, and so forth, if not stopped. It's going to be painful. It's literally bursting their ear drums inside their heads, and you can't explain to an animal why it hurts. You cannot rationalise with wildlife about treatment and self care. An injured and scared animal is always going to turn hostile, no matter how docile they may be normally. You can't explain to a lion with a knife in it's belly that you can stop the pain if it just doesn't attack you. You can't explain to a death angel that it needs to go somewhere more isolated instead of just destroying the source of the noise to shut it up.

Going to backtrack here a sec. Remember how I mentioned echolocation being another asset this creature has? Which means the slightest movement, the tiniest breath, can immediately allow you to be seen by it. With ears that good, too? It can see you from ages away. It knows you're there. Which means they DON'T attack for sport.

'Evil' is a concept rarely seen in nature. Yes, a lot of humans can be evil. And yes, many creatures can be too. Animals hunt for sport as well. Cats, for example! Although even then, I wouldn't describe it as evil. Calling the death angels evil implies they're attacking out of malicious intent, which just isn't true. In moments of panic, they'll destroy. But they are fully aware of humans around them.

Humans need to breathe, and can't stay perfectly still very easily. The death angels would be able to see our main cast at several points, even when they're being quiet. They don't attack whenever they locate a sign of life. For example, the scene in the basement. Being that close, whether the water was running or not, that alien absolutely would've heard Evelyn and the baby's sharp breaths. It didn't care. It was clicking at them almost curiously before it heard the bang of the silo, to which it ditched them to stop the sound.

This scene is a great example of why they don't kill for sport. Injured and young animals are especially easy prey for a creature built so strong and nimble. Evelyn is shown to be terrified of the mere presence of this thing, but it never actually does anything in the scene. It moves about. Ignores her movements in the flooding water. Investigates the baby. Clicks curiously at her while she backs away. It moves slowly and on all fours, when we know while aggressive, they will stand up on their hind legs (unless sprinting) and move very fast.

This implies it was in... well, not a submissive position, but a nonthreatening one. It wasn't baring it's teeth (as best it could), it had it's claws tucked up and unused, and was in no way in a primed-to-attack mentality. Until the silo made a loud bang. And even then, it could've quickly sliced up the two in the basement before running off, but it DIDN'T. It just left, without a moment of hesitation.

Let's also acknowledge the anatomy.

This is a carnivore. With sharp teeth for ripping apart prey, sharp claws for defence, and thick armour for protection from it's natural climate, as well as strong, long legs for running, this is absolutely a meat eater. The fact it's so well equipped makes me wonder if their natural prey is just as dangerous as them, which is why they have such tough skin. Or if they themselves have something above them in the food chain.

They seem to be pack animals, as usually others aren't far behind when one is about. Such as the trio by the Abbott house, the few at the docks, the ones by Emet's hideout, and even that group sliding down the building in the Day One clip I keep seeing as a gif. With their knack for running included, I wonder if they function like lions? Blending into their environment back home, clicking to hear prey, then the whole pack going on the chase when their target is vulnerable, in a way.

I got distracted. My point was, in a year, all the bodies from past victims vanished. All those people in the town who were swiped left and right just vanished from the town. They couldn't have decomposed in such short time, which means something moved them when it was safe. Something like a carnivore needing food after it felt comfortable in the silent aftermath. The argument that they do it for sport is one I see all the time, and it's just not true.

Everything needs to eat. Carnivores need to eat. Animals need to protect themselves from suspected danger. They never eat on screen because whenever they're on screen, they're surrounded by noise and are DISTRESSED. Have you ever had a sick pet? Most of the time, it won't eat when it's ill because it's too stressed, uncomfortable or in too much pain. When having their ear drums assaulted, a death angel isn't going to sit down with a cup of tea and a grilled cheese. Also, I won't add it because there's blood, but in the scene with the old man screaming in the woods, after it attacks, you can actually see it go back on all fours and sniff about the aftermath, like a hungry predator catching prey to eat. This was probably the first and currently only on screen proof of my claim.

By all means, not all animals are meant to be tamed. Jordan Peele's Nope said that best. Yet I can't help but wonder about the individual. Every animal is completely unique. Some will tolerate more than others. Due to their realistic nature and the similarities to actual animals, in specific circumstances, could they be befriended?

Anyway keep an eye out for A Quiet Place 4 where someone has a pet one that wears doggy ear protectors and accepts meat in exchange for pets-- /j

[lovenpeace-pkmn]

Good morning to the audinos from work and no one else

#anthea post

( 2 notes )

🦋queen-bellelbas-tits Follow

Beautifly and dustox. Once close in childhood, but their paths in life diverged due to their natures, leaving them to forever wonder what could have been. This, too, is yuri

( 265 notes )

🎪redfogoferror Follow

Forever thinking about Todd Snap's photos from Team Plasma's attack on the League

🎪redfogoferror Follow

This guy was just some random wildlife photographer who happened, by complete coincidence, to take a job documenting the Pokémon living on and around Victory Road the day of the attack. And instead of reacting to a hugeass castle appearing like a normal person, the absolute madlad just shrugged and kept going about his job, landing us shots like this:

//scans courtesy of @poketcg-art; art by Naoki Saito, Akira Komayama, and Masakazu Fukuda

( 4831 notes )

🧶drop-spinda Follow

The latest dye batch turned out great you guys! Waiting to get home to get some good pictures but I can't wait to show you. I should've gotten a wooloo years ago, their wool is so much easier to work with than mareep. Ily Buttercup <3

#crafters on rotomblr #wooloo

( 12 notes )

🏀zenzangoose Follow

Are we ever gonna talk about the fact that Macro Cosmos made their own Type: Null, or...?

🐜 fossilmaniacdudley Follow

This again? That was debunked ages ago. Where would Macro Cosmos have even gotten the plans to replicate it?

🏀zenzangoose Follow

Oh, yeah, I'm sure you have no ulterior motives here, *checks notes* former Macro Cosmos scientist

( 30 notes )

🦋queen-bellelbas-tits reblogged

🦉sinister-arrowraid Follow

just saw Big Monster: Revenge of Mechavolcarona. Spoilers under the cut, but let me just say I am not impressed by the direction the franchise is taking.

keep reading

( 602 notes )

🎑futurekantochampion Follow

guys help my arcanine just ACTUALLY ate my homework what do i do my teacher's never gonna believe this

[writers-potion]

Magic In The Future Ideas

Universities have departments of magic, offering degrees in subjects such as magical anthropology, magical energy studies, comparative magic and magical theology.

Research magicians apply for grants from the government.

MRI scans detect what results from magic activity has on the brain

Some psychotherapists specialize in treating magic-traumatized victims

A large part of each nation's military budget goes towards magical weapons and defenses.

In some areas, magic is so frequent that the concentration of magical energies leads to problems: pets display disturbed behavior, wildlife fail to reproduce, and homing pigeons lose their way.

Instead of finding witchcraft cool, teenagers moan about having to study magic in school.

Software and apps enable ordinary people to use magic on their computers.

In some countries, denying the existence of magic is a punishable offense.

In totalitarian states, all magic is controlled by the government. Anyone found practicing magic without permission gets imprisoned.

Unprotected exposure to large doses of magic is harmful.

Magicians seek publication in peer-reviewed journals.

Environmentalists advocate the use of magic instead of fossil fuel.

Large-scale studies compare the effectiveness of different spells and magic systems on different people, complete with control groups and placebos.

Hospitals employ healing magicians the same way they employ surgeons and scrub nurses.

Teams of mages compete in televised contests.

After decades of unrestricted magic use, humans become aware that magic harms the environment. By that time, Earth suffers the consequences of heavy magic pollution.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* . ───

💎If you like my blog, buy me a coffee☕ and find me on instagram! 

💎Before you ask, check out my masterpost part 1 and part 2 

💎For early access to my content,  become a Writing Wizard 

[00valentina-writes00]

Reader sending Ambessa drunk texts that make no sense along with funny photos of crazy stuff their doing

✞⛧ Drunk texting Ambessa (Drabble) ✞⛧

The soft glow of the fireplace in Ambessa’s study illuminated her sharp features as she reviewed the day’s reports. She was deep in thought, her focus unwavering, when the sharp ping of her communicator interrupted the silence.

Ambessa glanced at it, her brow furrowing as she saw your name pop up. Normally, you didn’t text her at this hour, especially not repeatedly. But tonight, the messages came in rapid succession.

You: “Ambesssaaaaa guess what???? 😍😍😍”

Ambessa raised an eyebrow but smiled softly at the sight of your overuse of emojis. She typed back a quick response.

Ambessa: “What is it, my love?”

Her communicator buzzed immediately with a photo.

You: (Attachment: a blurry photo of you crouching in what looks like a bush, holding a traffic cone like it’s a priceless treasure.)

You: “I found him. His name is Gerald. We’re best friends now.”

Ambessa stared at the image, her lips twitching as she fought back a laugh. You were clearly drunk.

You: “Babe, do you think I could fight a goose? Like… if I really tried?”

Ambessa: “I’d prefer you didn’t fight wildlife.”

You: “Too late. I challenged him. He accepted. Meet me at the park.”

Ambessa groaned, pinching the bridge of her nose. She typed back quickly.

Ambessa: “You better not be serious. Where are you?”

Another photo came through, this one of you standing a little too close to an aggressive-looking goose, holding what appeared to be a baguette like a sword.

You: “It’s okay, I have a weapon.”

Ambessa muttered a curse under her breath, standing up and already reaching for her coat. But the texts didn’t stop.

You: “Do you think the moon is judging me? Be honest.”

You: (Attachment: a picture of you lying flat on the sidewalk, staring up at the sky.)

You: “I told her I don’t need her negativity but idk she’s still staring.”

By the time Ambessa reached the park, her communicator buzzed again.

You: “WAIT. IDEA. We should get a pet. Like a really big one. A bear or something. I could ride it into battle.”

Ambessa sighed, scanning the darkened park until she spotted you near a bench, holding what she could only describe as the saddest bouquet of weeds she’d ever seen.

You: “This is for you, my warrior queen. 🥀✨”

She approached quietly, watching as you squinted at your communicator and giggled to yourself. When you finally noticed her, your face lit up.

“Ambessaaaa!” you slurred, stumbling toward her. “You’re here! Did you see my texts? I’m a genius.”

Ambessa caught you easily, her strong hands steadying you. “I did see your texts,” she said, her voice calm but tinged with amusement. “And you’re lucky I love you.”

You grinned up at her, swaying slightly. “I love you too. Do you wanna meet Gerald?”

Ambessa shook her head, wrapping an arm around your waist to guide you home. “No more stealing traffic cones. Or fighting geese.”

“But babe,” you whined, pouting. “The goose started it.”

She chuckled, pressing a kiss to your temple. “Let’s get you to bed, troublemaker. We’ll deal with Gerald in the morning.”

As she led you away, you leaned heavily against her, mumbling something about how the moon really was judging you. Ambessa just smiled, knowing that as ridiculous as you could be, she wouldn’t trade you for anything.

[artsninspo]

FORGIVELESS - VIII - I DON'T MIND COMPETITION, IT IS WHAT IT IS 📸

« previous part

➨ rio's library - good girl nbc

「 ✦ full library & archive ✦ 」

Pairing: Rio (Good Girls) X Reader

Word Count: ~2.3K

Warning: Mentions of alcohol, adult themes, mentions of cheating & divorce.

Summary: James gets sent divorce papers. Our fav's enjoy some quality time in Mexico. The reader gets to spend some time with Rio and his family. This one's a messy, feel good and 😬 😱 update.

VIII - I DON'T MIND COMPETITION, IT IS WHAT IT IS 📸

The curtains dance in the wind caused by the slight morning breeze. It’s quiet with the exception of the resort's wildlife. This kind of peace and serenity is out of this as unreal as your gorgeous accommodations. Smiling, you take a few photographs of the view from the living room window. The glow emanating from your skin isn’t of the woman with the cheating husband. Your growing tan with golden undertones is courtesy of one man and one man only - Rio. He’d scuttled out of bed almost an hour ago now. As silent as he had been you knew from the moment he stopped being the big spoon. Last night was a fantasy. A look into a life you’d never fathomed for yourself. Rio’s level of care and attention to detail was new. So was the reciprocity. Rio’s present, he’s attentive, encouraging and a man that takes great care of the people and things he loves. You find yourself still on cloud nine, like Rio had screwed you to a point of clarity. Taking your phone from the coffee table you head out on the balcony and into the fresh air. Your inbox is full of emails from James, they run the gamut of emotions from begging to get you back, to gaslighting and finally accusing you of the very thing that was the demise of your marriage - cheating. You really shouldn't respond but you do by attaching a PDF copy of the divorce papers you filled out before getting on the plane. You head onto social media and see notifications for several missed video calls from your soon to be ex-husband’s business account. You block that too, removing all evidence of him from your page. You then take a photo of your current view, the trees dancing in the wind and post to your story. The phone rings and you tense until you see the call is coming from Rio and smile.

“Hey”

“Hey mama” his smooth voice says on the other end.

“Thanks for leaving breakfast” you say.

“No problem, Mama,” Rio responds.

“Is everything alright with your suit?” you ask.

“Yeah but fuck Nick, man. He’s lucky I’m here” Rio mutters being sour. You snicker, turning from the view of the trees and beach on the horizon to the incredible interior of the villa. “Y/N, you're gonna make someone catch a case showing off all that ass in that little night dress” Rio adds and you turn back around eyes scanning the canopies and then the trail where you find Rio below, smiling with the phone to his ear.

“Lucky I have on clothes at all with how you left me” you remind him. The call ends and Rio heads up to the room. The way you made him feel was new to him. He’d never felt like this before, he’d never allowed himself too. Whenever he felt himself getting too comfortable he withdrew. No woman was ever worth the headache or the effort. Keeping things untethered was his forte and second nature to him. Not now. Not with you. More surprising than anything was the fact that Rio didn’t want to run. He couldn't fathom it. He didn’t want to take off without getting to know you properly. He wanted to hear your ideas and problems and provide solutions wherever he could.  He wanted to be someone dependable for you. Someone who makes you smile and keeps you happy. Unlocking the door to the room he smiles, thankful his silent feud with Nick led him to cashing out on the best suite on the resort, whereas Nick got the best view. Closing the door behind him Rio takes a few steps into the sunken living area to meet you on the balcony.

“Next time don't leave without saying goodbye” you mutter as he hugs you from behind placing kisses on your cheeks and neck.

“I just thought you needed your rest, you know I wore you out last night” Rio teases.

“Shut-up” you giggle holding his arms around you. The two of you stand there in silence looking out into the trees and then the faint view of the ocean in the distance. “Rio?” you ask after a moment of comfortable silence in his arms.

“Mhhm?” he questions, you feel the vibration as he pecks your cheek again..

“I really want to manage my expectations, after last night i’m ….” you pause and Rio pulls away you turn to face him and he looks to you suddenly guarded and all business. “I don’t really have any experience with ‘casual'. I guess what I'm saying is this feels intimate, it feels like more … if it's not you have to let me know so I can reel it in.” you confess. Brown eyes and an unreadable expression hold your gaze before a smirk plays at his lips.

“Before last night I wasn't going anywhere, after last night it was solidified. I only have experience with casual so youre gonna have to be patient with me babygirl and speak up whenever you feel a way or have questions” Rio responds level headed and cool as always. Your smile is genuine and he comes in for another kiss.

“So when we go back?” you ask.

“You can stay with me, my place is big enough for the two of us. If you want your own place that’s cool too but I’ma need a key” Rio says.

“That's fast” you remark.

“I work late mama, and I don't want to wake you up to get the door and let me in. If I have a key I can come in, shower and slide into bed with you; no issues” Rio says, already making plans to suit his growing appetite for your presence and touch.

“I”m afraid I’ll stop being a good time to you. I sent James divorce papers this morning. One of his friends' wives saw us at the airport yesterday. James knows and I can't imagine he’ll make it easy on me” you explain only to watch Rio’s demeanour harden. His mood change is eerie and his entire aura is intimidating. You’d step back if it wasn't for the railing at your back.

“James playing with what’s mine is not in his best interest” Rio’s words are as unplanned as the claim he’s laid on you. “He’s done mama, he’s a bitch and depending on his next moves it’s not looking too good. I haven't forgotten about him getting rough with you” Rio says in bad humour. “I don't want you afraid of anyone breathing alright, anyone messes with you and you tell me. I’ll take care of it” he asserts.

“What if it's you?” you ask, trying to lighten the mood.

“Tell my Granny, she’ll kick my ass” he smirks. “Now go get ready, there’ll be a lot of pictures” Rio smiles patting your butt as he leads you back into the room to start wedding prep.

The entire day feels like something out of your wildest dreams. There's been no major communication between the two of you, and still Rio has managed to make you feel important. His family has made you feel included and the happiness of the day's celebration is contagious. It’s hard to imagine how you've survived so long getting so little from a man who had promised to love you forever. You dance with Rio’s family and his Granny for what feels like hours laughing and smiling with them as Rio watches from his table. It’s clear to see that mister serious doesn’t dance. But the vibe of the reception venue is eerily familiar to that of his clubs. Needing to catch your breath you acquire a bottle of water and head over to him. He sends you a lazy smile draping his arm around you.

“Are you drunk or just a dancing machine?” he asks now, taking a few appetisers and placing them on a plate in front of you. It seemed like there was an infinite amount of food.

“Maybe a little tipsy” you confess taking a taquito. His family members had convinced you to take a few tequila shots and you'd obliged against your constitution. As a non drinker you’re already feeling it.

“Mhm” Rio smiles amused by how well you fit in.

“Tell me this if you can't stand your cousin, why did you help with the reception?” you ask. Rio is taken back and does a poor job of trying to hide the amusement in his eyes.

“I don't know what youre talking about,” he mumbles.

“Rio, all your venues are like this and you were gone too long for a suit fitting this morning” you confess looking up at him.

“It was an opportunity to partner with a hotel chain, very profitable for me. It doesn't have shit to do with Nick” he says with nonchalance. It’s a testament to his character and a green flag.

“Ok” you smirk not pushing him.

“It was for Marisol,” he smiles, breaking character.

“Can I get a picture?” the photographer says and Rio leans in. You do too, smiling before the blinding flash. “Gorgeous” the photographer smiles at you.

“Not too much” Rio asserts and you laugh as the photographer prints two polaroids from a belt on his hip.

“My bad man,” he smiles, walking away. You look at the photo and it's clear how well you and Rio fit. He’s not smiling in the picture, he's looking at you like he's a starving animal and you're his favourite meal. You crane your neck back and his lips find yours without instruction. It’s scary how in sync you are. Scary how comfortable this feels.

“You ready?” he asks.

“Sure, let me say goodbye” you sit upright.

“Mama, tonight we’re Irish,” he says, standing ready to leave.

“Don't do the Irish like that, just say you're rude” you smile taking his hand.

“My family is rude for hogging you all night knowing you're too polite to walk away.” he mumbles, making his escape with you in tow.

“Y/N, we never got a picture and I didnt get your socials” one of his cousins shouts coming over with the photographer. Turning you pose with the gorgeous girl, thanking the photographer as you exchange phones and contact information.

“Rio, how’d you snag her with your mean ass” she says sticking her tongue out at him.

“None of your business and I'll remember that the next time your SA calls from Chanel” Rio remarks, matching her energy. His cousin smiles giving you another hug.

“No he wont, he’s a big softie. But we should hang out once you're back home Y/N.” she says dismissing Rio.

You nod liking the idea of new friendship, “Sounds good.”

“Can I share your info with the others?” She asks and you nod. “And if he acts up, call me.” she says with a pointed finger and big energy. She reminds you of the rapper Lola Brooke. Looking at the contact information you see her name is Tia.

“I don’t think that’ll happen. Rio’s good to me” you smile.

“Open ended invitation” she shrugs.

“Goodnight Tia” Rio groans, turning you around.

“Love you” She laughs as you both walk away. Rio chuckles, shaking his head. He hadn't realised how good it felt to see you happy and unguarded. To see you smiling and laughing with the familial relation he reserved his love for was something else. They’d never been rude to anyone he brought around but they’d never taken to anyone like they'd taken to you. All he’d heard for the entirety of the day was that you were a keeper. It was like playing a broken record. He had no intentions of letting you go but his family talking to you was further confirmation. He checks his phone while in the shower to make sure things are running smoothly on the business front and goes onto social media to see Tia’s highlight reel of the day. He taps through seeing you in multiple shots and the last is a photo of the polaroid. Captioned: stop asking guys; she's taken by my cousin, you don’t want those problems. Smiling, Rio clicks on the tag, hitting follow himself.

Feeling right about you and the night he takes a polaroid out of his pocket, snapping a photo of it, tagging you and posting it to his story. 

Getting out of the shower you lotion your skin doing your night routine before checking your phone. You have several follow requests to accept, and do so quickly before checking your DM’s. You shake your head at a few attempts to get your attention from men and find a few from Tia. You repost two to your story and the bathroom door opens to Rio with a towel hanging low on his waist.

“Don’t look at me like that, I made plans for us tomorrow and you like to sleep in” he warns. Smiling, you roll your eyes heading to the bedroom. You put on another babydoll set and finish going through your socials when you find one from Rio. His handle is mysterious just like him, the page is mostly about business, reviews and write ups for his clubs, very few photographs of him. You check his story and see a photo of the two of you with you tagged along with a black heart. Your smile burns your cheeks as you hit the screen reposting it onto your own story. He’s quicker than you were and comes out of the shower in shorts, carrying a carafe of water with him. He has no idea what he’s in for with the mix of tequila and romantic gestures coursing through your body. Pulling back the plush sheets you straddle him and he smiles knowing he can't say no to you. You feel his manhood begin rising to attention and lean forward lowering to slowly kiss him. The kisses are so perfect, so slow and sensual that no further foreplay is required.

Tomorrow will have to wait, tonight you take care of your man.

Authors Note: Thank you all so much for reading. I hope you enjoyed this chapter and things being a lot lighter for Rio and the reader. How are we liking the developing relationship. What was your favourite part and what do you think happens next?

» next part

TAGS: @meadows5 @wnbweasley @becauseimher @ariiaeltheedonn @woahthatshitfat @miniaturehideoutmentality @kokobells @ffenthusiastt @sowhatariyana @1xtral1983 @theegoddessofmelanin @fictionalreads

[naffeclipse]

Sea Tears

Reader x Selkie!Moon

Commission Info

Thank you to the darling @cipher-the-sidhe for commissioning me to write about Selkie!Moon! The setting and the scenario are absolutely delightful. It's a shame I haven't written a selkie until now but I'm so glad I finally did!

Content Warning for mild injury and blood.

———

You tread carefully through the salt-tinged darkness and listen. A low hum plays along the moonbeams brightening the Salish Sea coast in an ancient voice you cannot translate. The fish and the seals might understand it as it thrums like insects on the wind or the constant, murmuring dance of the waves. You wonder if it is simply the sea. Perhaps it is something hidden along the dark inky waters now softly lapping up in the high tide.

Bends and sharp juts of coves shelter the rocky beaches. Further inland, a dense forest of coniferous evergreens conceal the beautiful shore and thrive in high levels of salt spray. You descend to the water, minding every step knowing that a slick, ocean-stained rock could easily lead you into a stumble and your head could crack open like an egg on the wave-smooth stones. 

These beaches are not for sunbathing and sand castles. They are to stand and admire the great breath of the Salish Sea and the bumps of crags lining the dark teal ocean—if the mist and cold don’t form an avid deterrent.

You rub your arms over the sleeves of your jacket and breathe a crisp scent. Driftwood dots the edge of land and water, and heaps of bull kelp sway farther out in the sea, lurking like guardians just along the surface to whatever might wander from the depths. 

Tonight, the fog is wonderfully parted by the silver-fingered light of the full moon. You scan the crevices in between dark, angled but blunt rocks, seeking the smooth fragments of seashells. In your years, you have rarely discovered a whole heart cockle or horse clam shell. There are only remnants of what was whole. 

The sand is firm and brown. The water gushes between stones before receding gently back with a frothy lace edge, bubbling and tumbling over itself just to do it all over again. You spy a fragment of a castoff shell, bleached and pale. You bend carefully down to scoop up its shard like a piece missing from a puzzle you wish to finish.

You hold it between your fingers. A curve or perhaps half of a spiral of a shell, sculpted by the waves now, softened by the time of being broken. Still, it is beautiful.

Carefully, you straighten while you slip it into your pocket. A soft understanding fills you to the bottom of your rib cage. A kinship, perhaps. You cast your eyes around you for a moment, admiring the moonlight until it shines upon a texture that is not often found here. 

Fur. Silver and speckled in blue-gray, it sits, slumped and hunched between two rocks, lying lifeless.

A seal. The dawning comes upon you in a moment of the rushing tide, and then, your feet are moving towards it. Your heart twists while you watch it sharply. How it could be so still and thin? Is it injured? You don’t have your phone with you—you left it in the car parked beside the oceanside road. Who would you call? Wildlife service? Perhaps it’s already too late.

No. You pray it isn’t.

You weave between sand and stones. Where the unmoving figure lies is thick with rocks, with almost no beach to speak of other than what is buried beneath. Your sandals slip on the slick edges of the rugged terrain. Wobbling, you catch yourself before you sling your body along a craggy boulder. You pass over the harsh edges and corners of the rocky shore, almost within reach. The fur hasn’t moved an inch at your rash approach. Your throat bobs for a moment in the horror of coming upon a long rotted seal—then your sandal-clad foot slips. 

A whip of sea and wind, and you fall. You throw your elbow down to catch you and it scraps sharply down the side of rough rock. You gasp when you bounce and slide, splashing into a thin strip of the tide slipping between cracks and crevices, but hold your chin high, away from any fatal head injuries.

You inhale slowly, eyes wide in the relief that you are not currently dripping your brains out of your skull like spilled yoke. A thin, stinging pain erupts along your forearm. Prying yourself off of the ground, watching where you place your feet, you get back up. A glance at the fur confirms it is still there. Slowly, you twist your arm to examine a fine, ragged cut slicing towards your wrist. A mix of sand, salt water, and blood spread across your skin. 

You breathe as it flares with pain. You close your eyes and convince yourself that you’ll clean and bandage it once you get back to your car.

First, the seal.

You lower your arm. Blood drops into the water as you at last reach the two stones the fur is wedged between, and tentatively, you reach out with the vain hope it might be warm and move with life. Your fingers stroke over the beautifully silver shade of the coat, dappled with blue-gray markings and a few, lovely rings at the end. But strangely, it’s cool with mist and bunched like fabric. Your mind turns the conundrum over slowly as if examining a broken seashell before you tug on it, higher, higher, until you hold in your hand the thin skin of a seal.

A pelt.

There is no blood, sinew, or otherwise, much to your relief. It carries a smooth sleekness on its underside. The strangeness of it tugs at a part of your mind, a memory of folklore and tales spoken around a table late at night. The beautiful pelt fills your vision with its starry silver shade and the Pacific ocean-deep hue of its markings. Carefully, as if handling platinum and sapphires, you caress the fur with the back of your fingers. A drop of blood from your arm threatens to stain it and you quickly shift the hide to your clean arm. You can’t ruin this beautiful coat with your crimson.

You lift your head. You gaze out over the ocean, rippling with the incandescence of the moon upon its onyx surface. Your heart bobs within you. Your eyes seek, and your ears strain.

The hum of the ocean which has filled you since you first arrived in the darkness grows. It is no longer a muffled, soft sound carried from behind closed lips but a soft melody lifted upon a voice. It rises to the sky. Over the driftwood and waves, you turn to face it, clutching the seal skin to your chest.

A man sings.

A part of you, undeniable and filled with longing, strides towards it. Following the curve of the rocky beach, you watch your every step. A plea in your core echoes with the desire to find the one singing. The crystal vibrations of the siren call rings through your bones. 

A rocky cove crops up on the side of a bluff, cutting off the beach but resuming with a swell of the tide into its darkened alcove. Once you near the mouth, you stop to bask in the lovely timbre. 

Then, with your fingers tangled in the soft, sleek fur of the seal pelt, you stand upon a rock just out of reach of the oceanic tide and peer into the cove.

In the glow of the night, a man stands in the icy shallows. You can only gaze at his striking figure wrapped in moonbeams. He steps lightly, his movement rhythm. The water ripples softly underneath him. He waves his arms, his limbs flowing over his head and down, like a wind sweeping the rocks and ushering the mist higher onto land. He turns, and one leg sweeps over the inky surface before stepping back. 

His body is long-limbed and slender, blue-gray like the speckles on the fur you hold. Upon his face is a marking of a silver crescent. His rich copper eyes flash in the dimness and are half-lidded in his homage to the great sea. Your breath stalls in your throat caught upon his visage. His face is wide and flat. Draping behind his head is an appendage much like a seal tail, an even darker blue with spots of glimmering silver-like stars.

His voice carries a song you have no name for but that which you hold only the most reverence in its echo. Your lips part unwittingly in adoration. He sings to himself and dances to an audience of the black sky filled with the moon.

But you twitch a hand forward as if you might catch a note of his lullaby and cradle it close to your chest. The man’s head snaps towards you. You freeze.

In a second of time and starlight, he holds your gaze, and you slip into the coppery irises that fill his wide eyes. His attention slips to what you clutch. You glance down, admiring the fur anew before you find your voice, hollowed and soft.

“Is this yours?” you ask.

The man stares, motionless like the bluffs the waves beat against. A few heartbeats pass within you. The man gently dips his head. The tail on the back of his head sways slightly like a nightcap.

“It is,” he speaks. “Please return it to me. I cannot return to the sea and my brothers without my coat.”

His voice rasps through the salty air and brushes the shell of your ear as if he whispered it to you. 

The word emerges in your mind like the fall of dusk. Selkie. One who has shed his fur to take a faintly human form under the full moon. The tales you’ve caught murmurs of were always of women, beautiful and naked, who begged for their seal skin back but spent the rest of their days held captive by the man who kept it hidden, forced to become a bride and carry his children.

An ache takes over your heart at such a cruel fate.

You answer with a gentle, “Of course.”

You slowly step into the icy waters. A shiver rolls up your body and you catch your tongue between your teeth to keep from gasping out at the shock of the brine. The selkie watches you, his eyes unreadable, his hands poised with his fingers half furled—as if you intend to dangle his seal skin in front of him before yanking it out of reach.

“I’m sorry,” you breathe. You wade far less gracefully in the echoes of his dance and song to reach him under the cove’s mouth, “I didn’t intend to keep it. I only meant to return it to you.”

You find the truth along your tongue. Even if you didn’t catch a glimpse of his beautiful melody, you would have left the coat where it lay, too afraid of stranding a selkie without her or his skin.

He says nothing until you present it to him. Carefully, you hold it out to him and his long fingers grasp it. A soft breath leaves him. His shoulders lower while he turns his coat over and examines it, stroking the fine fur before leveling an unreadable gaze over you. You’re small before his tall figure. You feel clumsy and cumbersome in comparison to his lissom body. 

A true selkie, right before your eyes.

“So you did,” he at last murmurs as if he were dreaming. His copper eyes glide over you. His blue-gray body shimmers with a galaxy-like illumination. He carefully folds his coat over his arm before holding out his other hand and bidding you closer. “Come here. Sit with me.”

You stare at his offered palm. A few thoughts cross your mind of danger and temptation, a selkie ready to snatch away an unwary human, but would he have asked you so kindly? You slide your fingers into his grasp. He holds your hand before gently tugging you down until you cross your legs and sit in the icy cove water beside him.

“Is it true?” you ask, then flush slightly with the bluntness of your voice echoing in the alcove.

He tilts his head at you, the appendage at the back of his head slipping over your shoulder. His silence coaxes you softly into asking, “Do humans really steal the coats of selkies and force them into marriage?”

The selkie’s eyes lower, somber, before he dips his chin. “It is true. But not always.” His eyes find yours and hold them softly.

He has yet to release your hand, but slowly, he lifts your wrist and turns it slowly. You almost forget the sting until the sight of the bloody cut down your arm strikes you once more. Your lips twist at the sight, glancing at the selkie and fearing his judgment. How human you are, bleeding in his ocean.

“What did this?” he asks in a low voice, his eyes outlining the edges of your wound.

“A fall,” you say sheepishly, “I thought your coat was an injured seal.”

A laugh, rolling and deep, loosens from his lips. A not unwelcome shudder fills you in the sound. Mischievous and sincere, all at once.

“You must be more careful,” he says, his laughter dying as he leans closer.

You curl your fingers. Pressing back in the slightest as he hovers over your torn flesh, you hushly ask his name.

But he doesn’t answer. You watch in the quiet of the tide as the selkie blinks, and a tear falls onto your sliced forearm. A soft tingle spreads through your flesh. You glance down, and another tear falls, mingling with the sand and ocean salt, but the tingling becomes a gentle sensation knitting and stitching the skin together. In stunned silence, you observe seven tears in total bind your wound as if you never fell.

“This is my thanks for returning my coat.” The selkie releases your arm to gently wash it with a touch of brackish water. Blood and sand wash away, leaving your skin as it once was. He lifts his head and smiles. “I am Moon, and I must go.”

“Oh.” The sound is so small coming from you. “Moon…”

You echo your name. It feels so weak in comparison to his, but he takes it within his mouth and he sings it once. Your heart bobs within your chest as if floating upon a storm-tossed sea. 

“Goodbye,” he rasps. He holds your gaze, soft as seafoam, and tugs his coat over his body. He slips down into the water. A flick of velvet flippers emerges, and a large seal lifts his head above water. 

You gaze at the beautiful copper eyes of the seal. Whiskers twitch and a wet nose presses closer to you. Slowly, carefully, you stretch your fingers and stroke the soft fur of his head. Your palm runs down the slippery slope of his neck to his strong, blubbered back. The selkie holds beautifully still.

“Goodbye, Moon,” you whisper.

The selkie eyes upturn, somehow grinning in an animal form. In a sharp splash, he turns and dives into the water. The sleek dappled fur of his pelt mingles with the moonlight reflecting upon the black ocean before the waves reclaim one of its own. 

You stay in the cove for a time you cannot account for, watching the waters, wishing to catch the echo of his song just one last time.

Gradually, like the moon beginning to shift across the darkness, you get to your feet. Water splashes back into the cove. Your heart grows heavy and forlorn, and you rub your fingertips together as if still stroking his fur.

Perhaps you might return in search of broken seashells but find the selkie again.

[blondejellykitty]

₊♡ ˚⊹ strangers in the woods ₊♡ ˚⊹

୨୧ toby rogers x reader ୨୧ When walking alone in the woods, off the beaten track a stranger makes himself known. intruders in the cabin (part two) a/n: (1.3k words, requested by @tychos-huzband) first request so I hope you enjoy!

Life sometimes sucks. It's true, it's something not everyone wants to admit but everyone feels it. Life can really suck at times. But right now? Right now it was feeling pretty damn shitty.

The day before was your last day of work. Your boss, a short egotistical man that you'd graciously put up with for three long years, decided to fire you. 

Not because you'd used your sick days when your only family member had died last year, not because you were late to your shift one time when your ex had smashed your car up, not even because of the time you'd yelled at a customer for putting his slimy hands on you. 

No, it was because he'd hired 'one too many lazy girls'. The sexist pig didn't seem to care when the guys on shift would slack off let alone steal cigarettes on their closing shift but when you forgot to stock one set of drinks that morning. Bam, that was it. No warning or anything just a ‘you’re fired, goodbye’.

When life got as bad as this, sometimes you needed to just get away from it all even just for a day. So you did.

You used what little you had left of your last pay and bought two bus tickets, to the end of their route and back. The trip itself wasn't all that exciting. The old bus was so cramped you had to awkwardly shift on your seat so your legs could fit. 

You spent the whole time looking at the busted bus door wondering if this bump would be the one where it finally fell off.

You had been the only one on the bus for a while before the final stop finally appeared in view.

With a creaking stop, you were free of the shitty blue bus. Around you was nothing but forest, clearly far away from the concrete jail of a city you'd come from.

Across the dirt road were five small shops two of which were boarded and closed, the other three had seen better days. On your side of the road was a wooden trail map and a small bridge leading further into the woods. Perfect.

You'd been on the trail years prior, only once with your friend who said he'd known a spot. He was right, once you'd both reached the top of the trail it was a beautiful view, up on a hill looking out over the small town, if you could even call it that.

He was a good friend, one of your only friends actually. He'd been sent away not long after that trip. The doctor said he wasn't right and needed help to get better, though you never saw him again. 

You'd been meaning for a long time to come back to this trail, it did always remind you of him. But that's not what you're here for today. 

You're here to forget, not to reminisce.

After walking for a good while you halted on the dirt trail. Picking a random direction you walked off the trail to follow your own path. As long as you kept going one way, you could just turn back around and go back the way you came.

It was much better off the trail, the forest felt more natural. Being able to let your thoughts float away and focus on your rugged path instead.

The feeling of the sunlight through the leaves in the tall trees flickering on your face seemed to leave you in a trance. Losing all track of time, for once you weren't worrying about where you should be or what you could be doing.

A faint crack and a crunch of leaves pulled you from your gaze on the forest floor. Pausing in your tracks you scan the area around you, squinting your eyes as if that would help, searching for the source of the odd noise.

Regardless you kept moving, after all there was probably more wildlife the further you got away from the track. Continuing on your walk until suddenly you hear it again. A crack and a crunch.

You could almost feel your ears hurt from the strain you put on them to focus on every little sound. 

Ruffling of trees against each other, birds chirping and flapping away, distant leaves crunching like audible footprints, a crack that sounded like when you crack your knuckles except this was much louder.

Just your luck, go on a nice relaxing walk to get away from people and assholes of the world. And along the way boom, people and potential assholes. Great, wonderful even.

You decided against your better judgement to be like every character in a horror movie and yell out, because if they were out here, they were probably here for you. No one else would be reckless enough to go this far out.

"If you're gonna kill me, at least have some manners and don't be a coward about it!" You yelled out causing birds to scatter into the skies, you twisted on your heel in a circle trying to get a view from all directions.

Crunch, another footstep much closer this time. Maybe it wasn't the best idea to call them a coward, might've just made them mad.

"Uh, not a coward and not gonna kill you either. Just wanna know why you're out here?" The stuttering voice almost scared you to death, you had enough self preservation to not scream.

A few paces in front of you stood what looked like a guy around your age, wearing worn down black sneakers, slightly muddy black jeans, a faded blue hoodie with a clean oversized brown jacket over the top.

The strangest part of his appearance wasn't his fingerless gloves in the middle of summer but a large hospital looking bandage that covered part of his cheek.

You felt your eyebrows furrow in caution.

"Why're you out here?" The sass laid on thick, you could feel the tension in your shoulders building as every second passed.

He let out a strange mix between a giggle and a scoff.

"I live here. Obviously, where else would I be out here? Hm?" The condescending tone in his voice made you wonder if the murderer in the woods was goin to be you instead.

"What? You live in the woods? You do know that the next town over has a homeless shelter right? I can literally take you there" Only if you stop being a prick.

"Wha- No. I have a home you fucking worm! One which you're about to trespass on which won't go too well for you, so my question is still unanswered. Why. are. you. here?"

Embarrassingly you were open mouthed like a fish right now.

"Well, I was on a trail, must've gotten lost on it." Half truth, please get me out of this.

His face really said it all. His brown eyes squinted in disbelief and his pale lips pulled into a sort of smirking snarl.

"You do realize how far away that stupid trail is, you must've been walking what? All day?"

You felt yourself nod meekly, which was not a way you'd usually describe yourself as being.

With a sigh he looked to the sun. He kept fighting with something in his hoodie pocket which did absolutely nothing to ease your nerves.

"It's going to get dark soon and there's no way you'd make it all the way back to the track in time even if you ran. So I can drive you back to the entrance in the morning, c'mon" He turned around and started walking without even looking back.

No way you'd make it all the way back, even if you ran. Totally not fucking ominous and threating at all but sure I'd just love to spend the night with you random stranger, sure all of this is totally cool.

With a groan and a stomp to the ground beneath you, you jogged over to him and began the walk further into the forest.

[novaursa]

Legacy (the others)

- Summary: Tywin was the man who saved you from Robert's wrath. He was also the man who doomed you.

- Pairing: targ!reader/Tywin Lannister

- Rating: Explicit 18+ (blood, gore violence)

- Previous part: of the west

- Next part: friends at heart

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @oxymakestheworldgoround @luniaxi @alkadri-layal @butterflygxril @urdxrling

The bitter cold of the unending winter gnawed at the hunting party as they moved through the shadowed woods beyond Casterly Rock. Snow crunched beneath their boots, muffled by the oppressive silence that blanketed the land. The pale light from the perpetually overcast sky offered little warmth, and the occasional gust of wind bit sharply at their exposed skin.

Tywin, clad in thick fur-lined armor and a crimson cloak, rode at the head of the group. His keen eyes scanned the trees ahead, ever watchful. His presence alone kept the men focused, though the unease among them was palpable. Kevan rode just behind him, his usually calm demeanor showing faint cracks as his gaze flicked warily to the surrounding darkness.

“Tracks,” called one of the scouts from the front of the line, pointing to a fresh trail in the snow. “Spider tracks.”

Tywin reined in his horse, dismounting with practiced ease. The others followed suit, forming a loose perimeter as the scout knelt to examine the tracks. Tywin stepped closer, his boots crunching softly as he moved. The tracks were unmistakable—long, deep impressions made by unnaturally large legs, the kind that belonged to creatures out of nightmare.

“How fresh?” Tywin asked, his tone calm and precise.

The scout hesitated, then replied, “An hour at most, my lord. Perhaps less.”

Kevan crouched beside the tracks, his expression grim. “They’re headed east—toward the cliffs. If these things make their nests there, we’ll need to act quickly.”

Tywin’s lips pressed into a thin line as he surveyed the trail. “We follow. Keep your weapons ready.”

The men exchanged uneasy glances but nodded, gripping their spears and swords more tightly. As they moved eastward, the forest grew darker, the trees thicker and more gnarled. The air felt heavier, colder, and a faint, almost imperceptible hum seemed to vibrate through the ground beneath their feet.

“Do you feel that?” one of the younger hunters whispered, his voice trembling.

“Quiet,” Tywin snapped, his tone cutting through the growing tension. “Stay alert.”

After another quarter hour of tracking, the party came to a sudden halt. The trail had led them to a clearing near the cliffs, and what they found there made even Tywin pause. The ground was littered with webbing, thick and glistening like frozen silk. Shards of ice clung to the strands, and the faint stench of decay lingered in the frigid air.

At the center of the clearing lay the carcass of a stag, its body wrapped tightly in layers of webbing. Its lifeless eyes stared blankly ahead, and its neck was twisted at an unnatural angle. The hunters murmured uneasily among themselves, crossing themselves or muttering prayers under their breath.

Kevan stepped forward, his boots crunching over frozen strands of webbing. “They’re killing everything in their path,” he said grimly. “Even the wildlife isn’t safe.”

Tywin approached the carcass, his gaze steady and calculating. He crouched beside it, studying the webbing with an intensity that made the others uneasy.

“This isn’t random,” he said after a moment, rising to his full height. “They’re hunting. Organizing.”

Kevan’s brow furrowed. “You think they’re… intelligent?”

Tywin didn’t answer immediately. His gaze swept the clearing, taking in the web patterns and the direction of the tracks. “Not in the way we understand, but there’s purpose here. Coordination.”

One of the men, a grizzled veteran named Ser Rowan, cleared his throat. “My lord, with respect… what if these things aren’t just spiders? What if they’re something worse?”

Before Tywin could respond, a sharp cry rang out from the edge of the clearing. One of the scouts stumbled back, his face pale as he pointed toward a shadowed patch of trees.

“What is it?” Tywin demanded, moving quickly to the man’s side.

“There’s… something else,” the scout stammered, his voice barely above a whisper. “I saw it—just for a moment. It wasn’t a spider, my lord. It was… taller. Standing upright.”

The men stiffened, their grips tightening on their weapons. Tywin’s jaw clenched as he turned toward the direction the scout had indicated.

“Show me,” he ordered, his tone leaving no room for hesitation.

The scout hesitated but nodded, leading Tywin and Kevan to the edge of the clearing. The trees here were dense, their twisted branches forming eerie shapes in the dim light. A faint trail of broken branches and disturbed snow led deeper into the forest.

Tywin motioned for the others to stay back as he and Kevan followed the trail. They moved slowly, their breaths visible in the freezing air. The silence was oppressive, broken only by the faint rustle of branches in the wind.

And then they saw it.

At the end of the trail, partially obscured by the shadows, stood a figure. It was humanoid in shape but unnaturally tall, its limbs too long, its movements jerky and wrong. Its eyes glowed faintly, an icy blue that pierced the darkness. The creature tilted its head, as if studying them, and then it vanished into the trees with inhuman speed.

Kevan sucked in a sharp breath. “What in the Seven Hells was that?”

Tywin didn’t answer immediately. His eyes remained fixed on the spot where the creature had disappeared, his mind racing. When he finally spoke, his voice was low and measured.

“Something worse than spiders,” he said grimly. “We need to return to the Rock. Now.”

Kevan nodded, his usual composure shaken. “Do we tell the men what we saw?”

Tywin turned to him, his expression hard. “No. Not yet. Panic will only weaken them.”

They made their way back to the clearing, where the hunters were waiting anxiously. Tywin wasted no time. “We’re returning to the Rock. Double the watch on every wall and gate. No one leaves without my command.”

The men exchanged uneasy glances but followed his orders without question. As they began the trek back through the forest, the sense of unease only grew. The trees seemed darker, the wind colder, and the shadows deeper.

The forest seemed to close in on them as they made their way back, the oppressive cold deepening with each step. Shadows grew longer, twisting unnaturally against the gnarled trees, and the silence felt like a weight pressing down on their chests. The snow, once crisp and white, appeared gray in the low light, marred by the faint traces of the spider tracks they had been following.

Tywin rode at the head of the party, his eyes observing every shadow, every flicker of movement. His men were on edge, their breaths visible in the frigid air as they clutched their weapons tightly. Beside him, Kevan kept his hand on the hilt of his sword, his jaw clenched as if bracing for the inevitable.

“Stay close,” Tywin ordered, his voice cutting through the quiet like a blade. “No one wanders from the group.”

The hunters nodded, their faces pale and tense. The silence was so absolute that the faintest creak of leather or crunch of snow sounded deafening. It was as if the forest itself was holding its breath.

Then it came.

A sound like nothing they had ever heard before—a low, guttural chittering that seemed to echo from all directions at once. It was not the sound of spiders; it was something deeper, something far more sinister. The horses whinnied in fear, stamping their hooves and pulling at their reins as the men tried to calm them.

“What was that?” one of the hunters whispered, his voice trembling.

“Something’s watching us,” Kevan muttered, his hand tightening on his sword.

Tywin held up a hand to silence them, his gaze fixed on the trees ahead. The chittering grew louder, joined by a faint rustling sound that seemed to come from the ground itself. The men shifted nervously, their eyes darting to the shadows that now seemed alive.

“Form a circle!” Tywin barked. “Torches up! Steel ready!”

The men obeyed, their torches flickering weakly in the cold wind. The circle of light they created was feeble, barely pushing back the encroaching darkness. The rustling grew louder, more insistent, and then the first attack came.

A creature burst from the shadows, moving with impossible speed. It was humanoid in shape but grotesquely elongated, its limbs unnaturally long and thin. Its skin was a pale, glistening gray, stretched tight over bones, and its eyes glowed an icy blue. It moved on all fours, its clawed hands digging into the snow as it lunged for the nearest hunter.

The man screamed as the creature dragged him into the darkness, his cries cut off abruptly. The others shouted in panic, their weapons swinging wildly as more creatures emerged from the trees.

“Hold the line!” Tywin shouted, his voice cutting through the chaos.

The creatures were relentless, their movements erratic and unnatural. They seemed to melt in and out of the shadows, striking and retreating with terrifying precision. The hunters fought valiantly, but the creatures were faster, stronger. One man was pulled down, his torch extinguished as the snow was stained red.

“Tywin, behind you!” Kevan shouted, swinging his sword to intercept a creature that had leapt toward his brother.

Tywin turned in time to drive his blade into the creature’s chest, its icy blue eyes flickering out as it collapsed into the snow. But there were more—dozens of them, their glowing eyes a haunting constellation in the dark forest.

“They’re driving us apart!” Kevan yelled, his voice barely audible over the chittering and the screams.

Tywin realized he was right. The creatures weren’t just attacking—they were herding them, splitting the group. The circle was broken, and the men were being picked off one by one.

“Fall back!” Tywin ordered. “Regroup at the clearing!”

But it was too late. The creatures were everywhere, their movements so fast they seemed like blurs. The remaining hunters were scattered, their torches extinguished one by one. The sounds of the fight grew fainter as men were dragged into the darkness, their screams fading into eerie silence.

Tywin and Kevan found themselves alone, their backs against the gnarled trunk of a massive tree. Tywin’s sword was slick with black ichor, and Kevan’s breathing was ragged as he clutched a torch that barely sputtered in the icy wind.

“Do you hear that?” Kevan whispered, his voice trembling.

Tywin nodded, his gaze fixed on the darkness. The chittering had stopped, replaced by an even more unsettling sound—footsteps. Slow, deliberate, and coming closer.

“They’re toying with us,” Kevan said, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Stay calm,” Tywin said, his tone cold and steady despite the dread coiling in his chest. “They want us to panic.”

The footsteps grew louder, joined by faint whispers in a language neither man could understand. The torch flickered and died, plunging them into complete darkness. The air felt colder, heavier, as if the forest itself was closing in.

“Tywin,” Kevan said, his voice shaking. “What do we do?”

Tywin didn’t answer immediately. His hand tightened on his sword as he stared into the void, his mind racing. Finally, he spoke, his voice low and resolute.

“We wait.”

The whispers grew louder, more insistent, and the sound of movement surrounded them. The creatures were there, hidden in the shadows, watching. The two men stood side by side, their breaths visible in the freezing air, as the darkness pressed closer.

And then, from somewhere deep in the forest, a single, piercing shriek echoed through the night—a sound so inhuman, so bone-chilling, that it froze them in place.

The forest fell silent once more, save for the faint sound of movement. The creatures were still there, circling, waiting.

Tywin gripped his sword tighter, his gaze unyielding as he stared into the blackness. 

The warm glow of the hearth filled the breakfast chamber in Casterly Rock, but the room’s comfort did little to dispel the lingering tension brought by the endless winter. You sat at the head of the table, your sons, Damon and Maelor, on either side of you, their chatter filling the space. Damon was holding a piece of bread in one hand, his legs swinging beneath the table as he peppered the servants with questions about his father. Maelor clutched his cup with both hands, his wide violet eyes fixed on you expectantly.

Across the table sat Varys, freshly arrived from King’s Landing that morning, his expression unreadable as he observed the familial scene. The servants moved quietly in the background, bringing plates of warm porridge and steaming cups of tea to the table.

“When is Father coming back?” Damon asked, his tone curious but with a hint of impatience. “You said he’d be back hours ago.”

You reached out to brush a stray strand of silver-gold hair from Damon’s face, offering him a soft smile. “Soon, little lion. He had to stay a bit longer than planned, but he will be home.”

Damon frowned slightly, poking at his food with a spoon. “He promised.”

“And he always keeps his promises,” you assured him, your voice steady. “Sometimes important matters keep him away longer than expected.”

Maelor looked up at you, his small voice breaking through the conversation. “Does he have to fight bad people? Like the spiders the hunters found?”

The question caught you off guard, but you quickly masked your unease. “Your father is making sure we are all safe. That’s what matters.”

Varys interjected smoothly, his tone light but with a hint of curiosity. “Lord Tywin’s dedication to his duty is unmatched. The realm could learn much from his example.”

Before you could respond, a distant roar shattered the relative peace of the morning. It was deep and resonant, carrying through the stone walls like a thunderclap. Plates rattled on the table, and the servants froze in place, their faces pale.

Damon’s eyes widened with excitement. “Viserion!” he exclaimed, nearly knocking over his cup as he scrambled to his feet. “She’s awake!”

Maelor clung to your arm, his small hands trembling. “Mama, why is she roaring?”

You stood quickly, your heart racing as another roar echoed through the castle. This one was sharper, more agitated—a sound you had learned to recognize as a warning. Varys rose from his seat, his calm demeanor betraying a flicker of unease.

“What’s happening?” Damon asked, looking between you and the window.

“I don’t know,” you said, your voice steady despite the knot forming in your stomach. “Stay here with Maelor.” You turned to the servants, your tone firm. “Do not let them out of your sight.”

Just as you were about to leave the room, Ser Barristan burst through the door, his expression uncharacteristically urgent. “My lady,” he said, his breath visible in the frigid air. “Viserion has emerged from the mine. She took off into the night—agitated, roaring.”

The room fell silent as the weight of his words settled over everyone. You exchanged a glance with Varys, whose expression, for once, showed genuine concern.

“Why?” you asked Barristan, your voice sharp. “What could have provoked her?”

“We don’t know,” Barristan admitted, his brow furrowed. “But something has disturbed her. The guards say she flew toward the northern cliffs.”

Damon, who had been listening intently, tugged at your sleeve. “Is she looking for Father? Did something happen to him?”

You knelt in front of him, placing your hands on his shoulders. “Your father is strong, Damon. He’ll be fine,” you said, though your heart ached at the uncertainty. “Viserion is a clever dragon. She’ll find what she’s looking for.”

Maelor buried his face in your skirt, his small voice muffled. “I’m scared, Mama.”

You stroked his hair gently, your voice softening. “There’s no need to be scared. We’re safe here.”

Varys stepped forward, his calm tone breaking the tense silence. “My lady, if I may, Viserion’s agitation could be linked to something beyond these walls. Dragons, after all, are tied to forces we cannot always understand.”

“Whatever it is, I need answers,” you said, rising to your feet and turning to Barristan. “Double the guard around the castle. Ensure the boys are kept safe at all times.”

Barristan nodded. “At once, my lady.”

You glanced back at your sons, your heart heavy as Damon looked up at you with those bright, curious eyes. “Stay here,” you told him firmly. “I’ll find out what’s going on.”

As you moved to leave, Varys spoke again, his tone measured. “A word of caution, my lady. Dragons are unpredictable creatures, especially when their instincts are heightened. It would be wise to tread carefully.”

You didn’t respond, your mind already racing with possibilities as you followed Barristan out of the room. Behind you, Damon’s voice called out, tinged with worry. “Bring Father back, Mama!”

You paused briefly, glancing back at him with a reassuring smile. “I will, my little lion. I will.”

The snow crunched beneath the hooves of your horse as you rode through the icy wilderness surrounding Casterly Rock. The air was bitterly cold, each breath forming a visible cloud as you pushed further into the dark expanse. The faint tracks left by Viserion’s massive claws guided you, though they grew fainter with every passing mile. The pale winter moon barely illuminated your path, casting long shadows that twisted like phantoms among the frost-covered trees.

Your heart pounded in your chest, a mixture of fear and determination driving you forward. Viserion’s sudden departure had unsettled you deeply. The she-dragon had always been attuned to you, and for her to act so erratically meant something was wrong.

Barristan’s voice echoed in your mind from earlier that evening.

“She’s not acting without reason, my lady. Dragons sense what we cannot.”

Your grip on the reins tightened as you scanned the eerie, frozen landscape. The world felt unnatural, the oppressive silence broken only by the occasional howl of the wind. You tried to shake the creeping sense of unease, focusing instead on the faint tracks ahead.

Suddenly, your horse reared back with a panicked whinny, its hooves thrashing in the air. You barely had time to steady yourself before it bucked violently, throwing you to the frozen ground. The impact knocked the breath from your lungs, and pain shot through your side as you struggled to get up.

A chilling screech pierced the night, and you froze, your hand instinctively going to the small dagger at your belt. From the shadows emerged a massive spider, its long, spindly legs clicking against the ice as it advanced. Its glistening black carapace reflected the pale moonlight, and its glowing blue eyes were fixed on you with predatory intent.

You scrambled to your feet, your heart racing as the creature lunged. The cold steel of your dagger felt pitifully small in your hand, and you knew there was no way you could face such a monstrosity alone.

“Viserion!” you screamed, your voice echoing into the void.

The spider reared back, its grotesque mandibles clicking menacingly as it prepared to strike. Just as it lunged, a deafening roar split the air, shaking the ground beneath you. The sudden blast of heat that followed was searing, and the spider was engulfed in a torrent of flames before it could reach you.

Viserion descended from the sky like a golden comet, her massive wings stirring the snow into a whirlwind as she landed between you and the charred remains of the spider. Her molten eyes glowed fiercely as she let out another roar, her long neck arching protectively over you.

You stumbled backward, your breath coming in ragged gasps as Viserion turned her head toward you. The fierceness in her eyes softened as she lowered herself, her snout nudging your side gently.

“I’m fine,” you murmured, reaching out to place a trembling hand on her warm scales. “Thank you.”

Viserion huffed, her hot breath clouding the air as her eyes scanned you for any sign of injury. You could feel the deep rumble of her concern vibrating through her body.

“I should have known you’d come for me,” you said softly, running your hand along her neck. “You always do.”

Viserion let out a low, comforting rumble, her massive form towering over you like a shield against the darkness. The snow around her had melted into steaming puddles, and the cold no longer felt so biting with her warmth enveloping you.

Taking a deep breath to steady yourself, you moved toward her saddle, which was still secured to her back. Your muscles ached from the fall, but you pushed through the pain as you climbed up. Viserion remained still, her body tense and alert as if she were waiting for another threat to emerge.

Once you were securely seated, you leaned forward, your hands gripping the reins tightly. “Let’s go, girl. We need to find Tywin.”

Viserion roared once more, a sound that echoed into the vast, desolate night. Her powerful wings unfurled, snow and ice scattering as she launched herself into the air. The ground fell away beneath you, and the cold wind bit at your cheeks as the stars blurred overhead.

The clearing was a battlefield of ice and blood. Tywin and Kevan Lannister stood back-to-back, their breaths coming in ragged gasps as they fought against the relentless tide of creatures. The grotesque forms of the attackers slithered and crawled from the shadows, their blue, glowing eyes piercing through the winter gloom. The beasts were monstrous amalgamations of man and nightmare—elongated limbs, pale and leathery skin stretched tight over sinew and bone, and claws that glinted like daggers in the faint moonlight.

Tywin drove his sword into the chest of one, the steel biting deep into its unnatural flesh. Black ichor sprayed across his armor as the creature let out a piercing wail before collapsing. He didn’t pause to catch his breath, turning sharply to strike another that lunged at Kevan.

“They keep coming!” Kevan shouted, slashing at a creature that tried to claw at his leg. “We won’t hold them off much longer!”

Tywin’s jaw tightened as he parried another strike, his face as unyielding as ever despite the chaos surrounding them. “Then we make them regret every step they take toward us,” he said coldly.

The air was bitter and thick with the scent of death. The last of their torches had been extinguished in the fray, leaving only the faint glow of the creatures’ eyes to light the scene. Their guttural chittering grew louder, a symphony of horror that sent chills down their spines.

Kevan stumbled slightly, narrowly avoiding the swipe of a claw that would have taken his head. “Tywin!” he shouted, his voice laced with desperation. “We can’t keep this up!”

Just as the creatures closed in, a deafening roar shattered the night, drowning out the horrifying sounds of their attackers. The ground trembled as a shadow passed over the clearing, followed by a sudden blast of searing heat.

From the sky, Viserion descended like an avenging flame, her golden scales glinting in the pale light of the moon. Her massive wings stirred the air into a tempest as she landed with a ground-shaking thud. A wave of fire erupted from her maw, consuming the creatures closest to Tywin and Kevan. Their screams echoed into the void as they dissolved into ash and blackened bones.

Kevan shielded his face from the intense heat, his eyes wide with a mix of awe and terror. “Seven Hells…” he muttered.

Perched atop Viserion, you clung tightly to the saddle, your hair whipping around you in the storm of her wings. “Tywin! Kevan!” you shouted, your voice carrying over the chaos.

Tywin’s head snapped up, his green eyes narrowing as they met yours. Despite the blood staining his armor and the ichor streaked across his face, his expression remained stoic.

Viserion roared again, her molten gaze fixed on the remaining creatures. They hesitated, their movements faltering as the she-dragon advanced. Another blast of fire erupted from her jaws, scattering them into the shadows. The few that remained retreated, their glowing eyes disappearing into the darkness.

“They’re falling back!” Kevan shouted, his voice filled with relief. “She’s driving them away!”

As the last of the creatures vanished, Viserion lowered her massive head, letting out a low, rumbling growl. You leaned forward in the saddle, your face pale but determined. “Climb on!” you called, your voice urgent. “Now!”

Kevan froze, staring at the dragon with wide eyes. “Climb… on?” he echoed, as if the very idea was unthinkable.

“There’s no time to argue!” you yelled, holding tightly to the reins. “More could come! You won’t make it back on foot!”

Tywin glanced at his brother, his expression unreadable but his tone stern. “Do as she says, Kevan. We’re out of options.”

Kevan hesitated, his hand gripping his sword tightly. “Tywin, this is—”

“A dragon doesn’t wait, Kevan,” Tywin snapped, his voice cutting through his brother’s protest. “Climb!”

Kevan swallowed hard, glancing at the massive creature before him. Her eyes flicked toward him, unblinking and intense. With a resigned nod, he sheathed his sword and approached cautiously.

“Come on!” you urged, extending a hand to him as Viserion lowered herself slightly to allow them to mount. “She won’t hurt you!”

Kevan reached up, his movements stiff and uncertain, as he took your hand. With a grunt, he hoisted himself up behind you, gripping the saddle with white-knuckled hands. Tywin followed suit, his movements precise and calculated despite the situation.

Once they were both secure, you tugged on the reins. “Hold tight!” you warned. “She’s going to take off!”

Viserion roared once more, her wings unfurling with a powerful sweep. Snow and ash scattered as she launched into the sky, the ground falling away beneath you. The wind roared in your ears as the three of you ascended into the night, leaving the horrors of the forest behind.

Kevan clung to the saddle, his face pale. “Tywin,” he muttered through clenched teeth. “You owe me for this.”

Tywin’s gaze remained fixed ahead, his expression as unyielding as ever. “Be grateful you’re alive, Kevan.”

You couldn’t help but smile faintly despite the tension. “I told you she wouldn’t hurt you,” you said, glancing over your shoulder. “You’ll get used to it.”

Kevan let out a weak laugh, though it was tinged with disbelief. “If we survive this, I might.”

The rest of the flight passed in tense silence, the cold wind biting at your skin as Viserion carried you toward safety. The night was dark and endless, but for now, you were alive—and together.

The sound of Viserion’s massive wings beating against the icy air signaled her arrival as she descended into the courtyard of Casterly Rock. Snow swirled in her wake, the gusts sending men staggering back as the she-dragon landed with a resounding thud. Her scales glimmered faintly, dusted with ash and streaked with blood from the battle, and her fiery eyes scanned the gathered guards with a wary intensity.

The Lannister men stood frozen, their hands hovering near the hilts of their swords. Their expressions ranged from awe to outright fear as they watched the dragon settle. Slowly, she lowered herself, her massive frame taking up most of the courtyard as her molten gaze swept over the figures before her.

Perched atop the saddle, you turned to help Kevan dismount. His face was pale, his hands still gripping the saddle with white-knuckled tension. “You’re on solid ground now,” you said gently, extending a hand to him.

“Solid ground has never felt so unsteady,” Kevan muttered as he slid down, stumbling slightly before regaining his footing. His wide eyes darted toward Viserion as he backed away. “I don’t know how you’ve made a habit of this.”

You offered him a faint smile before turning to Tywin, who sat behind you. “Your turn,” you said, your voice soft but firm.

Tywin’s movements were deliberate, his gaze sweeping over the courtyard as he dismounted with practiced ease. The blood and grime staining his armor seemed to weigh heavier on him now that the chaos of battle was over. He stood straight, his expression unreadable, though the tightness in his jaw betrayed his discomfort.

As soon as Tywin’s boots hit the ground, Viserion let out a low rumble and stretched her wings. She nudged you gently with her massive snout, as if ensuring you were unharmed, before retreating toward the entrance of the mines. The men in the courtyard parted quickly, clearing a path for the dragon as she disappeared into the shadows of her lair.

“Stand down,” Tywin ordered the guards, his voice cutting through the air like a blade. “The dragon has done her part. She is no threat.”

The men exchanged uneasy glances but lowered their hands from their weapons, their shoulders relaxing slightly.

You stepped toward Tywin, your eyes immediately scanning him. The adrenaline from the flight was beginning to wear off, and the full weight of what had just happened settled heavily in your chest. “Let me see,” you said, your tone leaving no room for argument as you motioned toward his armor.

“I am fine,” Tywin replied curtly, brushing off your concern.

“No, you’re not,” you countered, your voice sharpening as you reached for the straps of his armor. “There’s blood.”

Kevan, who had been catching his breath nearby, glanced over. “She’s right, Tywin. I saw it too. You took a hit back there.”

Tywin exhaled sharply, irritation flickering in his eyes. “It’s nothing but a scratch.”

You ignored his protests, pulling at the clasp of his breastplate. As the heavy piece of armor fell away, the source of the blood became clear—a jagged tear in his tunic just beneath his ribs, dark with crimson. The wound wasn’t deep, but it was angry and raw, the skin around it beginning to swell.

“Nothing but a scratch,” you repeated, your tone laced with sarcasm as you glared up at him. “You could have bled out, Tywin.”

His expression didn’t waver, though there was a faint flicker of something in his eyes—irritation or perhaps reluctant acknowledgment. “It’s not as dire as you make it out to be.”

You turned sharply to the guards standing nearby. “Fetch Maester Aldren, now,” you ordered, your voice firm.

One of the men nodded quickly and hurried off, leaving the others standing awkwardly in silence.

Tywin crossed his arms, his gaze fixed on you. “This is unnecessary. I’ve dealt with worse.”

“And yet you’re still here to argue with me about it,” you shot back, your hands on your hips. “Let the maester tend to you, Tywin. You are no use to anyone if you’re laid up in bed with an infection.”

Kevan stepped closer, his voice lighter as he tried to ease the tension. “Listen to her, Tywin. She’s right, as always.”

Tywin’s eyes narrowed slightly, but he remained silent, his jaw tightening as he reluctantly allowed your concerns to take precedence.

You stepped closer, your hands softening as you touched his arm. “You’ve just fought horrors most men couldn’t dream of. You’re human, Tywin, not invincible.”

His green eyes met yours, and for a moment, the weight of his exhaustion was visible. “Very well,” he said quietly, his voice losing some of its edge. “If it will put your mind at ease.”

“It will,” you replied, your tone softening as you gave his arm a reassuring squeeze. “Thank you.”

The sound of hurried footsteps announced the arrival of Maester Aldren, who approached with his satchel of supplies. “My lord, my lady,” he greeted, his tone cautious as his gaze darted toward the blood on Tywin’s side. “I will see to it at once.”

You nodded, stepping aside to allow the maester access. “Take him inside,” you said firmly. “He’s done enough for one day.”

Tywin cast you a pointed look but allowed himself to be guided toward the keep. Kevan followed closely, his expression a mixture of relief and weariness. As the courtyard began to clear, you stood alone for a moment, your gaze lingering on the dark entrance to the mines where Viserion had disappeared.

The dragon had come for them when they needed her most, but the cost of what was stirring beyond the safety of Casterly Rock was growing clearer by the day. And now, with winter tightening its grip, the stakes had never felt higher.

The air smelled faintly of herbs and salves as Maester Aldren worked methodically at Tywin’s side, carefully cleaning and stitching the jagged wound beneath his ribs. You stood a few steps away, arms crossed tightly over your chest, your expression guarded but your worry plain for anyone to see.

Tywin sat on the edge of the bed, his posture as straight as ever, despite the pain that must have been coursing through him. His shirt had been removed, revealing the taut lines of his chest and the angry gash that Maester Aldren was tending to. Tywin’s eyes flicked toward you briefly, catching the stiffness in your stance.

“You shouldn’t be standing there, watching like a scolded child,” Tywin said, his tone as even as ever despite the situation.

You took a slow breath, your voice tinged with exasperation. “I’m not leaving until I know you’re fine.”

Maester Aldren glanced between the two of you, his movements careful as he worked. “The wound is not as deep as it could have been, my lord. With rest and proper care, it should heal without issue.”

“That’s what I said,” Tywin muttered under his breath, though his wince betrayed him as Aldren applied a fresh layer of salve.

You stepped closer, narrowing your eyes at him. “And yet you didn’t think to tell me about it until I saw the blood.”

Tywin’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t reply immediately. The maester finished the last stitch and began wrapping a clean bandage around Tywin’s torso. When Aldren stepped back, his task completed, Tywin dismissed him with a nod.

“Leave us,” Tywin commanded. Aldren gathered his supplies, bowed, and left the room, the door closing softly behind him.

The silence stretched for a moment as you watched Tywin reach for his discarded shirt, his movements precise but slower than usual. You stepped forward, taking the fabric from him before he could strain himself further.

“You shouldn’t be doing that,” you said softly, your voice still carrying an edge of frustration. “Let me help.”

Tywin regarded you for a moment before relenting, allowing you to drape the shirt gently over his shoulders. He straightened, his eyes locking onto yours. “You shouldn’t have come after me.”

Your brow furrowed, your hands stilling as you processed his words. “Of course, I came after you,” you replied, your voice quiet but firm. “How could I not?”

Tywin’s gaze didn’t waver, though there was something sharper in his expression now. “You could have died,” he said evenly, though the weight of the words lingered heavily in the air.

You met his gaze, your own eyes soft but resolute. “But I didn’t.”

“That’s not the point,” Tywin snapped, his voice rising slightly for the first time. “You put yourself at risk—for what? To ride into danger when you should have been here, safe, with our children?”

You stepped back slightly, your arms crossing once more. “You were out there, Tywin,” you countered, your voice matching his intensity. “What was I supposed to do? Sit here and wonder if you’d ever come back?”

“Yes,” Tywin replied without hesitation, his tone icy. “That is exactly what you should have done. Your place is here, ensuring the safety of this house, of our children.”

“And your place is with them, too,” you shot back, your voice trembling slightly with emotion. “But you were out there, fighting creatures no one understands. How could I stay here knowing you might not return?”

Tywin’s lips pressed into a thin line, his frustration evident, though he didn’t immediately respond. The fire crackled softly in the silence.

“I can’t lose you,” you said finally, your voice breaking slightly as you looked away. “Don’t you understand that? I can’t.”

Tywin exhaled slowly, his stern features softening just a fraction. “And I cannot lose you,” he said quietly, his tone devoid of its usual bite. “But that is exactly what you risked.”

You stepped closer, reaching out to place a hand gently on his uninjured side. “I didn’t die, Tywin. I didn’t. And I won’t apologize for doing what I had to do.”

For a moment, he said nothing, his green eyes studying your face as if searching for something. Finally, he let out a soft sigh, his shoulders relaxing ever so slightly.

“You always had a mind of your own,” he muttered, though there was a trace of something warmer in his tone.

A faint smile tugged at your lips despite the gravity of the conversation. “And you wouldn’t have me any other way.”

Tywin’s lips twitched, but he said nothing, instead reaching up to rest a hand lightly over yours. The weight of the moment lingered, unspoken but understood.

The crackle of the fire was the only sound in the room as you remained close to Tywin, your hand resting gently against his side. The weight of everything that had happened, everything you had seen, pressed heavily on both of you. It was a silence thick with unspoken fears and shared understanding.

Tywin’s eyes, usually focused and commanding, were distant now, as if the horrors he had faced lingered just beneath the surface. He finally broke the silence, his voice low and steady but carrying an unusual note of weariness.

“You were right,” he said, his words deliberate.

You tilted your head, watching him carefully. “About what?”

He met your gaze, the faintest flicker of something vulnerable showing through his usual stoicism. “The visions you spoke of—the things you warned me about. I dismissed them as fever dreams, shadows… I should not have.”

The admission startled you. Tywin Lannister was not a man who easily admitted fault, much less one to concede that someone else had seen further than he had. You reached for his hand, intertwining your fingers with his. “Tywin, we’ve done everything we could to prepare. The Westerlands are stronger than most of the realm right now because of your leadership.”

His lips pressed into a thin line as he shook his head slightly. “Strength means little against what we faced out there. Those creatures…” He trailed off, his gaze hardening. “They’re unnatural. An affront to everything we know.”

You nodded slowly, your own memories of what you’d seen with Viserion still vivid. “They’re not just creatures, Tywin. They’re death itself, and they’re coming for all of us.”

His jaw clenched, and for a moment, he said nothing, the firelight casting shadows across his face. When he finally spoke, his voice was quieter, almost reluctant. “I’ve spent my life fighting battles I could win—battles I could control. But this... this is something else entirely.”

You reached up, brushing your fingers lightly against his cheek, the gesture tender. “You’ve done more than anyone could ask, Tywin. You’ve kept your people alive during the darkest winter the realm has ever seen. That’s more than most lords can claim.”

He exhaled softly, leaning into your touch just enough for you to notice. “It doesn’t feel like enough.”

“It is,” you assured him, your voice firm but gentle. “You’ve given us a chance. That’s more than anyone else could do.”

For a long moment, he simply looked at you, his gaze searching. Then, with a deliberate motion, he reached up and cupped your face in his hands. His touch was warm despite the chill that seemed to linger everywhere these days. “You’re the only one who’s ever dared to tell me the truth,” he said, his voice quieter now. “Even when I didn’t want to hear it.”

You smiled faintly, your fingers brushing against his wrist. “Someone has to keep you in check.”

His lips twitched into what might have been a smile, and then he leaned forward, pressing a firm but tender kiss to your lips. The weight of the world seemed to fall away for a moment, replaced by the shared warmth between you. His hands remained steady, holding you close as if anchoring himself to something real amidst the chaos.

When the kiss broke, you rested your forehead against his, your breath mingling in the still air of the room. “You’re not alone in this, Tywin,” you murmured. “We’ll face it together, no matter what comes.”

He nodded slightly, his fingers brushing against your jawline. “I know.”

A soft knock at the door interrupted the moment, and you pulled back slightly, glancing toward the sound. One of the household staff called out from the other side. “My lady, your sons are asking for you.”

You smiled, a warmth spreading through your chest at the thought of Damon and Maelor. Turning back to Tywin, you placed a hand lightly on his chest. “They’re waiting for you too, you know.”

His brows lifted slightly, and for a moment, the faintest hint of amusement flickered in his eyes. “They’ve been spoiled.”

You chuckled softly. “And whose fault is that?”

He didn’t answer, but the faint smirk that played at the corners of his lips was answer enough. You kissed him one last time before stepping back and extending a hand toward him. “Come. They’ve missed you.”

Tywin stood slowly, his movements deliberate as he straightened his posture. Despite the exhaustion etched into his features, there was a renewed determination in his eyes. He took your hand, and together, you left the room to join your children, the weight of the world still present but somehow a little lighter with each step you took side by side.

[ladyfogg]

Perfect Fit

Fic Summary: Since the first time you let him bite you, Astarion knew seducing you would be easy. What he didn’t anticipate were the feelings that came with it.

Fic Rating: 18+

Pairing: Astarion/Fem!Drow!Monk Reader

Word Count: 11.7k

Warnings: Biting, Blood Drinking (Vampire and all that), Male Masturbation, Vaginal Sex, Fingering, Oral (Female Receiving), Sex, Grinding, Cuddling

A/N: I’m really glad I took my time with this one because I absolutely love how it came out. Enjoy! I don’t know if I’ll write any other Astarion fics but we’ll see.

---

Just a taste, that is all he needs.

Boars and wildlife will not suffice, not if your little troop of weirdos keeps going at the same grueling pace. Since the moment he had been snatched up and that damn tadpole shoved into his eye it has been one battle after another.

The diet Cazador forced him onto had already weakened him. And Astarion knew that if he did not do something soon, if he couldn’t keep up with the others, you will turn your back on him.

After all, why keep him around if he isn’t useful?

No, he needs to stay in your good graces. More than that, he needs you to trust him, to care for him. It’s the only way he can ensure that when his former master comes knocking, because Astarion is not naïve enough to assume he is completely free, you will be there shielding him, to knock back.

Which you are obviously capable of doing. He’s seen you fight enough times to know you have a quick temper and an even quicker right hook.

You are the defacto leader, the one who always seems to do the talking even though you’re not the most charismatic of the bunch. Yet, when you open your mouth, the others listen, take your word as law even when they don’t agree.

Astarion finds himself falling in line along with them. Then again, he has two hundred years of conditioning to contend with. He wonders what excuse the others have.

Regardless, the plan remains the same. Seduce you, get you on his side, save his spectacular, frankly tight, ass. Simple. He’s played this part more times than he can count and can do it in his trance.

Of course, none of that matters if he starves to death. The gnawing hunger deep in his belly is distracting and has been for days. He’s used to ignoring it, even in the thick of combat. But he can’t, not tonight.

Tonight, it’s bad enough to get in the way of hunting. He can’t keep up with a lame doe he stumbles across. It bolts before he is even close enough to lunge. Not good. He returns to his tent frustrated and desperate.

Red eyes scan the still camp, predatory and sharp. He told you all he would keep watch because he needed time and space to think, which is partially true. However, that was when he hoped to catch dinner.

How in the Hells can he bloody think when he’s starving?

There’s a rustling near the fire, immediately drawing his attention. His gaze falls on you while you shift, your back to him as your body rolls towards the warmth of the campfire. A breeze glides through their encampment, bringing your tantalizing scent towards him, beckoning, teasing.

Astarion takes a deep inhale, eyes closed as he unwittingly gives into his instincts. Hunting pushes them away. But with no wildlife to sate him, his feet move on their own, dragging him closer to your prone body. When he opens his eyes, his vision blocks out everything that isn’t you.

The hunger is all that matters and right now, the hunter has finally found his prey.

His steps make no noise as practice and skill take over. He’s close enough to see the subtle rise and fall of your breath, the dim firelight framing you with its eerie glow, leading him like a beacon in the never-ending dark.

Astarion takes a knee, arms out for balance and eyes closed as he moves purely on instinct. He opens his mouth, fangs dripping with saliva at the promise of a meal, a real meal…

A second later he feels you move and his eyes snap open, only to find yours staring up at him. Cold realization slams into him like a heavy maul, making him blurt out the first thing that comes to mind.

“Shit.”

Immediately, he backs away as you quickly rise to your feet, eyes narrowed in distrust. You don’t even have a chance to speak before he launches into an explanation, trying to keep his voice hushed to avoid waking the others.

“No, no, it’s not what it looks like, I swear,” he insists. “I wasn’t going to hurt you I…” He pauses, taking a breath to ground himself. The bloodlust isn’t satiated, not by a long shot but it is tempered by a furious-looking monk. “I just needed…well…blood.”

It sounds lame even to his own ears. Not his best work but, then again, he isn’t at his best.

You swear, burying your face in your hands. “Fucking unbelievable!” you exclaim in a harsh whisper. “I can’t believe I didn’t see it! We even found the boar you snacked on. And you were so quick to brush it away.”

“It’s not what you think!”

Astarion’s voice goes up and you motion for him to be quiet. A quick glance confirms the others are still fast asleep.

The next thing he knows, you’re grabbing his sleeve and tugging him away from the fire, away from the others, which is not at all what he's anticipating. He doesn’t even have a chance to register you’re touching until your hand is already gone, leaving a phantom of its warmth.

“I’m not some monster,” he persuades. “I feed on animals. Boars, deer, kobolds, whatever I can get. I’m…I’m just too slow right now. Too weak.” He pauses, the hunger taking hold once more. “If I just had a little blood, I could fight better. Please.”

There’s a sharp pain between his eyes, the familiar trigger of the tadpole lodged in his brain. He recognizes the sensation, knows it’s you reaching out, asking, and after a moment of hesitation, he lets you in.

Unlike your companions, you’ve embraced the new connection, used it to convince others to move out of your way or do as you say. Not within the group of course. He suspects you’re too noble for that.

Astarion hasn’t had much time to practice himself. No time like the present. He needs you to see, needs you to understand that what he says is true.

The trust he is trying to build is at stake, no pun intended. You need to see that this is an anomaly, an unfortunate side effect of the intense fighting you both had to endure the last few days.

So Astarion shows you, lets you see fleeting images of what he’s hunted in the woods. But this is all still new. He does not know how it works, does not anticipate the flood of other memories, personal ones he isn’t ready to share.

A dark street, a willing mark, a soft supple body for Cazador’s dark needs. They flicker one after another, a blur of faceless victims he’s lost count of. Yet, none of them with his fangs at their throat or their blood on his lips. It becomes too much too fast.

He gathers his strength and throws up those mental blocks, the ones he’s had for decades yet seem to be crumbling in an instant. With a mental shove, he pushes you out.

While Astarion's body reels from the onslaught, you remain stoic, arms crossed as you stare at him with that intense gaze of yours. The only indication anything is amiss is a head tilt.

How? How are you already so used to these damn tadpoles? You don’t even blink, and with the shadows of the night wrapped around the both of you, he can’t read your expression even with Darkvision. But he can assume and right now, he’s sure he’s fucked up. All he needed was you to trust him and because of this insistent hunger, he’s failed.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

This is not the question he expects and he blinks, taken aback. You don’t sound angry, hells it would be easier if you were. Anger he’s used to, can handle with poise. But Astarion thinks he can work with this, whatever it is.

Because it’s not pity, it’s not empathy, it’s something he does not have a name for.

“At best, I was sure you’d say no, more likely you’ll run a stake through my ribs,” he explains. “No, I needed you to trust me. And you can trust me.”

Of course you can’t. Anyone who ever put their trust in him came to bloody ends. Yet, he’s seen you drop a gnoll with nothing but your fists and an insane high kick, so he feels you may be sturdier than most.

You study him closely, and Astarion does everything to appear docile and properly chastised, hunching his body to make himself smaller. There’s a beat where neither of you blink or speak. However, he catches the subtle slump of your shoulders and a sigh escapes your lips.

“I believe you,” you say. “And I do trust you.”

Astarion slowly exhales his own sigh, this one of relief. “Thank you,” he says.

Then, because he can’t help himself, because his empty stomach twists, because you’re still close enough for him to inhale your scent, he pushes his luck.

“Do you think you could trust me just a little further?” he asks, a hopeful lilt to his voice as he bats his eyelashes at you. “I only need a taste, I swear.”

He fully expects your refusal and wouldn’t blame you in the slightest. As much as this hunger is driving him to madness, he is fully prepared to slink away with his tail tucked between his legs if it means he lives to seduce you another day.

Yet the next words out of your mouth throw him off his game.

“Fine, but not a drop more than you need.”

There’s no hiding the surprise on his face. He knows you see it yet you don’t gloat or react, only smile.

“Really? I—” He clears his throat and recovers, swagger in place as comfortable as a well-worn mask molded just for him. “Of course, not one drop more. Let’s make ourselves comfortable, shall we?”

He motions towards your bedroll with a bow. As you brush past and turn towards the fire, your smirk is wider, as if you can tell how much excitement is building within him. Then again, with the tadpole and your uncanny ability to read people, you probably do.

The others are still silent and sleeping as you lay back on your bedroll. Astarion’s chest heaves and he licks his lips as the prospect of blood, humanoid blood, becomes all he can focus on. He’s salivating again, red eyes drawn to the smooth expanse of your neck.

At first, all he can hear is the crackling of the fire. But when he leans in, the steady beating of your heart breaks through the noises of the night. Bloody Hells, he can hear the blood rushing through your veins. It hypnotizes him, draws him forward as you roll your head to the side.

White fangs pierce dark skin, sliding clean through to find a thick, pulsing vein. Underneath the rush, he almost misses the soft gasp push past your lips.

Almost.

But he doesn’t have time to process it because the first drops of blood touch his tongue and nothing else matters. Not mind flayers, not tadpoles, not Cazador, nothing but the sweet, red liquid that is sliding down his throat carrying your scent.

Everything else before pales in comparison.

There’s no fear. When he hunts he can taste the deep fear of his prey in their final moments. But this is different. You are different.

It’s such an onslaught of emotions he can’t process them right away. It’s secondhand, like trying to grab a rapidly fading echo in a dark cave.

Astarion doesn’t anticipate it and can’t recognize half of them at first. Sensation is what he does recognize. Pain is immediate, followed by warmth leading into heat in his cheeks and stomach. So much heat. He’s been cold for two hundred years, he’s forgotten what it’s like to have body heat, to be hot.

His body naturally curls around yours, one hand sliding under your head to cradle it close. The fingers of his other hand dig into the packed soil, gripping for something solid yet finding nothing.

Your body arches into his, breasts pressed to his chest and for the briefest moment, he imagines how better this would be if he could feel your bare skin to his.

Then another splatter of blood hits the back of his throat as your heart rate increases and the thought is lost.

Instinct wins out once more and Astarion groans, sucking at the wound with renewed fervor. This is better than he could have imagined. You’re better. All robust and tantalizingly smooth, finer than the finest wine he’s ever sampled. He licks at your skin, gathering as much of the precious liquid as he can. He knows it’s supposed to be a taste, but he needs more. Wants more…

A hand on his shoulder draws him out of his stupor and a firm shove has him breaking free with an orgasmic gasp. Life now drums through his veins, yours and his comingling into a surge of energy that has his dead heart thrumming harder than he ever remembers.

“Enough,” you say, your voice gruff and small, though still commanding. He thinks for a moment you might have actually cast Command on him, until his addled brain remembers you don’t use magic.

Astarion pulls himself together, comes back into his body in a way that’s far more pleasant than it has been in the past. He’s sure he’s made a mess but when he looks down, all he sees are two small puncture wounds with the barest hint of blood. Small specks of his spit glint in the firelight.

He resists the urge to kiss them away, instead stumbling back onto his haunches to give you space.

You slowly sit up and he catches you wincing. It’s the brief flash of pain that helps him reign himself further in. You said you trusted him, let him drink from you, he will not, could not, betray that trust, the gift you’ve given him.

“Of course,” he says, voice breathless as he tries to remember how to speak. “That was amazing.” He smiles wide, feels a droplet of blood slip away from the corner of his lips as he does. “My mind is finally clear. I feel strong, I feel…” The faintest hint of emotions still lingers. “…happy.”

You both sit quietly for a moment, air thick with tension and a hint of copper. Your scent is even stronger now and Astarion thinks he could track you from miles away if need be.

“I look forward to seeing you fight.”

Right, the whole reason you did this. To help him be stronger, useful. It’s those thoughts that ground him once more, snap his head out of the clouds and onto the hard forest floor.

Astarion stands while you remain right where you are, watching every move he makes. He wonders if you are waiting for him to pounce, waiting for the monster he assured you does not exist. When he speaks again, it’s the light, easy tone he’s perfected, like sliding the mask back into place.

“Shouldn’t take long so many people need killing,” he says, flippantly. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, you’re invigorating but I need something more filling.”

Nothing will escape him now. He swears he can take down a bear should he be lucky enough to find one.

He turns to leave, yet something stops him from taking the next step. When he glances at you over his shoulder, for a moment, the mask slips and he allows you to see the genuine gratitude he feels.

“This is a gift, you know,” he tells you. “I won't forget it.”

Not staying for a response, he turns away and stalks toward the darkness of the waiting forest. When he’s sure you can’t see him, he swipes that drop off his chin with his thumb, sucking it into his mouth to enjoy the final taste of your essence.

He is content for this to be a one-time thing, a special circumstance he is lucky enough to experience. And though he already longs for more, he enjoys the heat while he can, letting it carry him through the night as he hunts his next prey.

So imagine his surprise when you approach his tent only two days later, wounds barely visible under your collar. Astarion is readying his weapons, preparing for yet another trek through the wilds.

You’re in your vestiges, your arms free say for the thin bracers protecting your wrists. Your stance is sure and confident, eyes alight with something he hasn’t seen in them yet.

“We’re ready to head out,” you say. “Got everything?”

“Prepared and ready for the inevitable descent into violence.”

“How are you feeling?”

For anyone else the question wouldn’t be so loaded. He gathers you’re probably wondering if he’s going to try to steal another bite at some point.

“Fit as a fiddle. Your donation was much appreciated and helpful,” he says, sliding his daggers into their scabbards. “The effects are mostly worn off but such is life. I’m not weak if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“It’s not. But, if you need to, you can feed on me tonight.”

Astarion can barely contain himself, thrilled at the prospect of another surge of power, and that his seduction skills are working, though not entirely as he expected. Still, it’s an opportunity he will not squander.

“My sweet, there’s nothing I’d like more,” he purrs, stepping in close. He catches the darkening of your cheeks and lets himself smile in triumph. “I’ll come to you tonight, when you’re snuggly wrapped in your bedroll and we can have a little privacy. And this time,” he drops his voice for added effect, “I’ll make sure I’m quiet. We don’t want to disturb your rest.”

It's not lost on him that the night after his first taste you took to sleeping in a tent rather than under the stars. The added privacy had him wondering about its purpose.

Now he knows.

Taking another step closer, he drops his voice even lower, keeping the moment between you two. “Later on, when we are at rest, I will eat you right up,” he promises. “Just enough to give me strength and just enough to leave you wishing for more.”

Your breath catches in your throat and he knows right then that he has you. Even as you smirk and roll your eyes, his pleased smile never falters.

“Great line,” you say, walking backward towards Karlach and Shadowheart, who are waiting for the two of you. “Has that ever worked for you?”

“Numerous times. And trust me, you haven’t heard half my lines.”

“Is that what you do in front of the mirror now that you can’t fawn over yourself?”

“Hurtful!” he gasps in mock outrage. “Also, need I remind you, you came to me just now.”

“And you came to me the other night.”

“Fair point,” he begrudgingly admits, slinging his bow onto his back. “Although, I did ask for just a taste. If you’re wanting another nibble, that says more about you than it does about me. I’m a vampire spawn. What’s your excuse?”

By you’ve turned your back on him and though he can’t see your face, the middle finger you aim his way lets him know he’s won the argument.

The anticipation of his next feeding carries him through the day.

It’s ever-present in the back of his mind, fueling his hunger and drive. He fights harder because he knows that come nightfall, he won’t have to hunt for his meal. You’ll be there in your bedroll, ready and willing.

Astarion can’t suppress the shudder of longing every time he thinks about it.

Waiting never felt so long.

You’re moving closer to the goblin camp with every step, picking off stragglers as you find them. Shadowheart asks the corpses for information and you’re able to narrow down the location of the druid right down to which building he's in.

When you make camp, you’re only half a day’s travel to your destination. Everyone is exhausted and moody, with little talk this time over the campfire. It doesn’t bother Astarion, who felt you all were becoming far too chummy for his liking.

He waits and watches from his tent, taking note as one by one, the others peel off to their respective spaces. You’re one of the last, your eyes straying across the camp in his direction, meeting the gaze that has been transfixed on you the entire time.

As if to tease, your scent finds your way to him on the wind, making his head spin. He gives you a wink and a smirk. You smile back and quirk an eyebrow before disappearing into your tent like the others.

Astarion bides his time, waits until everyone stops rustling and the collective silence of sleep washes over the camp.

Wyll is on watch tonight, though his back is to your tent. Astarion keeps to the shadows and easily dodges him, making no sound as he slips past.

You’re fast asleep, buried in your bedroll with a blanket loosely draped over you.

Astarion feels that familiar tug low in his belly, lets his feet guide him closer. He doesn’t need the fire to see you there, peaceful, almost angelic. You changed into a looser tunic which has slid down to reveal a shoulder.

And the faded markings he left on your throat the other night.

Astarion kneels and then crawls up behind you, slow and careful. He said he wouldn’t disturb your rest and he meant it. No need to wake you when you’ve given your consent.

Besides, as sneaky as he is, Astarion wonders if you’re that light of a sleeper, considering how easily you awoke the last time. He lays behind you, gently peeling the blanket away. Your tunic slips lower when he does and at this angle, he catches just the faintest glimpse of the top of a breast.

It makes him pause, give an appreciative glance, before your neck beckons him.

The hunger urges him forward, begging, pleading with him to drink. You’re so close and warm and vulnerable. He does his best to lean over without touching you, but you automatically tense in your sleep when you feel the coolness of his body draw near.

Leaning down, he lets his lips brush your ear as he whispers, “It’s just me, darling. Go back to sleep.”

You hum and relax once more, dropping your shoulder in the process. The angle is too good and he is too famished to wait any longer.

Astarion bites down, his fangs lining up exactly where they pierced before. His mouth fits against your throat like it was made for him.

A perfect fit.

There’s no need to rush and he is able to savor the experience. This time, a sense of calm washes over him, making his eyes droop closed as the now-familiar yet no less exquisite rush of your blood fills his mouth. Deep down there’s a sense of injustice for being denied this experience for so long.

However, he wonders if it would have been the same without the anticipation and thrill of the chase. Without you in the equation. After all, you’re a powerful person, unyielding in your convictions.

Yet, here you are, offering your blood to him. Giving him power.

He keeps his fangs buried for a moment longer, holds himself there until his mouth is brimming with the taste of you.

Only then does he retract them, sucking softly on the reopened wound to drink his fill. You’re fast asleep, which means that he has to stop himself this time. You’re not aware enough to do it for him.

When he wanted to earn your trust, he did not think you would give it to him so freely. What else will you give him? What else can he get away with? Questions for another night.

Thankfully, he can force himself to stop once that welcoming heat spreads through every part of him.

Every part.

Fucking Hells he is hard as a rock.

It catches Astarion by surprise and he immediately draws away. He finds himself panting, his lips still coated in red as he glances down at himself.

Is it the act of drinking blood or the blood itself? Feeding on animals certainly never drew this reaction.

His head is spinning from bloodlust and arousal, and he feels the need to leave your tent as soon as possible. You signed up to be his meal, not to get him off.

Not yet anyway. Shame, if you were awake he could make his move. He briefly considers rousing you with honeyed words and lustful promises but he decides against it in the end.

Maybe next time.

As he cleans up the mess he’s left on your throat, licking away the remaining drops of blood, he can’t help palming himself at the same time. He’s barely able to contain a hiss at the sensitivity.

Fuck, if this is just from feeding on you, what’s going to happen when he gets to have you another way?

Astarion reluctantly withdraws, readjusting your tunic before draping your blanket back in place. Your breathing never hitches and remains steady, even when he slips out into the night.

With fresh blood pumping through his veins, his body is strong and alive. He feels so fucking alive. He barely takes a few steps before the hardness in his trousers proves too distracting, forcing him to rest against a tree.

If he turns his head, he can still see your tent through the bushes and trees. It surprises him that he wants to go back. Then again, you are the most interesting prospect around and a part of you is within him now.

Soon, a part of him will be in you, he promises himself.

Astarion unties the laces of his trousers and pulls his cock out, finally allowing the hiss he held back earlier. It throbs persistently, begging for him to do something, anything for release. He gives himself an experimental squeeze, wondering if he has the mind for this right now. But it’s too good and he’s too worked up to deny himself.

His eyes never leave your tent as he strokes his cock. Slow at first, but that quickly proves not enough and he speeds up.

Astarion has had too many lovers to count but it has been some time since he’s had to take matters into his own hands. And yes, he plans on seducing you and may even find you attractive, but this is not in the plan.

It certainly didn’t happen the other night.

Moving purely on urges, Astarion lets his head fall back against the tree trunk, and his eyes close, picturing himself back in your tent.  

If only you’d been awake, he could have pressed against you, let you feel the length of him as he drank his fill.

Would you grind back? Would you gasp? He’s more than sure that he can get you to do both. When he finally gets you where he wants you, when he finally has you writhing and moaning his name, he's not going to let you cum until you beg for it, beg for him to fill you as he drinks from that delicious throat.

With a strangled moan, he cums onto the forest floor, his knees buckling under the sudden onslaught of sensation.

Putting his full weight against the tree for support, he takes a moment to catch his breath mind, and senses hyper-aware of every rustle of leaves and gust of wind. With his lust now stated, there is an overwhelming sense of fear and guilt.

What the Hells is with all this wanting and desire? He is not allowed to want. Seducing you isn’t about desire. Neither of those emotions should be there and yet they are.

Let’s just push those way back where they belong, he thinks as he tucks himself back into his trousers.

His head is clearer now, his focus as sharp as it was the previous night. Brushing the incident off, Astarion switches into hunting mode, his grin wide enough to verge on the side of madness as he bolts into the forest, with nothing but the thought of his next kill.

Your offer of blood becomes a regular occurrence.

Not every day but often enough for Astarion to notice a significant change in himself, his power. He is faster and stronger than he has ever been. There is still the situation of becoming immensely horny when he does feed on you, but he looks on the bright side and accepts it as an unexpected bonus.

On days when your party runs into a fight, he finds himself drained but not enough to impede his hunting.

A fact he brags about one night when he stumbles back to camp, brimming with excitement and pride.

“Guess what I just did!” he exclaims, plopping beside you on the ground by the fire that seems to have your attention.

It’s your night to keep watch which means he is out of luck for his midnight snack, as he’s taken to calling you. Much to your chagrin.

You chuckle and motion towards his mouth. “Judging by the blood I’m assuming you caught a nice dinner,” you say.

Astarion impatiently wipes it away. “Not just dinner, a bear! A whole bear!”

“Gods, you drank a whole bear?”

He nods proudly, grin wide and sloppy. “Now, it wasn’t as good a vintage as Drow,” he concedes with a wink your way. “But that’s not the point. The point is, I was able to kill it all by my lonesome and nary a curl out of place.”

“Are you drunk?”

“Kind of,” he slurs.

In truth, he is euphoric, untouchable. Between proper feedings and the tadpole, Astarion feels he is the strongest vampire spawn there may have ever been. Tonight, like the first night he bit you, there is no Cazador, mind flayer, or other threat. There’s only him and the blood of the black bear that he’s taken for himself.

And you, of course.

You smile in amusement, turning your attention to the fire.

Astarion leans back on his elbows, his body wonderfully loose and relaxed for the first time in decades. He takes the time to study your profile, his delirious mind focusing for the moment. He is acutely aware that it is only the two of you, a rarity considering the size of the camp.

Between the adrenaline of the hunt and the opportunity that comes with privacy, Astarion shifts closer, not enough to touch but enough for you to know he’s done so.

“You know, darling,” he drawls. “I don’t think I’ve told you how devastatingly beautiful you look by firelight.”

You don’t respond and at first, he wonders if you heard him. When it becomes apparent you haven’t, he clears his throat and tries again.

“The way the flames reflect in your eyes is hypnotizing,” he continues. “I can get lost in them, have been lost in them ever since we met.”

Still nothing. Astarion feels you’re miles away, which his pride will not stand for, not when he feels as good as he does and is throwing you all the signals.

He sits up and waves a hand in front of your face. “Helllooo? Devilishly handsome roguish vampire here giving you compliments. The least you can do is acknowledge me.”

You blink and tear your eyes away from the flames, giving him a sheepish smile. “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to ignore you. I’m not very good company tonight, I’m afraid.”

Astarion shrugs and sits up, interest piqued. “That’s alright, darling. We don’t need to talk. There are plenty of other ways we can enjoy each other’s company.”

You roll your eyes as you look back at the fire with that amused smile you seem to reserve only for him. “Hey, if I could turn my brain off for the night, I’d take you up on that,” you admit.

Finally feeling like he’s getting somewhere, Astarion leans in closer. “You’re in luck because I happen to be a delectable distraction. All you have to do is say the word.” He pauses before adding. “I’m talking about sex of course. We should have sex.”

“Oh, I’m well aware of what you meant.”

Astarion grins, reaching out to walk his fingers up your forearm, playfully tugging at the sleeve of your tunic. “So what are we waiting for?” he purrs. “A midnight snack is all well and good, but I wouldn’t mind sampling what else you have to offer.”

As full as he is, he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t interested in another nibble. There’s something special about your blood, enticing. When he’s this close to you it becomes all he can think about and he has to stop himself from nuzzling your throat. At least until he knows he has you.

“I want to,” you tell him, finally meeting his gaze. “I really really want to.”

“Then what’s the problem? I am ready, willing, and certainly able.”

“Yeah, well, I’m not.”

Astarion frowns, confused. This has always worked before, there’s no reason for it not to work now. He doesn’t get it. You’re clearly attracted to him and he’s doing everything but presenting himself on a silver platter. By now you should be throwing yourself at his feet.

And there’s no way he’s lost his touch because that would be like saying the sky is no longer blue.

You take a deep breath and when you start to speak again, it comes out in a rush, like you’ve been holding the words in for far too long and can’t any longer.

“There is so much at stake and so many people are depending on us, on me. It’s all I think about. I can’t focus on anything else. For days it’s been one crisis after another. On top of that, everyone keeps saying that we need to get rid of the tadpoles and that we should have turned already. We rescued Halsin but he can’t do what we hoped he would and I’m just…”

You let out a noise of frustration and Astarion is back to grinning because this he can work with. This he understands.

“Aren’t monks taught to still their minds?” he teases.

“I didn’t become a monk to still my mind. I became a monk because I like punching things. It’s honestly my favorite thing to do.” You take a deep breath before falling onto your back to stare up at the stars. “But now everyone keeps looking to me for answers and I just don’t have them. Nor do I want to be the one to figure all this shit out.”

Perfect, a new angle.

Astarion leans over you, forcing you to look him in the eye. “It’s just as I feared. You need me more than I thought.” He bends his head, delighted when you instinctively present your neck. He places the gentlest of kisses to bite mark, nuzzling into your soft skin like he’s been wanting to do since he sat down. “If you need your mind on something else, let it be me. Let me touch you, taste you. Let me bring you to such unbearable peaks that you forget everything that isn’t my mouth, fingers, or cock.”

You moan softly, shuddering at the warmth of his breath. “I don’t know if you can.”

Astarion draws back, a wide smile showing off his sharp canines. “Trust me, darling, I can.” He slides a hand up to cradle your head just like he did the first night he bit you. But it’s kisses he lavishes your throat with, with the occasional scrape of his teeth.

A gentle hand on his shoulder has him pulling away.

“You seem pretty confident about that,” you say, eyes searching his.

“Because it’s true.”

He knows what you’re searching for and does everything he can to make sure his gaze speaks for him. Lust and desire, mixed with a touch of hopefulness. Disarming and endearing, exactly who he needs to be for you.

“Here is what we’re going to do,” he continues, putting all his weight on one hand so he can use the other to take yours. “Tomorrow night, once everyone is asleep, I’ll slip into your tent, and I will make it so that pretty little head of yours can focus on something else. Something much more pleasurable.”

He punctuates each word with a kiss, first to your fingers, then your bruised knuckles, and finally to your inner wrist where he can feel your pulse racing. The sound of your rushing blood makes his own body thrum with desire. His hunger returns, but not enough to distract him.

But enough to make him twitch with anticipation.

At this angle, he knows you can feel it when his cock hardens. Your eyes widen and you bite your lip to stifle another moan when he teasingly grinds down against you.

“I…” You try to speak but need to take a second to catch your breath. “I would like that very much.”

“Good.”

Astarion leans down and captures your lips in a harsh kiss. It’s meant to be quick, a tease, a way to continue the seduction and leave you wanting more but it immediately becomes something else. You match his energy perfectly, your tongue slipping past his to explore. He isn’t expecting such a hungry response after the way you seemed so controlled, fully expecting it to take time for him to get you to this level.

Apparently, you’re closer to the edge than he thought. But it’s more than that. Kissing you makes him feel…something. He just doesn’t know what in the Hells that is. It makes it difficult to pull away, to stop, and make you wait.

So he indulges, deepens the kiss by leisurely licking the inside of your mouth once you actually let him. It’s good, really good. Enough to lose himself for the moment, to cup your cheek and hold you close.

His head is spinning and in his excitement, one of his fangs nicks your bottom lip.

A drop of your blood is enough to snap him out of it. Because if he doesn’t, he’s going to ruin everything. He’ll either fuck or drain you and right now he’s not sure which.

Astarion abruptly breaks the kiss, not before his tongue at your lip to steal another drop. “Until tomorrow night,” he promises.

He leaves you there, dazed and staring after him as he casually strolls back to his tent. Leaving you wanting more, just like he planned.

And definitely not because of any other reason.

Needless to say, trancing doesn’t come easy that night. Every time he closes his eyes, all he envisions is you in the firelight, looking up at him like he is the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen. Granted, he knows he is, but that’s beside the point.

If he’s honest with himself, there may be a small, tiny part of him that feels bad for deceiving you this way. Granted, he is attracted to you and the idea of having sex sounds incredibly appealing.

So what if there is another motive? You both will come out on top in the end, metaphorically speaking. Although, the mental image of you riding him is quite good. Body rocking, breasts bouncing, wet heat enveloping his lap…

Astarion needs a distraction himself at this rate.

The next day he maintains his distance for both your sakes. For one thing, he knows being apart from your object of desire only makes the chase that more thrilling. And for another, he is dealing with a storm of emotions he is not prepared for nor interested in.

On occasion when he can’t help but slide his gaze your way, you seem thoroughly focused every time. He doesn’t catch you looking longingly his way, not even once, and finds it frankly insulting. How can you be so engrossed in what you’re doing even though you know he will be in your bed later?

Unacceptable.

When you both find yourselves set upon by cultists, Astarion is relieved. He needs a good bloodbath to pull his shit together.

His daggers get quite the workout, slicing enemies left and right.

Lost in the thrill of the kill, he forgets about the weird feelings and the way his seduction of you seems to be more complicated than he thought it would be. He forgets about his hesitations or questions.

Nothing is weird and nothing is wrong.

A familiar scent breaks through the gore that stops him in his tracks. Your scent. Your blood.

You’re bleeding.

Like a hound, his head whips in your direction. He sees you across the battlefield, knocking a man to the ground. But one hand is pressed to your side, bright red visible even at this distance.

Shit, you’re further from him than he realizes and he has to scramble over a few boulders to be able to close the distance. His sharp eyes catch movement in the trees, and before he even has a chance to grab his bow, the hidden archer takes aim.

Everything happens so fast.

The arrow fires, Astarion eyes land on you, knows you don’t see it and as he raises his hand towards you, has your name on his lips—

Your hand snaps up, catching the arrow an inch before it hits your temple. With a glare, you look up at the archer, swing around, and throw the arrow right back at him.

Astarion watches the archer fall from the branches, landing in a heap on the ground.

Dead.

You grin in Astarion’s direction, face smattered with blood and he wants nothing more than to fuck you on top of that corpse. But then you stumble and concern takes over. If you fall in battle then he’s shit out of luck and he can’t let that happen.

“Whoa now, none of that!” he scolds, rushing to your side to catch you. “Where the Hells is that cleric when we need her?”

“Did you see me catch that arrow?” you slur, grinning. “I didn’t know I could do that.”

“Yes, yes, it was very hot, now hold still, you’re bleeding everywhere.”

“Even better, gives you a free meal.”

It’s Astarion’s turn to roll his eyes as he helps you lean against a tree for support. “I prefer the more intimate approach we’ve established.”

Once he’s sure you’re not going to collapse, he digs through his pack for a healing potion.

“Shame to let all this blood go to waste but to each his own,” you say.

He uncorks the potion with his teeth and holds the bottle up for you to drink. It’s not until it’s empty that he allows himself to calm down. You slowly remove your hand and the two of you watch the wound start to close. Not all the way, you’ll need Shadowheart for that, but enough to stop the bleeding.

Astarion spits the cork aside and throws the empty bottle. “There, almost good as new. Maybe don’t get stabbed again.”

“There go the rest of my plans for the day.”

“Lunatic.”

Something comes over him, making him grab the back of your head and yank you into a kiss, too wrapped up in his bullshit to overthink or consider his actions. With one arm around his waist, you kiss him back and it’s sloppy and messy and everything he needs it to be.

Nothing happened. You didn’t die and you’re still able to be seduced. Good.

When you draw back, gasping for breath, he grabs your wrist and brings your hand to his lips. Without breaking eye contact, he slowly sucks your fingers into his mouth, one by one, swirling his tongue around the digits to gather every drop of blood he can. You’re right. It seems silly to let it go to waste.

Your pupils dilate, your breath coming through your lips in a rush as you watch, transfixed.

He doesn’t need the tadpole to know what you’re thinking, or imagining. It’s a precursor to what he plans to do to you later. But with your thighs squeezing his head as he brings you over the edge.

Astarion releases your finger with a pop and a smirk. You lean in to steal another kiss when you’re stopped by the heavy thud of Karlach’s footsteps. You just manage to pull back when she bursts through the foliage.

“You guys alright?” she asks, also splattered with blood. “We just got jumped by some assholes.”

Astarion gestures to the bodies littered at your feet. “Welcome to the fucking club.”

“Where’s Shadowheart?” you ask.

“Right here,” Shadowheart speaks up, approaching from a different direction. “One tried to run away but I took care of it. Shit, are you bleeding?”

“Not anymore, thanks to me,” Astarion says.

When you wince and stumble towards her, Shadowheart catches you. Her hand glows with radiant light as she casts a healing spell.

“Easy there, soldier!” Karlach says. “You stay put. We’ll deal with these.” She gestures to the bodies, where Astarion is already digging through the pockets.

He tells himself it’s because he doesn’t want to let good gold go to waste, and definitely not because you two were interrupted. Not because being close and alone with you makes his head spin. Not because he doesn’t know why he kissed you like that. And certainly not because the brief taste of blood is threatening to send him into a frenzy.

By the time the bodies are searched, Shadowheart is done with her healing and you’re able to stand up straight.

“Let’s get back and tell the others,” you say. “With these guys gone, we should be good to keep our camp for one more night. But tomorrow we have to move on.”

Astarion is starting to feel peckish and welcomes the chance to be alone. “I’ll do a little scouting to check for stragglers,” he offers, tossing you the heavy bag of coin he collected. “You know, make sure there isn’t anything lurking before dark.”

“You sure? You really shouldn’t go alone,” you say.

He’s already headed in the opposite direction and turns to face you as he walks backward. “If they hear me, they deserve to catch me. You don’t need to worry, darling. I won’t be late for our date.”

Your cheeks darken and he watches Karlach break into a wide grin while Shadowheart raises her eyebrows. He’s already gone by the time they bombard you with questions.

That moment you two just shared plays over and over in his head. With the taste of your blood still on his tongue, he gives into baser instincts.

Tonight, he will fuck you, and you’ll be so enthralled by his talents, he’ll have you eating out of his hand in no time.

Astarion’s mission turns up no more cultists. And after a brief tussle with a boar, he’s recharged and ready to seduce the pants off you.

Literally.

Night has already begun to fall when he returns to camp. At first, he doesn’t see you anywhere, but then you emerge from the brush, in a clean tunic and trousers with your freshly washed clothes under your arm.

He sneaks up behind you as you lay them out on a nearby patch of grass to dry.

“If you waited we could have had a little dip together,” he purrs, only half teasing because bathing naked with you sounds enticing right now.

“That wasn’t funny,” you glare over your shoulder, although he doesn’t sense or see any real malice on your face. “They gave me shit the whole way back.”

“I’m fairly certain they knew something has been going on. You haven’t exactly been hiding the mark.”

You tug on your collar in a vain attempt to do just that. “Still.” You turn to face him and cross your arms, a neutral stance that conveniently highlights the muscles in your arms. Not that he notices.

“Darling,” he gasps, “are you ashamed of me?”

“Of course not. I just don’t like people knowing my shit.”

Astarion glances around and can see multiple pairs of eyes on you both. So rather than close the distance, he settles for eye-fucking you instead.

“Tonight, all you need to worry about is relaxing and letting me take care of you. Thoroughly. Properly. Until the only thought in that pretty little head of yours is my name.”

Even from this distance, he hears the rush of your blood and it makes him grin wider. You shake said pretty head at him, turning away under the pretense of fixing your clothes.

“So long as you bathe beforehand. Blood may be your thing, but it’s not mine.”

“Not yet, anyway.”

He’s got you flustered and can’t help laughing as you shoo him away. After a brief stop at his tent for fresh clothes and soap, he finds a secluded spot by the nearby lake and takes time to pamper himself.

This part of the seduction ritual he likes, finds comfort in. Washing away the grime and viscera from his skin and taking the time to wash his hair puts him in the proper mindset. While he can no longer see his reflection, you can and that’s all that matters. He knows his looks are unparalleled.

So he primps and preens, cleans himself thoroughly before stepping out to dry off. The full moon casts the world in an otherworldly glow and he stands for a spell, taking in the night. Less than a week ago he was scrambling for rats in the dark, trying to sate the ever gnawing hunger. Now he can stand in the sun, sample the delicious blood of a thinking creature.

What a difference a few days makes.

Closing his eyes, he takes a deep inhale to steady himself, to focus. And by the time he exhales, his eyes are open and he’s ready.

Camp is still very much buzzing with activity when he returns, bare-chested with loose trousers. Your scent wafts his way, making him subconsciously turn in your direction. His eyes meet yours over the fire, and he throws you a wink. You smile and duck your head, something he never found endearing until that moment.

Just like all the other nights, he waits for the activity to die down, waits until almost everyone is asleep, before sneaking into your tent.

Except, this time you’re awake. Your back is to him as you sit, still and silent. At first, he wonders what you’re doing, until he recognizes the steady breathing that comes with your meditations.

Silently, he ties the tent closed before kneeling behind you. He sees your pointed ear twitch, knows you’re aware of his presence.

Astarion lays his hands on your shoulders and leans down to nuzzle your temple. Your body is tense. He can feel the knots even through your tunic. Carefully, he digs his thumbs into them, rubbing in circles which forces a soft moan out of you.

“You are far too tense, darling. I don’t think the meditations are working,” he says with a low chuckle, smirking at the way the skin of your neck raises with goosebumps.

You lean back against his chest, making it harder to keep massaging you. So he slides his hands down your arms to hold you instead.

Astarion isn’t one for hugging or cuddling, but this feels nice, having your weight on him like this. It only lasts a second. You lean forward once more, this time with your face in your hands. He lays a hand on your back, recognizing that you need a minute, and more than happy to give you such.

He feels slightly out of his element. Normally when he arrives for the seduction, it’s hasty and eager, with the mark throwing themselves at him. You aren’t doing that, you haven’t even turned around to face him.

“You don’t have to do this, you know,” you tell him, your voice muffled. “If you’re looking for something carefree and light, I’m sure you can find someone with less baggage.”

Astarion can’t help bursting into laughter. He pulls your arms down and leans around to look you in the eye. “Have we been traveling with the same companions?” he asks. “If you can find this mythical baggage-less person then I salute you because from where I’m sitting, we’re all a bunch of fucking weirdos.”

That breaks the tension in you. Laughing, you lean into him again and he savors the closeness, recognizing that it stirs that same unknown sensation within him. He kisses your neck not only to move things along but for another reason.

Yours is the first thinking-creature’s neck he’s ever sampled and the novelty is fairly potent. He’s left his mark on you, not once but several times. It’s enough to drive him to distraction. The scent of your skin causes his body to react, his mouth already salivating while his cock twitches with interest.

Astarion finds you relaxing while the time slips away, and it isn’t long before his hands are reaching for the laces of your tunic. He unties them with deliberate slowness, giving you every chance to stop him.

You don’t.

In fact, your hands join his to help, and when they are finally undone, you draw away to lift the tunic over your head.

Now you’re both shirtless and when your warm skin touches his it’s like a pleasant balm to his cold flesh. He continues lavishing your throat while his hands cup your breasts, thrilled at the way your nipples pebble under his thumbs. He kneads and tweaks, pinching until just on the edge of pain before backing off.

“Astarion?” you ask, voice already breathless and husky with desire.

“Mmm, yes?”

“If we do this, I only have one request.”

He’s not surprised at this, even anticipated as such. There’s always a request or demand of him and he will dutifully oblige. Anything to keep this going, to seal the deal.

“And what’s that, darling?”

“Stay with me after? At least, just for the night.”

That…is it?

Astarion draws away, prompting you to turn to face him. Your eyes are hooded, lips wet from being swiped by your tongue. But there is a vulnerability he has never seen before that has him answering immediately.

“I will stay,” he promises, and means it. “For tonight, I am yours and you are mine. Nothing else outside this tent exists. It’s just us.” He gently cradles your face. “Just this.”

You lean in and he captures your lips.

The kiss is slow, deliberate, meant to reassure you that your humble request will be fulfilled. But as it continues, it switches, changes into something else entirely. One of his hands drops to your trousers, yanking at the laces with the same fevered energy that’s taken over your mouths. He is suddenly filled with the urge to touch, to make you shudder and moan not for his sake, but for yours.

Astarion sees in his mind’s eye every choice, every decision you have had to make. Always for others and never for yourself. Hells, do you do anything for your own well-being?

He hasn’t seen it. And if this night with him is it, if being with him is how you want to indulge, he’s going to make damn sure he makes it worth it.

When his hand slips below your waistline, his fingers slide through the mound of curls to the petal-soft flesh waiting for him. Feeling the wetness on his fingertips makes his eyebrow raise as he breaks from your kisses.

“Already, darling? I’m flattered.”

You huff, flustered. “It’s my neck,” you mumble, prompting him to latch his mouth there once more. “It’s really sensitive.”

You gasp when his fingertips stroke through your folds, spreading your arousal with practiced ease.

Astarion has a realization. “All these nights, when you knew I was going to be paying you a visit,” he says. “Did you by any chance feel aroused?”

“Every fucking time.”

He slides a finger into you, relishing the low moan and how eagerly your body pulls him in. That explains the intense hard-ons and need to get off immediately after feeding on you. He was unknowingly drinking your arousal, which he plans to do in a very different context tonight.

You’re warm and wet, and the sound of your rushing blood is making it so difficult not to seek his—your marks. The ones he feeds from every time, the ones that never seem to fully fade even with healing magic.

Sliding his finger out, he presses firm circles around your neglected nub while his free hand reaches for your breasts again. Your chest heaves and your hips begin to rise and fall along with his ministrations. When he pushes two fingers into you, your head falls back onto his shoulder.

“Astarion!” you gasp.

“That’s it, darling. Let go of everything else. Just think about me.”

In this intimate moment, he becomes acutely aware of two things: one, his name has never sounded sweeter, and two, this is going to be different for him.

Astarion doesn’t find himself slipping away like he’s done in the past. Prior, his body would go on following the script while his brain retreated elsewhere. It was a part he knew all too well and had perfected over the centuries. A moment of disgust at himself then powering through just to get it done.

Yet, it’s not happening. Tonight, he is very aware of where he is and who he is with. Somehow having you be the one to moan his name is keeping him grounded, in the moment.

And he doesn’t want to lose that.

His fingers speed up, alternating between rubbing your nub and burrowing deep into that addictive warmth he wants around his cock. You’re gasping and moaning, seemingly uncaring if anyone hears.

Let them hear, he thinks. Let them know I’m the one making our fearless leader cum.

Suddenly, this angle isn’t right. It won’t serve his needs.

Because now that he’s aware of them, aware that he needs your body, needs your little gasps and moans, he won’t stop until you’re both in a breathless, mindless heap of body and limbs.

Astarion tries to draw his hand out of your trousers but you scramble to keep it there, until he nips at your ear and says, “Shh, shh, it’s alright. We just need to get a little comfortable.” Only then do you let him pull away.

He maneuvers you onto your back and is able to fully take in the delicious image you make. Eyes glassy with desire, lips parted, breasts moving as you try to catch your breath. Without warning, he grabs your throat, not hard. Just enough to angle your head up so he can steal a few more kisses.

Then his attention falls to your trousers and he has them off your legs a second later. You’re not wearing underwear, never bothered to put them on after your bath. Hooking his hands under your knees, he spreads you wide, takes his first look at all of you, and promptly descends.

Astarion doesn’t try to put on a show or warm you up with a few practiced licks. You are more than ready for him and he finds himself starved in a completely different way.

A welcomed way.

His lips wrap around your clit and he sucks greedily, humming with satisfaction when your thighs clamp around his head. It keeps him exactly where you want him, not that he plans to leave any time soon.

This taste of you is so different from your blood yet equally addicting. Heady and sweet, invading his senses until nothing else exists but you. His tongue snakes long your seam, parts your swollen lips, and seeks the hole he teased earlier.

When he finds it, your hips shoot up and he tongue-fucks you, eyes drifting up to meet yours as he does.

You’re propped on your elbows, watching his every move. The vision you make is breathtaking and as he watches your head fall back and your arms buckle, he smirks because he is the one making you feel this way.

Astarion slides a finger into you, this time deeper than the other angle allowed. Your thighs are already quivering and the moment he crooks his finger in just the right way, your arms finally give out and you lay flat on your back.

Hands tentatively find their way into his curls but instead of pulling like he anticipates, they stroke and burrow, holding on for the sake of staying grounded, not for control.

A second finger joins the first and his mouth returns to your aching nub, sucking as greedily as he wants. You’re shaking and moaning, your hips starting to grind against his face the longer he goes on. With the tadpole, he can sense you’re still holding back, still not entirely lost yet. He tries to get you there, increases the pressure of his mouth, and rubs harder against the special place inside you he’s found.

With every twitch, he feels you let go a little more. And when you’re almost there, he switches tactics. For the second time, he reaches for your mind, tries to show you images. This time of yourself, of what he is seeing right then and there.

A beautiful, wanton, deity of a person whom he worships. At least for right now, in this moment. One whose legs fit perfectly over his shoulders and whose shining eyes have him transfixed.

But then what happens next fundamentally changes Astarion and turns his world upside down.

Because, now he isn’t seeing you. He is watching a pale elf with glowing red eyes whose mouth is devouring your slit. Whose cheeks are ruddy with fresh boar’s blood and whose white curls are wrapped around dark fingers.

Astarion is seeing himself for the first time in two hundred years.

And bloody hell he’s magnificent. Not just because he’s beautiful but because he can feel what you’re feeling when you look at him. He can sense the warmth, affection, lust, and fierce protection you’re experiencing here and now, with him.

He’s already achieved his goal. Now he can move on to more important things.

He draws an orgasm out of you only minutes later, not needing you to beg. Not when you’ve given him yet another precious gift.

What a breathtaking sight the two of you make. You, bowing your back into a beautiful arch, and him, sucking greedily at your clit while his fingers stroke deep inside you.

Astarion comes up for air only when your sweaty legs glide off his shoulders, leaving you spread and satisfied.

“How’s that mind of yours now?” he asks, licking your slick off his lips.

It takes a moment for you to answer. “Fuck, you weren’t kidding,” you gasp, a hand pressed to your forehead as you try to collect yourself.

Astarion smirks and pushes himself up onto his knees, carefully slipping his fingers out of you. He can feel your walls clench, automatically trying to keep him there. He’s tempted but has a better idea.

“I told you, I’m quite good.”

While you lay there, watching, waiting, he makes a show of unlacing his trousers. By now his cock is desperate for attention, straining against the fabric. Each move he makes is purposeful, each look calculated, letting you know exactly what he plans to do next.

He thinks of the previous nights when he crawled into your tent and slid up behind you. And once his trousers are gone and his cock is free, full and leaking at the tip, he nods his head.

“Turn on your side, darling.”

He strokes himself while you do, using your arousal to make the glide of his hand easier, better. He lets every lustful thought invade his senses, lets his eyes shamelessly rake over your body as he realizes this is a fantasy he will get to live out.

Astarion knows this night is about you, should be about you, but he can’t help but feel that it’s now also about him. About having something, even if it’s for a night, that gets to be his.

He spoons up behind you, tucking his cock snug under your backside. His hand comes around and slides between your legs once more, picking up right where he left off. You gasp at the sensitivity, your body tensing for only a second until you manage to relax again.

This time with the added bonus of you rocking against him.

Time loses all meaning. He can not be certain how long you both lay this way, grinding and moving together while his fingers make you cum for a second time. It takes longer but absolutely worth every moment. His mouth is permanently attached to your throat lavishing it in kisses and love bites, leaving even more marks. Not as deep as the mark. He'll only drink from you once he’s good and ready.

And when neither of you can take it anymore, when the friction of your skin isn’t enough and you’re positively soaked, he whispers into your ear.

“Lift your leg.”

You do and he takes hold of himself, coats himself in your slick again, then pushes into you with a smooth, quick, thrust.

A perfect fit.

Being inside you, having his cock enveloped by that fucking heat is better than he would have ever thought. After that, he can’t take his time, won’t until he’s emptied every last drop into you.

Your moans are constant, muffled as you bury your face into your thin pillow, your hand twisting the bedroll, reminding him of how he twisted the soil when he had his first taste of you.

Taste.

Gods does he want to taste you again, drink you as he continues pounding into your eager body. As if struck by the same thought, you reach back to slide your hand into his curls.

“Bite me,” you urge. “I need you too. I can’t…”

He hears the rest of the thought in his head.

I can’t cum again if you don’t.

Astarion bites down on the mark, having half a mind to press down on your swollen nub at the same time. You cry out this time. Loudly. Properly. Not his name yet even more beautiful, a cry of pure ecstasy.

Your blood seeps into his mouth just as a fresh wave of your slick coats his cock, and he is done for.

Thrusting wildly, still rubbing your sore clit, Astarion spills himself into you, lost in a frenzy of blood and lust. He’s aware enough to yank out his fangs but after that, it's a blur as he sucks at your throat while his cock spasms and fills you with his seed.

It's too much and coats his lap and your thighs while trickles of blood dribble down your neck. He’s aware of you pushing his hand away from the overstimulation. So he grabs your hip for leverage during his final, weak thrusts. Spent, you both cry out a final time and then grow still.

Eventually, you roll onto your stomach while Astarion collapses onto your back, crushing you against the bedroll.

You don’t seem to mind in the slightest, letting him lazily lick away any remnants of blood. Only then do you hum with satisfaction stretching underneath him as much as the position will allow.

“Fuck, Astarion.”

“That you did, love. That. You. Did.” Each word is punctuated by a kiss or a nibble.

“You were right,” you purr, sounding infinitely more relaxed than he’s ever heard. “I needed that.”

He places a final kiss to the mark before rolling onto his back. “Mmm, me too.” He tucks his hand under his head, staring up at the canvas of the tent with a lazy, satisfied grin. Like a cat who’s just found a sunbeam.

You roll to face him, draping yourself across his chest in a graceless heap. Your face is glowing with post-coital bliss, eyes still shining as they take him in. You reach up to wipe away a spot of blood from the corner of his lips, which he sucks off your thumb.

Astarion is aware you both should clean up but he can’t bring it in himself to care. Your scent hangs around him, not just your blood but your arousal and release. When mixed with his own, it stirs something primal inside, a sense of claim he’s not sure he has a right to feel.

But he’s far too satisfied to question it.

“That was amazing,” you slur. Already your eyes are drooping and your breathing evens out.

Astarion draws you close, feels around for a blanket he manages to drape over you both. “You’re amazing,” he responds, and is surprised he means it.

Even he is ready to trance, the normal rush of adrenaline after feeding is gone, channeled into the thrusting of his hips during those last precious seconds before utter bliss.

For once, no thoughts or machinations enter his mind. Unless it’s your soft body atop his, he has no interest, lazily stroking your back until you fall asleep.

And as he lets his trance carry him away, he has one final thought, an observation his waking mind will remember vividly the next morning when he finds you in the same position, curled around each other even in sleep.

Having you in his arms seems to be another perfect fit.

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