#Wrought up in my bones

[future-dregs]

When is a gun not a gun?

When is a spoon not a spoon?

When is a bottle not a bottle?

When you hand it to your brother at crotch height and he puts it down the back of his pants.

When you tease into your sleeping brother's open mouth.

When you hand it to your brother at crotch height as he sits below you and then he sticks it between his legs.

[laiiaaa]

Your writing is stunning! Can I request injured!reader and Carmy rushing to be by her side? god the idea of that man dropping everything to be with you....

this has been in my drafts for probably a year now. i forget why i was hesitant to post it. so here’s something for you all :)

“Hey, Cousin—”

“I’m in the middle ‘f something, not now, Richie—”

“Hey.” He raises his brows, gives that serious look that has Carmen’s head peeking over his shoulder because it’s so sharp he can feel it. “It’s your girl. You wanna take this.”

He gets nervous, then, heart beginning to race. Where’s his fuckin’ phone?

“Give it here,” he says, arm extended. Richie hands it over and slips out the door, shutting it to leave Carmen by himself in the office; it only makes hurt stomach lurch harder.

He lifts the phone to his ear. “Hello?”

“. . . Carm?” Your voice is broken and wobbly, wrought with tears.

“Baby?” He doesn’t even think before he’s jumping out of his chair, tucking the phone between his jaw and shoulder while he scrambles to find his keys. “Baby, you there? Where are you?”

“I-I’m at the hospital, I tried calling you—”

“The hospital—?” His mind goes back to New York, back to that morning. “What—” He takes a deep breath. His jacket. Where the fuck is it? “Okay, you’re okay, I’m comin’ now, alright?” He storms out of the office toward the lockers, finds everything right where he put it, including his phone. Dead. Fuck. “I gotta hang up, okay? I’m sorry, I know, I can’t take the phone with me. I’ll be there soon, I promise.”

“O-Okay.” A shuddered breath rings through the line, and it kills him. “I’m okay, Carmy—”

“I know,” he says, shimmying into his jacket and feeling for his keys. “I know, baby, but I’m comin’ anyway, you hear me? Gonna be there in ten.”

“Okay.”

“Okay. I love you.”

He doesn’t put the phone back properly, just slides it across the counter and hopes it doesn’t break again, shouting out orders over his shoulder on his way out the door.

The ride there is the longest ten minutes of his life. He doesn’t know what to expect. He doesn’t know anything at all, really. Are you hurt? How bad is it? What happened? Is it a burn, a broken bone, just a flu that got out of hand? Will you need surgery? Did you get in an accident? Did someone try to hurt you? He doesn’t want you to be alone right now. He needs to be there with you. You were fine this morning. You were fine this morning, all beautiful and groggy when he kissed you awake, still cozied up in bed when he left early as the sky turned blue after sunrise. You were fine. You were fine, and then he left, and suddenly you weren’t.

The fluorescent lights make him nauseous. They’re too bright, and a disgusting color, and too different from all the gentle lighting you insisted upon at home. Made the place homey, you said, and he agreed. The nurses at the station must think he’s out of his mind, all wide-eyed and asking for you.

“What’s your name?” the one asks him.

“Carmen, I’m her fiancé, I was—I was just on the phone with her—”

“Okay,” she nods, softening. “She’s doin’ alright now, she was askin’ for you, though. Still gotta get her wrapped up, but you’ll be outta here soon.”

He’s too busy wondering What the fuck does that mean? to properly answer.

When he’s finally brought to your room, his nerves subside—only a little. There’s no blood, no bland hospital gown to say you’re headed off to the operating room. Just a pillow over your tummy, with your arm—your swollen, bruised arm—resting on top of it.

“Hey, hon,” he says, coming to your bedside and smoothing a hand over your forehead to press his lips to your temple. “You alright? What happened?”

“They—” you sniffle when you look up at him, lip quivering— “They had to take my ring off, Carmy—” he nods along to your rambling with a concerned brow— “I-I told them not to, but they said my hand was too swollen—that-that it was gonna mess up my finger—. . .”

“What’s that, baby?” He smiles into your hair and exhales through his nose. So typical of you to get upset about something cute like that, he knows you’ll be okay. “Your arm’s all black ‘n blue, and you’re worried about your ring—?”

“But it’s special—”

“Shhhhh . . . I know, I know . . . ‘m just askin’ you to ease up.” Another kiss lands on your forehead before he asks, “Where’s it at, baby? I’ll fix it for you.”

You pout and look somewhere behind him. “On the table, but you’re not gonna be able to—”

“Just take a breath ‘n relax f’me, yeah? I got it.”

He stands upright again, turning to check that the ring is there—that beautiful, beautiful big diamond for his precious girl, before reaching toward the nape of his neck to unclasp his chain. Carefully, he threads it through the ring, silently urges you to sit up so he can hook it around your neck, icy-cool on your smooth skin, admiring the way it sparkles like your eyes.

You’re still pouting when he’s done, and he kisses your soft lips anyway while he wipes away stray tears. “Better?”

“. . . yeah,” you admit through a murmur.

“Good,” he huffs, pulling the visitor’s chair right next to your bed. With your good arm, you reach for him, just any part of him, and he holds your hand as he kisses your dry knuckles. “You gonna tell me what happened now? What’s got you all banged up?”

And you groan and roll your eyes, insisting that it’s too embarrassing to tell, and he lets you drag it out just because he thinks it’s cute when you’re stubborn. The doctor comes in with the x-rays to confirm that, yes, indeed, you’ve got yourself a broken arm, and after you’re splinted and discharged and given a sling and the next day’s protocol, Carmen holds your good hand on the way out the door.

“Oh,” you start, pausing before he opens the car door for you, “I forgot to tell you.”

“Hm?”

“I drove here.”

“You what?”

“I told you, I was embarrassed, Carm—”

“Jesus fuckin’ Christ, baby,” he grunts, laughing and shaking his head with fingers running through his hair as he helps you into the passenger’s seat. “You’re killin’ me today, y’know that?”

And it’s not the last time. When he unlocks the front door and sees the laundry spilled all the way down the stairs, with a basket flipped upside down at the bottom, he can put the pieces together. He kisses you softly, doesn’t say a word about it, takes you to the bedroom, and tucks you into bed to let you rest now that your adrenaline is wearing off and the pain meds are making you sleepy.

He fixes up the mess without a second thought, and once he’s done he slips right under the covers next to you, thanking whatever God there is that you’re okay, and that he’s got you back in his arms.

(And tomorrow, when he takes you into the doctor’s office for a proper cast, he has Natalie and Pete pick up your car. He still hounds on you about it weeks later, how you drove yourself to the hospital with a broken arm. You insist it makes for a good story, and to that he can’t deny.)

[nvuy]

to invoke perjury (and to love no one else) — sunday

summary. an old telltale whisper of a confession leaves sunday defenceless, and all the more paranoid of your loyalty to him.

notes. omg this is so epic i say as i hold up this work that nobody asked for. i finally finished the penacony tb quest everybody clap it up for me. my sunday obsession is so so bad somebody save me from the trenches.

warnings. mdni. implied explicit content, dark themes, manipulation, sunday is (unsurprisingly) very controlling, sunday is also tremendously paranoid of everything, yandere themes, he makes you cry, sunday uses that weird lying curse on you, but worry not he does love you. i think. let me know if ive missed anything!

“You are breaking my heart.”

You glanced up from the model of the city, growing tired of picking at the corner of one of the buildings. A nervous habit, if you will. When Sunday noticed the damage later, he’d scold you for it.

For now, his eyes were elsewhere. He, too, was staring down at the miniature pinball machine, spinning it with a gloved finger.

You fidgeted, uncertain. “What?”

“You’re lying to me,” Sunday accused. His tone was soft.

Your hands pressed to the sides of the table. “I haven’t lied to you.”

“Not recently, no,” he agreed. He agreed, and you almost sprang from your seat. “But you have. And you still are.”

To that, you gripped the edge of the table tighter. Uncertainty wrought heavy in your bones like lead.

It suddenly felt cold. As if he’d slid ice along your spine. A chill wracked through you. You realised the feeling was his gaze.

He hadn’t taken his eyes off you.

But he was still slowly twisting the pinball machine around and around. He then sighed.

And then he leaned back and traced a finger along the edge of the table, not at all mindful of the small animated figurines occupying the city.

He gave one of their heads a small push, and the small figure’s body sank into the floor.

You took it as a warning.

“Do you remember the night we met?”

Of course you did.

It was a swirl of colour and muted hushed whispers now, but you could recall taking his hand, promising him the world, and kissing along his fingers to the swell of his wrist.

You nodded meekly.

Sunday hummed, clearly lost in thought. “I never forgot what you said to me.” Oh, you knew that look. That distant, faraway look. Like he’s trapping himself in his own head again. He was good at that. Acting, pretending. Putting on a show. “I’d never felt the same again.”

He was still tracing the edge of the table.

There was a small grin on his face.

Such a pleasant expression, paired with that a gorgeous light-hearted tone. His voice sounded like a lullaby echoing in the back of your mind.

His halo was glowing in the light.

“You said to me you’d be my everything. You offered a piece of your very own soul to me.” He gloved finger flitted from the polished wood, and then stopped short of your hand resting on the table. “You have such a lovely heart.”

The muscle raced in your chest.

You weren’t sure if it was out of flattery or fear. You weren’t able to tell the difference anymore.

“Such a shame you continue to spit poison at me. I used to love talking to you.” His gloved finger followed the curvature of your knuckles. “You’ve changed. You’re so different from when I met you.”

Your hands curled into fists as he traced the bone-white colour as you squeezed. Your nails dug into your palms.

He’d changed, too. He’s different too. He’s more watchful now. He barely makes time for himself anymore. He’s always either working or watching you like a hawk.

It’s unnerving. The unsettling brush of his lashes against your skin, and that unbreaking stare.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” was all you said. “I haven’t changed at all.”

Sunday hummed. “Are you sure?”

“Very.” You found the courage to glance up at him. That same unbreaking stare. When you met his gaze, he smiled. “I still care about you.”

“But, you don’t.” There was a light hearted ring in his voice.

You stopped. “What?”

“You don’t love me anymore.”

And there it was.

He was paranoid. He always had been, since the day you shedded a glove from his hand to kiss the skin wrapped around bone white knuckles. He’d been so busy pressing his nails into his palm, so preoccupied in what you were doing, why you were doing this, what you gained from it.

He’s paranoid now. He’s never stopped. He’s always been anxious. He’s always been overthinking your every move like you’re an opponent in a game of chess; always on his toes, always watching, either with his own eyes that more often than not, glared daggers into you, or through the nightingales that swarmed the mansion.

You were shaking. You tried to stop yourself.

He noticed. “You’re upset.”

“Of course, I’m upset.” Your nails dug into the underside of the table. You felt them strain as your jaw clenched.

“Is it wrong to think you’re dishonest?”

“Yes,” you answered. “Yes, it’s wrong. You’re wrong.”

“Perhaps I am, then, for falling in love with a liar.” His fingers chased up your arm slowly. “I always valued honesty above all. How rich.”

“But I’m–” You didn’t even know how to defend yourself.

Instead, you fell completely silent, face burning in humiliation.

The scent of him was intoxicating. Orange blossoms and sandalwood. You had memorised the scents of his favourite fragrances, the shampoo he used, down to his toothpaste. You knew all of it. The way he brushed his hair, the temperature of the water he preferred for his baths, to the chronological order of steps on how he got ready in the morning.

It was all order; a set of stagnant unchanging steps. Like he was following a recipe to its very word.

He was particular.

And he hated change.

He took your silence as an invitation to pry further. “You were so enchanting that night.” He was telling the truth. You could read it on his expression–and his expression. That same expression he held on that night you offered him your heart to take. “And I know now, that you are most enchanting when you lie.”

“What’s–” You interlocked your fingers. His own were tracing the bone of your shoulder now. “What have I done? Why’re you–”

“You, of all people, must understand my uncertainty,” he spoke. He sounded as if you were supposed to know the answer.

Maybe there was no answer at all. No spark to his flame. He’s just doing all of this, because he can. Because he’s paranoid, and he’s hiding his churning stomach and the anxiety that fills his throat with this stage play he’s put on.

“You willingly took in a perfect home, much different from where you came from.” He gestured to the room around him. Pillars that intricately curled into the ceiling, floor polished, the scaled model of Penacony tended to and dusted, and the walls featuring thousands of commissioned pieces from artists all over the galaxy. “No sorrows, no disorder, no dishonesty. Certainly not here.

His eyes shift to you again. “And certainly not now.”

You shrank down into your seat.

“And, under the light of the Harmony–” He raises his hands to gesture to the ceiling, as if THEY’RE watching over him. “–All wickedness is revealed. That is precisely why you're so radiant in the sunlight.”

What the fuck is he talking about?

He must have noticed your expression. You must have appeared distressed. Fidgeting nervously, your blood running cold beneath your skin.

Perhaps your apprehension, the clear anxiousness drawn over your face, egged him further.

He did not dwell on it. Instead, he simply narrowed his eyes. “It is as I suspected.” When your eyebrows raised in surprise, he continued, “you’ve been lying.”

“You don’t trust me anymore?” You frantically wiped a stray tear that had fallen. You hoped he didn’t notice the waver in your tone.

Sunday merely nodded, blinking slowly. “You understand now.”

You stared at the floor. His eyes were burning into your skull.

Your brows knitted together.

A bell tolled nearby.

You don’t recall any sort of church close by.

“I cannot excuse, nor house, nor bed, a liar. It is beyond THEIR natural order. Liars have no place in an assimilated, perfect world.”

You looked elsewhere. You picked nervously at the hem of your shirt, suddenly feeling like you were drowning in hot water.

Your nose filled and clogged with a horrible earthy scent much unlike his shampoo. This was different, real and raw, like there was somebody else in the room.

When you looked around, there was nobody else.

Just the two of you.

“Stand up,” he ordered softly.

You did so, hesitantly, still shaking.

You must have looked pathetic.

Sunday offered you his hand.

Desperate, you took it, and kissed his knuckles.

He let out a faint laugh. “That will not work. Not this time, I’m afraid.” He looked up towards the ceiling for a brief moment, before he closed his eyes. “O Triple-Faced Soul, let fire brand flesh and bone with the mark of honesty–”

Something was wrong, and his face was changing.

For a moment, you saw tracks like golden water flow down his cheeks.

His halo was glowing, but there was something else behind his head. A clouded and muted swirl of colours, mismatched and ever changing.

You tried to pull your hand from his grip, but there was a weight pressed to your limbs.

“–And ensure that every vow is etched in the fervour of undeniable truth.”

“What’re you–” He let go of your hand and you stumbled. The bell toll was only just louder by a margin, and there was now a searing heat in your head. “What’re you doing?!”

Your hands desperately rested on his shoulders, trying to keep yourself upright.

You tried again to wrench yourself from his touch. It was sickening how gentle he was being.

Slowly, he guided you back to the love seat, tutting and scolding you as you fought in his hold. How could somebody so horrible be so gentle?

You felt the urge to throw up all over his clothes. Sweat beaded down your neck and pooled at your collarbone like a necklace.

“What did you do to me?” You were panicking. “What have you done?” You pressed the pads of your fingers to your temples to try and soothe the burning. “You cursed me?”

“I’ve blessed you,” he whispered. “This way, you will be rectified.”

Something was whispering to you. Almost inaudible, indiscernible, like the banging of a death knell in your ears.

What is it? What is that?

You looked to him for an answer, but words caught heavy on your tongue like lead.

“All you have to do is tell the truth.”

You shook your head. “I’m not speaking to you like this,” you tried. Your voice came out strained.

“You don’t have a choice,” he snapped. “You are not in control.”

“You’ll hurt me for the sake of your precious pride?” Your hands coiled into fists at your sides. Thank the Lords he’d seated you, for you were sure you would’ve fallen over by now. Your feet had since gone numb.

The whispering was right in your ear. When you turned your head to confront the noise, there was nothing there.

“It will not hurt if you tell the truth,” Sunday explained gently. “I hope that doesn’t come as a challenge to you.”

Get out of my head get out of my head get out of my head–

“I’m not answering anything you ask,” you forced out through gritted teeth.

Sunday only let out a breathy, exasperated sigh. “Then don’t. We’ll see what happens to you.”

You said nothing.

Instead, you tried to stand up to leave. Screw this curse he’s put on your head because he’s retreated into his own insecurities. He wasn’t winning this time.

You were so sick of this paranoia.

When you stood, a dizziness hit you like a wave. You desperately reached for anything, and your hands found his. He did not guide you back down into the seat, but his gloved hands remained encased in yours.

Such a perfect, warm fit.

Sunday offered you a gentle, yet peculiar smile.

“Question: have you ever lied to me?”

You didn’t answer.

Your flesh felt as though it was set alight. As if the halovian had personally poured gasoline over you and held a match to the tip of your nose and watched you burn alive.

The whispering was loud. The voices was indiscernible. You couldn’t place a finger to its source, nor a face, nor a name. Three voices, all repeating the same thing. You could tell from its tone, its pitch modulation, and yet you couldn’t understand what was being spoken.

It didn’t sound like any language you knew.

“Answer the question, angel.”

Hot tears bubbled over your lashes.

“Yes.” You fought to keep the word lodged in the back of your throat, but when you forced it out, the lava on your tongue cooled significantly. The whispers grew softer.

He noticed the look of relief cross over your face. “See?” A gloved hand came down to gently touch the crown of your head. “Just answer truthfully, and it will all be okay.”

Then, the white material of his gloves came forward to swipe gently at the tears below your eyes. Salt soaked the soft cotton.

Your hand reached up shakily to hold onto his wrist.

“Did you lie to me the night we met?”

The swirls of colour around his halo were returning.

Your thumb traced the ring on his finger. Gold, with a blue gem on its interior.

Instead of answering, you tried to press your lips to his.

Sunday stopped you, though it took restraint. He held your face still, lips just barely brushing against your own. He tasted salt. Salt and sweet lies, and Aeons above was it addicting.

He sighed. “Don’t tempt me.” He watched you flinch, and rang a simple reminder, “answer.”

“Yes,” you said.

As he expected.

You were so beautiful like this. Raw, and honest.

His heart squeezed with disgust. “Did you lie when you said you loved me?”

Frantically, you shook your head. “No.”

He smiled.

“Did you lie when you said you’d die for me?” He tilted his head.

Your lips pressed together. Your fingers curled tight in the loose curls of his hair. Your nails brushed softly against his feathers.

Your chest heaved when he finally sat beside you on the couch. His skin was so warm pressed against yours, and the contact made you feel dizzy.

“Yes,” you responded.

He accepted it. His finger softly petted your cheek.

Oh, you were crying.

You felt so pathetic and weak, and bubbled words caught in your throat like fish on a hook. You felt trapped, and the colours behind his head were growing more vibrant, brighter, accompanying and drowning out that awful halo.

He’s horrible. He’s so horrible.

You wanted to say it, you wanted to tell him that you needed him to leave. You needed him gone.

He beat you to it. “Do you hate me?”

You heaved a sob. “No.” And you didn’t. You didn’t hate him, despite his obsessive control and unjustified possessiveness. His hubris, and his inability to see past his own paranoia and fear. “Please stop.”

You pressed your lips to the small, poniard-shaped jewel on his chest.

Your sign of devotion did not deter him, though, he was sure you would always have some sort of effect on him.

“It shouldn’t hurt if you tell the truth,” Sunday reminded you. There was a teasing lilt to his voice.

“I don’t hate you,” you repeated, this time as firmly as you could—albeit your voice shook with fervour. “I never hated you.”

“I’m relieved.” His hand petted your hair. “So, so relieved.”

You buried your face into his shoulder and sobbed.

You prayed it was over. You prayed and prayed for the voices to dissipate from your mind. You tried to will them away, to squeeze your eyes shut and beg for the whispers to fade into the background of white noise and static.

The kaleidoscope of colours crept below your eyelids.

Sunday held you securely, and as warm as he was, and as firm and yet so gently his arms sat snugly against you, you felt so cold. So cold and alone and so afraid.

He could fix that.

He hadn’t said a word for a moment.

The burning feeling of your skin returned, and you let out another drawn out noise of distress.

He shushed you. “One final question.”

You shook your head.

Your hands were trembling, fingers weakly pressing to your temples to rid the pounding that made your stomach churn. Your vision was swamped in swirls and patterns of colours you couldn’t put a name to.

His face, too, warped into something evil.

This wasn’t the man whose knuckles you’d kissed, whose wings gently fluttered against your skin, who’d plucked a small feather from them and handed it to you as a symbol of his devotion.

His halo dimmed for a moment.

You felt his lips brush against your ear and the tickle of a feather.

“Do you still love me?”

[dancingbirdie]

I saw you did a new submission for Astarion. Is it okay if I ask for another thing for Astarion who’s very submissive and whiny for your touch?

Hi anon! I hope I did your request justice. I was feeling a little angsty today and this is what came out. Feel free to submit another request if this didn't scratch your itch, so to speak.

As always, comments and reactions are appreciated.

xoxoxo

Bring Me Back

Rating: Mature

Pairing: Astarion x gn!Reader

Word Count: 1.3K

Warnings/Tags: Oral sex (Astarion receiving), slight hand/finger kink, body worship, mentions of blood & gore, trauma/trauma response, disassociation, fluff and angst and smut, p0rn with a little plot.

Summary: Astarion just needs some love and comfort from you after a particularly brutal fight.

*****

There was blood on his hands. Too much. Dried and crusted, saturating the wrinkles around his knuckles. He sat on the edge of the bed you were sharing, hands limp in his lap. 

He’d killed so many today. You all had, but he more so than anyone else. It had been a vicious battle, the reality of which seemed to be sinking into his bones now. 

“Astarion?” you ventured carefully. You were carrying in a water pitcher and basin you had pilfered from the cook’s quarters downstairs. 

He didn’t seem to register your voice. You tried again, moving cautiously to kneel on the floor before him. 

“Astarion?”

“Hmm?” he responded, his glassy eyes finally sharpening enough to take you in. “Oh, apologies, darling. My mind… it must’ve wandered.”

“Are you feeling all right?” you probed in a low murmur. 

“I feel…,” he trailed off, his head shifting to stare vacantly out the dingy window near the bedside. “Numb.”

“Numb?” you echoed.

“Mm. Disconnected, more like,” he amended distractedly. 

“Hm, I see,” you replied, unsure of what more there was to say. 

Certainly you could understand the feeling. And certainly it was justified, after the carnage you all had wrought today. No matter how noble the cause, things had still ended in a tide of blood and viscera. 

You were at a loss for how to comfort him. But the rational part of your brain settled on addressing the most immediate problem before you. Namely, the blood on his hands. 

“Astarion,” you soothed, waiting until he turned back to look down at you again. “I’d like to clean up your hands before we rest.”

He stared at you blankly. Then slowly, his gaze drifted down to his hands. He turned them over, palms up, studying them absently.

“Is that okay? Can I touch you?” you pressed. 

You knew his displeasure in being touched without warning. You’d seen his reactions frequently enough, on the road with your other companions. Each clap on the shoulder from Gale. Each good-natured shove from Karlach. His response was subtle, but not lost on you. He would grimace and shrink away. Every time.

“Touch me?” he repeated now, brows upturned.

“Yes,” you nodded. “To clean your hands of the blood, love.”

He shuddered. You watched as his fingertips twitched. His bottom lip trembled. 

“Please,” he uttered in a broken plea. 

You nodded again and set to work. Gingerly, you lifted each hand, cradling it with reverence. You passed the rag soaked in tepid, rose-scented water over each digit, in between them. You swiped under each nail, over each knuckle, clearing his fingers of blood, one by one. You soothed over his palms, over the patchwork of calluses on the pads of fingers, over the delicate skin of the backside of his palms. He watched you in silence as you carried out your cleaning, mesmerized. 

The basin was colored deep crimson by the time you finished. Grabbing a dry cloth, you patted his hands dry. You squeezed them both gently before moving to release them. You prepared to stand and get yourself ready for rest. 

But Astarion stopped you. His hands, once limp while you were caring for him, suddenly clutched yours desperately. Your eyes whipped up to meet his in surprise. They were limned in tears that had yet to fall. 

“Please,” he whispered in a desperate sort of voice. A whine, almost. “Don’t stop. Don’t stop touching me.”

You swallowed thickly, unsure of what to make of his plea. 

He plunged ahead at your reticence. “I can’t… I want to be here. In this moment. But I can’t find my way back,” he croaked. 

His voice, so broken, so desolate, was rending your heart in two. It was more than you could bear. 

“Touch me,” he begged. “Bring me back. Please.”

You nodded, never breaking eye contact, as you rose from your crouched position on the floor before him. Tears streamed silently down both of your faces. Neither of you made a move to wipe them away. 

Slowly, carefully, you urged him to shift back on the bed as your legs parted to straddle him. Perched atop his lap, you threaded your fingers through his silvery locks. Pulled on them slightly. Tugged at them until he groaned. 

His hands grasped your hip bones, hard enough that you were sure there would be finger-shaped bruises there tomorrow. You didn’t mind. You would cherish them, those marks from your lover. 

“Come back to me, love. Come back to me,” you whispered in between hot, open-mouthed kisses. Your tongues danced together, like old friends.

You nipped at the hollow place near his clavicle. You sucked on the skin where his neck met his shoulder. His needy, breathy whines only goaded you further. You hoped the fire that was igniting in your veins would transfer to his. If the way his hips were canting into you was any indication, you were both tinderboxes itching to be set ablaze. 

“Be here. Be here, in this moment with me,” you crooned in his ear, rolling your hips into his. You were both still fully dressed, but your bodies crested and fell together in perfect timing. A practice performance for what was to come. 

“Yes, yes,” Astarion keened, as you slipped a hand to brazenly rub the flat of your palm against his erection. The fabric of his breeches was strained to the point of stretching. 

“I’m here,” he panted. “I’m here.”

“Good, stay with me, I want to taste you,” you whispered. “Come back to me, let me taste you.”

“Fuck, please,” he moaned, his head drooping onto your shoulder. He was so pliant in this moment, like putty in your hands.

“Lie back,” you ordered, nudging him backwards with your body. “Untie your breeches.”

“Yes,” he agreed, all too eager to follow your command. Chest heaving, he reclined further back onto the bed. His fingers quickly set to work on freeing himself from his leathers. 

“That’s it, darling, yes,” you cooed, watching him bare himself before you. “Stay here with me. Watch me. Watch me keep you here.”

“Gods, yes, yes,” Astarion whined, lifting his head to witness you take him fully in your mouth. 

“Fuck,” you heard him bark wantonly above you. Felt his hips cant himself deeper into your mouth, until your lips were meeting the base of him. 

His dulcet whimpers and moans were music to your ears. As you worshiped him with your mouth. As you caressed him lovingly back into his body, back into this moment, back into this bed with you. 

You could sense he was close to climax as his hands gripped your hair tighter and tighter. You swirled your tongue around him with greater fervor, teasing him closer and closer to the edge. 

“Let me come in your mouth, please, darling, please,” he keened, hips bucking erratically against you. 

Refusing to bring him down from this high with words, you met his eyes and nodded your assent, gripping his thighs tighter as if to say go on then, love. 

And he did. He spilled himself down your throat in delicious pulses. You swallowed every bit, relishing his release as if it were your own. 

With a soft pop of your lips, you released him. Licked him clean, before stretching out to lie on the bed beside him.

His chest was heaving as he recovered. You delicately traced the muscles of his abdomen as he came to. After a few moments, he lifted a hand to clasp your fingers. Stilled them with his own as they interlaced on his chest. 

“Did you find your way back?” you whispered. 

He turned his head to look at you. His lips upturned in a quiet, muted sort of smile. 

“Thanks to you,” he returned quietly. “I’m here again. Here with you.”

[faeriekit]

Health and Hybrids (XXIII)👽👻💚

[I can't remember the original prompt posters  for the life of me but here's a mashup between a cryptid!Danny, presumed-alien!Danny, dp x dc, and the prompt made the one body horror meat grinder fic.]

🖤Chapter navigation can be found here🖤 Click to browse previous updates.

💚 Ao3 Is here for all parts 💚 (now featuring mediocre mouseover translations, only available on a computer)

Where we last left off... J'onn broke the news that Danny thinks he's going to be forced into combat in exchange for his medical care. Everyone disliked that™.

Trigger warnings for this story:  body horror | gore | post-dissection fic | dehumanization (probably) |  my nonexistent attempts at following DC canon. On with the show.

💚👻👽👻💚

COME GET YOUR NEW ART HERE 💥🍳!!💥 IT'S FIBERCRAFT!!Shoutout to @rainbowbeansprout for crocheting a fic accurate injured ghost Danny!! That's outstanding!!

💚👻👽👻💚

So, Wally broke all of the bones in his legs yesterday.

Which is…not ideal. Still. He’s pretty used to it at this point, though, and he’s already mostly healed.

It’s just that. Well.

…The rest of healing is kind of…time-consuming.

So Wally’s in basketball shorts and a mask and a t-shirt he’d started using as pajamas when he was in college and he’s on the med floor of the Watchtower, and yet another physical therapist is helping him bend his leg back and forth, back and forth, back and forth, because he’d tripped in the middle of the Speedforce and busted everything hip-down.

So. (Back, and forth. Back, and forth. Back…) This sucks.

“Do we have to do this every time?” Wally asks, as if there isn’t a team of medical professionals kept on hand to deal with Superpower-wrought Super Medical Problems.

“Do you have to shatter your legs every time?” the PT asks back wryly, which, hey! The pressure pressing up against his bare foot is an additional stressor to the sass. “Bend this more for me, Flash. You can do it.”

Wally grumbles, and pretends the angle his leg is bending at doesn’t make him wince. Wow is he going to have to build his flexibility back up again.

The physical therapy room looks just like any other gym, basically; a lot of squishy mats in playful colors, a lot of grippy tape; a LOT of wipeable vinyl surfaces that can be sanitized at a moment’s notice. It smells kind of weird and plasticky and kind of like alcohol cleaner.

It’s not his favorite room in the Watchtower, but, eh. It could be way worse. What’s unusual is the whirrr of the door opening and closing in one of the private care rooms for another patient, since, you know...HIPAA and all that. Wally assumes. Or is it costume confidentiality once you leave Earth's atmosphere...?

Usually everyone knows who’s stopping in for PE through the sheer power of the Justice League gossip groupchats. (There’s at least nine. Wally’s in four of them. He aspires to be in two more by April.) There hasn’t been a big fight that requires long-term medical care in a while, and there’s no one Wally can think of who’d need this kind of recovery.

Something’s buzzing at the outside of his awareness, though. It sounds kind of…

Wally perks up. “Hey, the alien kid’s here!”

The PT holding Wally up at the waist hums. Her name is Cindy, and judging from their previous conversations, she thinks that Wally is the dumbest man alive. “There’s a million of those, Flash. Which one?”

“The one who bit Superman,” Wally adds.

Judging by the face Cindy makes, this clarifies nothing.

“Most recently,” Wally stresses, carefully not wincing as his leg gets stretched out again, only to be pulled back into position as tightly as before. “OW. Cindy, you’re killing me.”

Cindy makes a strangled noise. She asks: “What, again?” which is how Wally remembers that he got torn back out of the time stream not all that long ago, and it may be a big gauche to joke about your own death with the people who care about it.

Whoops. Wally winces. “…Nevermind?”

The other PTs make various fussy and annoyed noises, but the alien kid is wheeled onto the other side of the medical floor’s only gym. (The actual training floors are on another level. Wally wishes he was there. Alone.)

(Without four PTs clinging to his legs at all times.)

Wally waves. It’s a nice enough gesture, and now that the alien-phantasm-turned-flesh-and-blood-boy is more physically embodied than he used to be, the boy even deigns to carefully wave back.

The kid’s PTs—Wally thinks at least one of them is from the team that supervises Bart and his super-powered-leg-problems—end up encouraging the alien kid’s chair round to the soft mats where the kid can lay down. He ends up in the exact same position Wally is—horizontal on the floor, legs forcibly pinwheeled by enthusiastic but firm PTs.

Wally can physically feel the kid’s astonishment and discontentment buzzing in the air as he figures out what’s being done to him. Wally can’t help but laugh.

The kid angles his head towards the speedster. His face still looks—well, it looks…bad. It looks bad, unhealed and still threatening to weep neon green body fluids; there’s a wet, living crack running up and down his face that makes eye contact kind of hard. His hands are all spidery—this kid can probably hold and grip things, but the previous breakage have left his hands a little too easy to splay, a little too oddly-angled. He’s too thin to keep himself fully upright for long. When he looks at you, his eyes shake like a poorly lined-up television signal.

Martian Manhunter had said that he’d once looked like a healthy, happy human child. His current form is a reflection of the injuries he’d experienced since.

...What a thing for a kid to go through. Wally wouldn’t wish this sort of injury on anyone.

“­Alright, up you go,” the PT above him—Rhys, Wally remembers at the very last second—orders, and Wally is prompted to let the man help him back upright. “Over to the bars for you. You think your legs are up to bearing that kind of weight as you try out walking?”

“…Sure,” Wally lies to Rhys. It’ll be fine. Probably. By the time he gets over there, his legs might have already speed-healed by then. “Hand me the—?”

“Yeah, yeah, here’s the crutches. Don’t destroy yourself trying to make this happen, okay?”

So Wally gets set up at the glorified playground equipment in his least restrictive gym clothes, one long iron bar under one arm, and one long iron bar under the other. Two full-size physical therapists spot him as the speedster completes the most strenuous task available to him at the moment: walking across a very short distance without putting his full weight on his legs.

Wally puts one shaking leg in front of the other. The steps are slow. The urge to zoom to the end of the little bowling lane he’s stuck in—and therefore shatter his legs under the speedforce, again—is irresistibly temping.

Healing sucks. And Wally’s even got the longer end of the stick.

In the end, Wally sticks the landing. He is unreasonably sweaty. He is miserable. But he makes it to the end. Every one of the witnessing PTs applauds as if this is a great success. It’s literally not. It’s the inevitable result of pushing himself too far for the third time this year.

A question buzzes through the air, fluffing through Wally’s hair and the little fine hairs up and down his body. It’s nothing but inquisitive—whatareyoudoing whatareyoudoing?

Wally lets the PT maneuver a chair underneath him. It gives him enough breathing room to turn his upper torso, and he ends up catching the eye of the little alien kid in the corner. He’s sat on a yoga ball, two members of his medical team and one of the kids’ PTs trying to get his attention back to his exercises.

“Hey,” Wally realizes suddenly. “Your casts are gone!”

The kids’ legs are actually bare, which Wally’s never seen before. They’re twiggy, sure, stretched taut over a bone frame, and discolored and pale, but they’re legs. Wally hadn’t even known the alien had possessed legs until he’d formed a physical body months and months ago.

“Dude, that’s great!”

Happy/smug/proud vibrates through the room, making Wally’s teeth buzz. The kid smiles through a half-split lip, and bounces on the yoga ball ever so slightly.

“Good,” the kid says, surprising Wally, his PTs, and the kid’s usual medical team. He was talking already?! He thought J’onn had said—

“Hurt?” the boy asks, concern/concern flooding through the air. Oh. Right. He’s probably here for his busted legs; it would make sense that by virtue of the setting, Wally would be injured too.

And, sure, Wally busted his legs, but he at least heals with all the swiftness of the speedforce. “Meh.” Wally waves off the question. “I’m fine. It’ll be quick for me; some rehab and some lunch and a few days off, and I’ll be in shipshape.”

Wait. Wally’s eyes scrunches up. Is using wordplay appropriate with this kid…?

“Pain?” the kid asks, and turned his attention to the closest member of his medical team. “He pain?”

The medical professional sighs, which finally clues Wally in that the man is no longer masked. Hey, the kid is out of medical isolation! “The Flash has his own medication, thankfully. His doctors know what to do.”

The kid frowns. He doesn’t get it. He looks at Wally, and he looks at the staffer, who shrugs. “It’s the usual indicator word he uses for pain medication. He’s wondering if you’re hurt enough to need some.”

Wally hums. On one hand, it’s sweet that the alien kid is worried about him. It’s a huge step upwards from the alien who spent all his time hiding in abandoned meeting rooms and occasionally biting Superheroes.

On the other hand, the kid doesn’t just look worried that Wally might not be getting care; he looks scared.

Something happened to this kid. Something he can't shake off.

Wally breathes in, and breathes out.

—And breathes in sharply when Cindy starts wiggling his feet. She doesn’t respond at all to his glare, because she is a professional, and he is not a big baby of a superhero.

Mean.

“I’m fine,” Wally finally responds, trying to alleviate the kid’s concerns through sheer vibes-telepathy alone. Who knows if it’s working, but it makes Wally feel better about trying at the very least. “I’ve got my own team to fix me up, and they do a good job of taking care of me. Even if they’re bullying me at my most vulnerable.”

“Anything for you, boss,” Cindy volleys back cheerfully. “Gimme your other leg.”

The tension in the air slowly dissipates. The kid doesn’t stop shooting occasional looks at the unadorned, half-out-of-uniform Flash, but he does let Bart’s little PT team get to working on stretching out his previously-bound now-physical legs and getting him upright—if only for a few seconds at a time, balanced precariously by humans who actually touch his back and arms and hips and legs.

Wally’s session wraps up before the kid’s does. He’s not in any rush. He gets onto the walking crutches Rhys leaves out for his temporary use and lopes over to watch, occasionally hooting and applauding when the kid pulls off something no one’d been sure he could do.

The double handed high-five Wally offers him at the end is punctuated with shaky eye contact, two working hands, and a green-threaded beaming grin.

*

Diana cheerfully digs into her kebab lunch, plastic cutlery pushed to their maximum limit before threatening to break under her prodigious strength. “You know, Batman,” she starts, beaming, “My charge gave me his name the other day.”

Bruce sets down his muenster-ham-and-whole-wheat sandwich mid-bite. “I’ll need to hear everything,” he says immediately, to which Diana tuts.

“Oh, Batman, I could never break his trust like that,” she says, sweet as anything. She finesses a bite of lamb from the skewer and takes a neat bite.

“…Wonder Woman,” Batman says.

“Hm?”

“Diana.”

“Is there something you needed, Bruce?” Diana asks, pleased with herself. There genuinely is very little that could be done with a vague description of a now-altered human form and a first name alone; besides, she genuinely does feel that hearing the boy’s name come from others’ lips would be upsetting for him. Danny offered his name to Diana alone, and so it shall remain until hers alone he offers it to others.

Still, she is not above bragging.

“I need information.” Bruce’s face underneath his mask is stone.

Diana dips a second chunk of lamb into a little container of tzatziki sauce. “Well, then,” she points out, “Shouldn’t you spend some time building rapport with my charge, then?”

The feared Batman of Gotham, father of a half-dozen highly trained heroes, bristles like a wet cat. The demeanor is almost comical. He knows what he looks like to non-Gothamite children. He knows his suit will make this fight for common familiarity an uphill battle.

Diana smugly works through her lunch and ignores Bruce’s silent brooding as he does the same.

[genshin-impact-updates]

Gemstone Wrought of Tears and Mettle

"Not long after we first met, I saw Kachina crying, and tried to hand her a handkerchief. But smiling back, she said to me, 'Don't worry, I'll wipe my own tears away.' That was a moment I'll always remember. So don't you worry about her either — the girl's made of strong stuff. Just make sure you give her all the encouragement she needs."

— Mualani

◆ Name: Kachina

◆ Title: Mottled Gold Yet Unsmelted

◆ Nanatzcayan Young Braveheart

◆ Vision: Geo

◆ Constellation: Ochotona Princeps

Just like other younglings of the Children of Echoes, Kachina grew up surrounded by adorable Tepetlisaurs, shiny gems dug up from the depths, and heroic stories passed down by tribal elders. She came to know the mountain paths like the back of her hand, developing a great instinct and skill for searching out the treasures of the earth. In her leisure time, she and her friends would often visit the recording studios where musicians made their music, where they would dance freely to the pulsing rhythms. Growing up in such an environment, the occasional bump or scratch was unavoidable, and when she hurt herself, Kachina would cry out in pain just like any other child. But long before others had recovered from their pain, she would have wiped away her tears and stood back up again.

Of course, she understands why the adults might see her as a good kid — yet she struggles to comprehend why she, of all people, was given the name of "Uthabiti." For as the ancient poem goes:

"The one that dares stand firm as a mountain, their bones like battlements, and hold the sun's gaze — it is they that shall be given unto eternity."

"Fear itself should instead fear me, for my body is like a roaring blaze; destined to melt down all that is mean and lowly, then cast it once more as an epitaph."

What part of her lives up to the lofty spirit embodied by this great name? The young Kachina has yet to figure this out. But having been granted this great honor, she is determined never to give up, no matter how many of her bids at the Pilgrimage of the Return of the Sacred Flame end in vain. Even if it means being ostracized and reproached by her peers, or feeling disappointed, inferior, and at times nearly overwhelmed by landslides of negativity... In the end, she'll wipe it all away along with her tears. Because one thing is for certain — that "Uthabiti" Kachina will never be defeated by her tears.

[cookie-crumblr]

Chubby F! Housewife Reader X M!Yandere Streamer OC Jasper

Part 1?

next part!

(idk i might continue it?? should i? i know it’s more niche)

MINORS DNI

CW: Chubby F!reader, reader has a vagina, reader referred to as she/her, cheating themes, reader in a dress, pet names for reader(darling, ) not smutty yet! slow burn possibly

keep thinking about a chubby housewife reader to like a really shitty but rich man, and they move next door to Jasper………………. MMMMM

Anything in Red reader isn’t aware of

Your husband moved you both into a beautiful mansion in a gated community. It’s amazing, and everything you could ever need, he’s providing.

You fell in love with him a year and a half ago.

It’s not like he lied, but you wouldn’t have married him had you known what he was really like.

He drinks all day and complains all night, and when he fucks you, he finishes in a few seconds. And that’s when he does fuck you! He’s hardly ever even touching you let alone getting it in.

You are standing outside overseeing the movers as they take boxes and furniture into your brand new house. your skirt dances against your legs in the warm, gentle breeze.

Your husband swirls an amber liquid in a short crystal glass, watching you from the doorway. When you wave excitedly, he skulks back into the mansion.

Your heartstrings tug painfully.

He’s taken you far away from all of your loved ones, somewhere where you’re all alone and afraid… And he can’t even be there for you at least little bit? Before a stinging tear fully can form-

“Evenin’” You hear a lazy male voice from nearby, and spin toward your hedges. There’s a wrought gate between yours, and your neighbors’ yard directly… The old neighbors must’ve been their friend. A young looking guy stands on the other side of it, waving kindly to you. His posture is easy, one hand in his jean pocket, the other up in the air, his head tipped back exposing his pale neck. Long black hair frames his face, loaded with piercings. He looks out of place, but perfectly at home standing out.

You approach, figuring that your husband can lead the movers just fine on his own. You don’t notice your slight pout, but Jasper finds it adorable, he bites his lip, eyeing you up.

“Sorry I didn’t bake ya a pie, didn’t know the place would be sold so soon.” He laughs and lazily scratches the back of his head, his shirt pulls up revealing his hip bone.

“Why? ‘s it haunted? OooOo” You wave your fingers to mock something spooky.

He laughs at your cute demeanor, “Eh maybe, last owner did die,” he shrugs.

“Oh my, I’m sorry, I didn’t know….” You idly run your fingers over the cold, slightly bumpy textured gate.

“Nothing to be sorry for, didn’t know them” He shrugs.

“Oh phew! I thought— Anyway!” You shake your hands and head to reset the convo, “What’s up? why’d you call me over here?” You tilt your head and fold your hands in front of you.

“I was just greeting my pretty new neighbor, that’s all,” He grins.

“Oh stop! I’m married!” You shyly laugh and turn your head so that he can’t see you’re flustered.

“happily?” His grin grows as does his suspicion.

“Oh!” You think of an excuse to quickly leave, “I think the movers are calling me!” You rush off back to at least pretend to delegate again.

His brow raises curiously as he smiles after you, watching your curves sway as you walk away.

The stranger watches you for a few minutes longer, and you feel his eyes on you, but you don’t dare turn around and encourage him.

You are a good wife. Regardless of who you ended up marrying. You stomp, steadfast in your decision.

He chuckles before walking back to his home.

~

Inside you finish setting the table with the house workers, and arranging the flowers on all the marble pedestals around the dining room. Your husband is having some business partners over for dinner.

As the door rings you rush to answer the door, and an employee beats you to it, taking their coat and everything.

You aren’t really sure what you should be doing… And your chest tightens with nerves.

“What are you doing out here? You should be with me.” Edward grabs your elbow and drags you along. He’s being rather rough but you can’t help feel a little grateful to be lead. It doesn’t stop your eyes burning in embarrassment.

He sets you down in the seat next to his at the head, and your heart flutters with pride, emotional whiplash aside.

A few men enter the dining room one after the other, and then dinner is served. you’re dissociating for most of it, just nodding along to their dull conversation, until your husband’s hand clasps around your thigh. “Huh?”

“You’re excused now, darling,” he has a cold look in his eye that startles you.

“What?” What he said hurt your feelings, he doesn’t want you around now? did you do something wrong?

“Leave, let us grown ups talk now” He laughs with his business friends joining in.

You feel that far too familiar sting in your eyes, how could he!? that’s so embarrassing! You’re his wife.

Doing your best, you stand without making a scene and give them all your most polite and proper departing smile.

~

It’s cold on the patio. Your evening dress doesn’t cover very much and where it does, the fabric is cool. You’re quick to shiver, but you remain.

There’s a security camera above you and you feel watched, so you decide to go for a walk around the block instead of staying stationary. Maybe that will warm you up a little too.

You creep out the front gate, feeling like you’re a teen again, sneaking out when you aren’t supposed to… But this is your home! you aren’t disallowed from taking a walk!

“Hah!” You laugh to yourself, how silly of a feeling you just had.

As you round a corner adorned by an iron lamp post with glowing twin lanterns, you start dwelling more and more on your predicament. You already felt lonesome before, where Edward had made you feel special, and told you you’d never be alone again. Yet here you are, walking down the dim street, alone.

An engine coming towards you snaps you out of your thoughts, you turn to see a large van slowing down as it approaches you. Your heart thumps and your mind races before the driver side window rolls down revealing your neighbor’s laid back, and smirking face.

You let out a shaky sigh, “oh goodness you scared me for a second!” followed by a nervous laugh.

“You alright? Want a ride?” He asks.

“Oh no, don’t worry about me! I was just taking a stroll,” You let your words hang, wanting to accept but being a little too frightened or nervous to outright accept.

“C’mon, we can have some coffee or tea at my place, ‘sides, i’d feel terrible if i just left ya out here at this time, sure it’s gated but a tasty lookin’ treat like you’d get snatched up in a heartbeat.”

Your face feels hot but you nod and mangange to get out an “mhm!”

He watches you round the front of his van, and reaches his body over the center console to open the passenger door for you.

He offers his hand to help you up, when you take it, it’s cold! “What have you been up to? You feel like death! here!” You bring his hand up to your face and blow warm air over his knuckles.

Crimson fills his cheeks for the moment and is swift to clear back out before you can really admire it.

You pull back away a little embarrassed yourself, you aren’t sure why you did that to a stranger! “Oh! I don’t even know your name! I’m Y/N!” You stick your hand back out in offer to shake his.

He takes it, “Jasper,” a small smile tugs at his lips.

~

The drive isn’t long, but you realize how far from home you actually were, and wonder what he had been doing to find you.

You step out onto his driveway and anxiously look through the gate connecting your yards. It feels as though this is something you really shouldn’t be doing… But this Jasper guy could be a friend, and then you won’t be so lonely anymore!

Your home is still lit up inside, so you’re assuming they’re still talking in there.

Jasper’s space on the inside is dimly lit, but brightly coloured retro fantasy, all soft shapes with rounded sides. Mostly pinks and purples. Very vaporwave. The kitchen tiles, though the typical black and white checker board, warp and look like waves on the floor. Plants cover most all the surfaces.

He makes you your preferred tea, or coffee, he doesn’t make himself a cup of either. Instead he grabs a pale blue, and silver can from the fridge.

“Oh i see how it is,” You say with sarcasm.

“I figured you’d need to warm up,” A smile crosses his lips that has your body feeling hot.

You sip your drink nonchalantly.

“So what were you doing out there by yourself?”

“My husband— Nevermind, sorry. I shouldn’t talk bad about my husband behind his back…”

“Well I know something we could do if you don’t wanna go back yet…” his brow raises in a challenge.

[huramuna]

even in undeath - chapter 1.

lich king aemond x reader a 'world of warcraft' AU. prev | next

The Lich King is the master and lord of the Scourge. Consisting of thousands of walking corpses, disembodied spirits, beasts of the north, and damned mortal men, the Scourge is a terrifying and insidious enemy.

word count: 2.3k

@huramuna-fics - follow & turn on notifications for just my fic postings! no taglists right now, sorry.

content: DEAD DOVE: DO NOT EAT, DUBCON, smut, heavy heavy angst, graphic depictions of violence, allusions to cannibalism, imprisonment, kidnapping, murder, suicidal thoughts and ideation, mutilation of corpses, obsessive aemond, dark aemond, a happy ending is not in our future. PLEASE MIND THE TAGS! This story will be pretty dark.

story playlist

It was dark and cold. There was a faint dripping of water somewhere off to the side, but you couldn’t quite see where. The echoes of whimpers ricocheted off of the craggy walls, stinging your eardrums. 

This was the descent into madness, wasn’t it?

You weren’t sure how long you’d been chained up for— how long had it been since your village burned to the ground? Since you watched the ghouls rip apart the cow farmer from down the road. Since you watched hellhounds crunching on little Mary Jay’s bones. Since you had watched your mother and stepfather plead and beg for their lives, for forgiveness, for mercy, for absolution of their supposed sins before the death knight’s sword lopped their heads off. 

How long has it been? 

Shifting slightly, the chain tied to your throat clinked against the wall. There was no light, no passage of time to be had in the dank, pitch black cave they stowed you and a few select others in. You only had on a ragged potato sack as a dress, the sensation of dirt and grime caked on your hair and under your nails making you feel less than human. 

But— you were still human. For now. The Scourge had ravaged the Eastern Kingdoms without mercy, swiping through the North and South like a fast traveling plague, curdling and damning everything it touched. Hordes of undead zombies, ghouls and hellhounds were the first to raze the cities, driving out the people like mice from the walls. Then the banshees came, along with the necromancers to raise the dead, adding them to a forever amounting army.

Not even Quel’thalas had been able to resist it, an ancient elven city hewn in magic.

What chance did you have? 

More than most, evidently. Your mind wrought itself over and over as to why— why were you alive? Why were you still human and not merely a risen thrall? 

The clinking of armor scared you as it ascended the hallway. You pressed close to the wall and closed your eyes. 

Please don’t stop here, please don’t stop here. 

Clink, clink, clink… closer… closer… 

Then it passed, descending further away. You let out a breath, your blood still pumping in your ears. 

Clink, clink, clink. They were coming back. Clink… silence. You felt bile rise in your throat as you shook, the chains rattling noisily. You knew they were standing there, you knew they were here for you. 

A harsh tug upon your chain, your head hitting the floor— some words were mumbled, the voice sounding far away and broken. Your eardrums rang with the ferocity of your fall, drowning out any semblance of what your jailer was saying to you. Then, you were tugged upward, the cool metal of the collar biting into your skin as you were dragged like a petulant child away from your cell… 

You didn’t want to open your eyes. You couldn’t face the horror you knew was around you— corpses, living ones and dead, the clatter of bones, the heavy breathing of gargantuan abominations, bodies and faces of countless people stitched together into a new body, hewn with thread and necrotic magic until it gave way to something else entirely. Something unnatural, something made of nightmares. The dermis of those who were used to make the monsters would still twitch, reach out on its own, and if it had a mouth, it would be twisted into a scream. You swore that you heard them whispering as you were dragged by. 

The monstrosities were one of many abhorrent creatures at the Scourge’s disposal. Hellhounds, ghouls, gargoyles, wraiths, crypt lords, geists, banshees, and other things of horrific nature were only some of the power wielded by the Scourge. It felt like it was all pulled out of a child’s fairytale, changed and twisted and defiled into what it was now. 

It all felt like a very bad dream. 

Your eyes opened on their own and you took in the image of death knights, former paladins who served a higher power, the Light— now are nothing but undead heretics, glowing eyes and gaunt stares that bored through you. 

Some of the monsters chittered as you were dragged past them, leering and looking hungry. 

‘Scrawny that one. Perhaps she will suffice for hellhounds to pick their teeth.’

‘Speak for yourself, her skin will do beautifully on a new abomination.’ 

‘She won’t be knighted. Merely a maid’s bastard, I’ve heard.’

You forced your eyes to close once more, the sudden light stinging them. You forced yourself into another time, a better memory than what you were experiencing. 

They were right, you were a maid’s bastard. Your mother had served in the royal keep for years, with you under her feet. You didn’t know who your true father was, nor did you care.

You became attached to the second son of the King— Aemond Targaryen. He was a sprightly boy with near white hair and luminous violet eyes. The two of you were attached at the hip. 

Childhood friendship blossomed into more as you grew into teenagers and young adults— you shared your first kiss together, you held hands and shared sweet nothings. As he trained by day to become a paladin of the Light, he held you close by night, vowing to never let you go. You were both terribly in love and so terribly, terribly naive. He was your first in everything– your first friend, your first kiss, your first lover. You promised yourself that he would stay your first and only.

‘You can never marry a maid’s bastard, Aemond! You’re a prince of the realm-‘

‘I don’t care! I want her, father. I’ve always wanted her!’

Your mother quit her job at the castle— moreso, threatened into quitting by some of the King’s advisors. She was given a considerable amount of coin and told to take you far, far away and to not contact the prince again. 

Heartbroken, you left him your sapphire ring, the only thing of value you ever had, which had been passed down through your mother’s family for generations. 

It was left on his desk with a note of few words but much feeling. 

‘I love you. I’m sorry.’ 

That was over ten years ago. You hadn’t seen him since, but you missed him horribly. Especially now. You wondered if he was still alive, fighting against the Scourge like his knightly vows dictated. 

Maybe he was married and moved across the sea to Kalimdor where it was safer. 

Or maybe he was dead. Dead like almost everyone else you knew. 

You heard a rumor, fleeting and without much more information, that his father had died– no, that his father had been murdered. The fall of the king, Viserys, is what started the Scourge war. Did Aemond know, wherever he was? 

You imagined him holding his arms around you, kissing your neck and fanning his breath over your skin. He liked to encompass you completely with his body when you laid together— you never could emulate the feeling with heavy blankets and pillows, as much as you tried. Putting yourself back into that memory, you wrapped your arms around yourself, willing warmth into your body. 

But you didn’t feel any warmth. All you felt was cold, cold down to your bones. They felt brittle, like ice, splintering into shards as you were thrown on the floor again in a different room. Pain bloomed in your arm as it cracked at an awkward angle. Broken. 

Your ears rang again as your mouth opened into a scream, tears of pure anguish squeezing from your eyes. But you didn’t hear a thing besides the rush of blood dampening your senses— and the sickening crunch of your broken bones. 

‘What have you done to it, Lady Deathwhisper? It looks broken.’ 

‘It’s human bones are so brittle, it was merely a slip of the hand. I cannot help that their living constitution is so weak.’ 

‘His grace will not be pleased if it is broken beyond repair.’ 

‘Worry not, Lady Alys. Most things can be mended— and if not, it can always be raised.’ 

‘Physical defects aren’t the only issue. What of its mind?’

You feel an acute sensation over your skull, reaching into the depths of your cranium. Its cold, but not stinging— like a soft caress upon your brain as your mind is rifled through like a tome. You can feel your memories being perused, all of the most intimate moments of your life flashing in your head like playwright’s prose. The physicality of your mind being invaded wasn’t painful, but the act of your memories being ripped from you was damning. Tears fell down your face on their own, your mouth opened into a silent scream.

‘She is the one— I saw it. You are lucky that you did not break her mind completely, Lady Deathwhisper.’ 

‘As are you. You do not have a deft hand when it comes to memory perusal, Lady Alys. I am surprised that it still has a brain in its skull.’ 

‘Shut up and bring her to him. He will be pleased she is still alive. Barely.’ 

You felt yourself being moved again, still reeling from the invasion of your mind. You tried to put yourself back into the safe haven of memories, but they were… locked. Locked behind an iron door with no keyhole. They were lost to you. 

What were you trying to remember? 

Flashes of white hair and violet eyes flitted behind your eyelids, soft caresses and kisses, heavy breathing and love filled promises, the sensation of skin to skin… 

Your eyes opened, vision bleary. A helmed woman followed behind you, wings outstretched. You could see the glint of green eyes under her helm. Val’kyr. The woman behind you was a Val’kyr, a spirit guide who defected to the side of the Scourge. They could move between the realm of living and dead as simply as taking a breath. 

“The little human is awake,” she mused. “Your mind isn’t broken after all? I do see a glint of intelligence behind those eyes. Keep them on me, you shan’t wish to look upon Lady Deathwhisper.” 

You didn’t want to speak, words caught in your throat like food stuck in your craw. A val’kyr was basically an angel of death and talking to one must mean you are dead. 

You wish you were. 

The chains scraped against the floor, which was no longer stone like before, but rather, hardened ice. You were ascending upward, it seemed. The architecture of the building was nothing like you’d ever seen— dark metal was plated upon the walls, inscribed with glowing runes. The runes looked… familiar to you, somehow. But the memory that contained them was locked away, or mayhaps stolen by the Val’kyr, Alys. 

The temperature was cold, you were being lofted upon ice, of course, but you didn’t wholly feel it. You were partially numb, heat radiating from your broken arm. You knew you should be feeling pain— but you were just… numb. 

Your escorts stopped in front of two large doors, inscribed with the same glowing runes. Against Alys’ advice, you glanced at ‘Lady Deathwhisper’. She was skeletal, floating upon the ground with no legs to speak of. Her robes were purple fabric, molded around an incorporeal body. She spoke in a language you didn’t understand, the scratchy voice of hers coming out of a bone skull, but the mouth wasn’t moving, maw open as the words came out. 

You should have listened to Alys. 

The door opened with a rumble, opened by ancient magic, likely imbued by the runes, as they flickered and flitted above your head as it opened. The room beyond was open and bereft of almost anything, except for a throne. A throne forged of ice and swords. 

Someone was sitting upon it in a lazed position, one plated gloved finger tapping on the arm of the throne.

“We’ve brought her, your grace,” Lady Deathwhisper growled, shoving you forward. You skidded across the floor, which felt slick like grazing atop an ice-capped lake. “Alys confirmed it is her.”

The clinking of armor caught your attention, the sound of metal grazing against ice. It was irritating and made you grind your teeth. As whoever was on the throne got closer, the force was oppressive. Whimpers and tiny cries were ripped from you as they walked towards you, the aura exuding from them causing you to fall flat to the ground, feeling as if someone was sitting atop of your chest and not letting up.

The steel plated boot was in front of you now and your hair was grabbed rather harshly, pulling you up. 

Don’t look, don’t look. You cannot look.

“Look. At. Me.” the voice growled. It was quiet but commanding at the same time, rattling in your bones and making a home amongst the marrow. It felt familiar… so… 

You lifted your bloodshot eyes, not out of your own volition, but from the authority of the voice.

“Hello, little dove.” he mused.

It was him. It was… it… Aemond. You knew him so well, even with ten years gone. His chiseled jawline and chin and the dimple of the tip of his nose… 

But his eye was missing, a jagged scar bisecting it. In its place was a sapphire. The sapphire from your ring, grown into something to make home in the socket.

You felt everything and nothing all at once, your stomach flipped and flopped like a fish hoisted from the sea, sputtering for air. You couldn’t breathe, you couldn’t–

Your best friend, your lover, the one you vowed to never forget, to never forsake.

Aemond Targaryen. 

Aemond Targaryen was the Lich King. A defiler, a mass murderer, an unholy being in his own right.

“Now you won’t be able to leave again, will you?” Aemond murmured, his violet eye roving you. It was glowing slightly– his skin was a pale gray pallor, cheeks sunken slightly. He was undead.

Your eyes rolled back in your head, vision going black.

[future-dregs]

[mononijikayu]

ashes — geto suguru.

The way Suguru’s purple haze echoed wide at what was left of your body. The body that had once been human. Nothing but flesh torn and bones broken. You could feel the way he gripped your face, as though trying to wake you. 

genre: post-defection, 2008;

warning/s: angst, unrequited love, childhood friends, grief/mourning, emotional, hurt/comfort, alternate universe - canon divergence, tragic romance, ghosts/spirits, character death, mention of death, mention of blood, unexplicit mention of unhappy childhood, depiction of corpses, depiction of harm and injuries, depiction of ghost/spirits, depiction of grief, depiction of afterlife;

word count: 2.7k words;

note: this was a draft from long ago, but i ended up writing it. this is probably one of my shortest works. this is the first time i've shared the word count explicitly and not below the facts for the chapter. but anyway, i listened to osts again and it made me think of suguru. i hope you like this little thing!!! i love you all!!! <3

song: ashes by bear mccreary ft eivor

masterlist

There was no reason why you should stand here.

But my heart couldn’t refuse Geto Suguru.

Perhaps it was why you stood there, waiting.

Hoping that this was not what became of him.

Yet no matter the denial, this was what was left.

You stood there, frozen as if the air in your lungs was losing air. Oxygen has become wrought with toxic waste, poisoning every breath of life in you. Yet there was no such toxic waste, there was only air and your resistance to the breath that should keep what was left of these lungs pumping and which in turn makes your heart race.

And still, your heart races hard against your sturdy chest.

You  leaned slightly as the large assembly doors opened. You could feel the strength leaving you as the smell of incense echoed through. It was easy to be enraptured by the austere surroundings of this ancient hall built on the back of people you perhaps would never know. In some other day, that would intrigue the historian in you— but today, it did not matter. Nothing mattered to a ghost, whose body is ash.

The love of your life stood there, shining upon the heavens like the son of gods, dressed in the most beautiful gojo-kesa elaborate with the finest details and the most extravagant pieces of silk kimono underneath adoring his body. A crown of white roses adorned his long lustrous charcoal-like locks, tied with the most intricate of ribbon silks. 

Trinkets made of fine silver gathered from all across the empire, lined with precious gemstones found deep in faraway mountains and pearls that could only be found in far away deep shores beyond the known world. And before him, a rotting corpse limps before him. The pouring sleek of blood on his face, the blood of a non–sorcerer he had slain.

Just as he had wanted, he had all the riches of the world on him, around him. It had been his fantasy when you both had been younger, to have a say in life. You both had grown up powerless, without any life to live. Dictated by the people, by the world about what you should be.  

Both of you had been left to wander the prowling fields of endless golden wheat and those endless blue skies trailing along for the journey, hoping for something better.  Hoping to have power, control over your lives. 

You were seven when you first met Suguru. It was a warm summer evening, and the golden sunlight filtered through the trees as you played in the park near your home. You had been running too fast, chasing after a butterfly, when you tripped over a tree root and scraped your knee. The pain was sharp and immediate, and tears welled up in your eyes.

"I'm fine," you sniffled, trying to be brave. "I just scraped my knee."

You sat there, clutching your knee, trying to will the tears away when you heard a gentle voice. "Hey, are you okay?"

Looking up, you saw a boy, slightly older than you, with kind eyes and a warm smile. He knelt beside you, examining your injury with a concerned expression.

Suguru smiled softly and pulled a handkerchief from his pocket. "Here, let me help." He carefully cleaned the wound, his touch gentle and soothing. "There, all better."

You smiled at him, feeling a warmth spread through you that had nothing to do with the summer sun. "Thank you." you whispered. "You're so kind."

"You're welcome," he replied, his smile widening. "Do you want me to walk you home?"

You hesitated, fear flickering in your eyes. "I... I don't want to go home yet. My mom will be mad at me for getting hurt."

Suguru's expression softened even more. "It's okay. I’ll stay with you until you're ready to go home. How about that?"

You nodded, feeling a sense of comfort and safety in his presence. You didn't know it then, but this small act of kindness was just the beginning of something much deeper.

Years later, you would learn that Suguru had broken his curfew that night. His father was furious and punished him without waiting for an explanation. Suguru never told you about it. He never complained or blamed you. He just kept breaking the rules to be with you, to make you smile. To be your friend.

As you both grew older, Suguru continued to be there for you. He would sneak out to meet you, bringing you small gifts or simply spending time with you. His presence became a constant in your life, a source of comfort and joy. Little by little, your childhood friendship blossomed into something more.

By the time you realized you had fallen in love with him, it felt like the most natural thing in the world. Suguru had always been there, a steady presence in your life, supporting you, caring for you, and loving you in his quiet, steadfast way. And you loved him for it, more than words could ever express.

As you looked back on that summer evening when you first met, you knew that your scraped knee had been a small price to pay for the lifelong bond you shared with Suguru. He had been your first friend, your protector, and now, your love.

But you could look at Geto Suguru now, the majesty upon him, the riches that make him even more beautiful than ever. You could only wonder what was stored for him now that he was enthroned a god among men.

You think he looked the happiest on this day, on founding an empire.

An empire that was built to destroy the world that had ruined him in the first place.

A resistance that would destroy the Jujutsu world as a whole.

Yet as you looked at him, you could feel your heart longing for him. 

Your own heart was grieving such loss, of words not answered. 

Of feelings that would never be known. Of a life that could never be.

And yet, you basked in what is in front of you— on what still is.

And yet, you can only wonder what will become of you, now that you were nothing but ash in this world. You had nothing left, nothing perhaps but this opened void that could never be whole again….mayhaps this is all that could be, that is all your purpose in life. That is all your purpose you have in his. To be nothing. 

Your eyes dilated, blinking breathlessly at the sight of him, of what became of your forlorn beloved. You could only look at the details of his bloody, beautiful features. Everything comes flooding back to you, like someone whose brain is seeing the last moments of their life like a movie scene.

Especially that smile.

The smile that you thought would only be yours.

But in the first place, you knew it never did belong to you.

That was never going to be, with you being the ash in the wind.

The moment he walked through, her magnificent kimono trailed across the windless room and from side to side, he smiled like life had just begun. All those in front of him, serving him to create the world he wants to usher into the world of ashes.

As you watched him, kick the corpse away, you could only think to yourself — if you had said anything, if you had told him how much you loved him. If you had haunted him, if you had turned into a curse, if you had not gone and responded to Nanami’s distress call — maybe, he would not be here. Maybe he would not be a murderer. Maybe he would not be an enemy.

Yet all you had left was ashes and the guilt. And the grief of a love that had perhaps never been love, a love that would never be known at all to this radiant sun of life. Perhaps you were never intended to be loved. And yet when you had smiled back at him. You always have. He told you he loved it. And so you smiled. Only for him.

But this time, you knew it was the last time.

You had seen the light that welcomes you home.

And so, you mouthed those words that you could never say.

Those words that will never see the sun again.

“I love you. I love you. Only you.”

“I’m never letting go of you, Suguru.”

“I hope that we may never meet again.”

You bit your lip soon after with all your might. You could only force the pain to numb you, to keep all those grieving tears from falling. Bitterly, with that pain gasping your entire being — you could only release your lips, now red from the pain, and smiled back at your beloved. You knew that this was the last time. 

Everything came rushing back.

Tears poured down your eyes as you watched Suguru’s purple eyes gleam with pleasure as all that defied him, prostrate in subjugation. Perhaps these tears pour for shame, for what he had become. Perhaps these tears pour because he was alone again, more than ever before. Perhaps it was the blood that dripped down his chin. The blood he so easily wiped away. You did not know. 

But you know that your tears poured painfully warm, as warm as they did in happiness when he made you the happiest person in the world. Yet no one seemed to be watching you and you were glad for it. 

Everything around you was a haze, the entire thing was. Memories came in flashes again. The way Suguru’s purple haze echoed wide at what was left of your body. The body that had once been human. Nothing but flesh torn and bones broken. You could feel the way he gripped your face, as though trying to wake you. 

Satoru’s voice drifts and drowns away, as he tells Suguru you’d gone. Shoko’s tender voice telling them that it was enough, that there was nothing else left to say, that there was nothing to be done. The disbelief in Suguru’s tone. And then it was the anger. Then there was brutal madness. Over and over, it echoes like drum hitting.

Suguru’s grip tightened, his fingers trembling against the remnants of your face. His eyes, once filled with warmth and camaraderie, now burned with a mix of sorrow and fury. He refused to accept it, refused to believe that you were gone. Satoru’s usually confident and reassuring presence was a shadow of itself, his voice cracked and hollow. 

"Suguru, please," Gojo Satoru’s voice wavered, desperation lacing his words. "There’s nothing more we can do."

Shoko’s gentle hands tried to pull Suguru away, her own eyes glistening with unshed tears. "Suguru, it’s over. We need to let go."

But Geto Suguru couldn’t let go. He couldn’t accept the reality that you, his friend, his comrade, someone that could have been something more than those words —were no more, gone for forever. 

The disbelief gave way to a seething rage that consumed him, a brutal madness that twisted his features and clouded his judgment. He could not believe it. He would never believe it. It didn’t make sense. How could you—how could you be gone? How could you be dead? How could you no longer smile at him, live for him?

"NO!" Suguru's voice was a raw scream, echoing through the empty space. "It can’t be over! It can’t end like this! Not when…”

You do not know what he was going to say. You probably would never know. But his face, the utter devastation on his face. That one look that you will truly never know or understand. One that will forever be lost in translation. You could feel it. You could feel him fall apart as he slumped over your corpse with tears on his face. His sorrowful screams reverberating in the room over and over.

The haze around you thickened, and the world became a blur of muted colors and muffled sounds. Geto Suguru’s anger was palpable, a raging storm that refused to subside. Over and over, his fury echoed like a relentless drumbeat, each beat a painful reminder of what was lost. The memories of your final moments haunted him, a torment that seemed never-ending.

In the midst of the chaos, there was a fleeting sense of peace, a whisper of acceptance that lingered on the edge of your consciousness. You wanted to reach out, to reassure them that it was okay, that you were at peace. But the words wouldn’t come, and the haze only grew thicker, swallowing you whole.

You shook as each wave of memory came sharply, brutally.

Yet, as quickly as they come, they too also disappear fast.

There was no longer any room for such memories in a ghost.

For memories never truly belongs to the dead.

No, it only ever belongs to the living that breathes.

And you? You were nothing but the ashes in the wind.

Soon enough, you could not hear those words of domination, of anger, of grief, of horror passed through in waves of echoes, ripples of the vast seas.  There was nothing that came, nothing that was left to a ghost waiting to die a final death.  You blink and blink, waiting as the final tear falls.

There was only the whisper of ghosts, of ghosts that came in the form of silent rumblings. They did not make sense to you. Not the warm touches of the hands, nor the warm touches exchanged as the body fell from the steps of the stage. As Suguru made such vows that could never be broken by anyone’s foolish resolve. 

You were not content with this end.

But this is all there will ever be.

He was alive, and you were not.

If Satoru could not stop it, neither can you.

Your pained tears continued as you walked through the lonesome streets, where the mist dragged on through the air. You did not stop the pace of your feet, you only continued and walked. There was no pain left to feel. Nothing in those legs, though marked with endless cuts, it did not hurt. Nothing hurt.

Nothing but your heavy heart.

But you no longer had a heart.

It was nothing but ashes in the wind.

Soon enough, you could feel your feet touch the cold lake, adulterated with the snow. Yet there was no cold, you did not feel it. You finally looked up and saw the long dark robe flowing through the water, untainted with the freezing sodden ground.

You met the face.

“You are here.”

You could only nod.

You could not speak.

After what had happened, you could no longer do so.

Words are no longer important to the dead.

Words only belong to the living that had breath.

“Then, are you prepared?”

You nodded once more, eyes watering with such pained tears.

“Follow me.”

And that you did.

The water did not stain you.

It could only allow mercy upon you.

For a moment, you thought to look back.

“If you look back,” They spoke to you, without turning their back. “Then you are not allowed to leave. You cannot leave. You will be a curse that lives among the world. A curse upon those you love.”

For a moment, you thought about it.

You tried to resist the temptation.

But you knew that it was time.

Nothing was left of you but ashes.

You would not burden Suguru with this.

Ashes shouldn’t cause harm upon the living.

Not even when they long to live for more time.

They did not say a word again and continued to walk.

You looked down, your eyes gazing at the snow-filled lake.

And all you could do was come and follow them.

And then, in the mist,  there was nothing.

There was nothing left for you or Suguru.

For he was alive, breathing life to an empire.

And you? What could be left for you in this world?

‘Nothing.’ You think softly. ‘Nothing but ashes no one mourns.’

[katakaluptastrophy]

Going insane thinking about how Nona's arc echoes John's...

Their friends trying to work out the limits of what they are...

"They put me through my paces. I was exhausted all the time. We all came up with trials to figure out what I could do, what I couldn’t do."/"Every day she held a sword until she seriously didn’t care about swords anymore, but she still couldn’t fight with one... Nona couldn’t do the forbidden bone tricks either."

Their unexpected but positive abilities...

"Can you do something about my body? Can you fix my fibromyalgia? Thing was, I could."/"The teachers were amazed when they found out about her being able to speak all the languages."

The need for subterfuge...

"It only takes a little bit of eyeliner and a couple capes."/"They had...requisitioned a black button-up shirt and trousers... They had taken some iris dye and a little plastic applicator and changed Nona’s eyes."

Constantly on the edge of an explosion of destruction...

"It was taking a lot of effort not to ice everyone within a kilometre, if only to get some fucking peace and quiet."/"Abruptly, Nona threw her third tantrum."

Everything falling apart as the soul of a planet screams...

"You wouldn’t stop screaming. You were so scared. You were so goddamn mad."/"The Captain didn’t say anything when you came into the room. She only screamed."

But John ceases to be what he has been with his friends dead and disposable to him, about to consume the earth, to create 10,000 years of horror. While Nona is surrounded by those who she has loved and who love her, and goes to confront what he wrought.

[sp4rklyr0t]

Hey Aster! Could we get a guide on Ares please?

Ares, Greek God of Everything Kind and Sweet: A Guide

Just kidding, of course.

Hi! I'm Astin/Aster and this is my guide to Ares. A disclaimer before we begin, this is going to be bare-bones basic. I will not be going over any specific myths in the post. Hope this is helpful!

Ares is the god of war and thus peace, as appeasing him would thus prevent war, bloodshed and bloodlust, violence, anger/rage, manliness, rebellion. Something to note is that Ares is less of the strategy involved in war, and more of the actuality of it. He is not only a god of war but the personification of it.

His parents are Zeus and Hera, and his lover was Aphrodite. With Aphrodite, according to Hesiod's theogony, he has three children, Phobos (Terror), Deimos (Fear), and Harmonia (Harmony).

Sacred Symbols, Animals, and Epithets

His symbols are the spear, as well as armor, particularly the helm and shield.

His sacred animals were:

Serpents- he is frequently depicted with one and has myths regarding serpents.

Barn owl, eagle owl, and woodpecker, as shown:

Antoninus Liberalis, Metamorphoses 21 (trans. Celoria) (Greek mythographer C2nd A.D.) :

"Zeus loathed them [the giants Agrios and Oreios] and sent Hermes to punish them . . . But Ares, since the family of Polyphonte [mother of the giants] descended from him, snatched her sons from this fate. With the help of Hermes he changed them into birds. Polyphonte became a small owl whose voice is heard at night. She does not eat or drink and keeps her head turned down and the tips of her feet turned up. She is a portent of war and sedition for mankind. Oreios became an eagle owl, a bird that presages little good to anyone when it appears. Argios was changed into a vulture, the bird most detested by gods and men. These gods gave him an utter craving for human flesh and blood. Their female servant was changed into a woodpecker. As she was changing her shape she prayed to the gods not to become a bird evil for mankind. Hermes and Ares heard her prayer because she had by necessity done what her masters had ordered. This a bird of good omen for someone going hunting or to feasts."

He is also associated with horses, as his chariot is pulled by them.

Another notable animal are the bronze bulls, depicted as so:

Ovid, Heroides 12.39 ff : "The condition is imposed [by King Aeetes] that you [Jason] press the hard necks of the fierce bulls at the unaccustomed plow. To Mars [Ares] the bulls belonged, raging with more than mere horns, for their breathing was of terrible fire; of solid bronze were their feet, wrought round with bronze their nostrils, made black, too, by the blasts of their own breath."

Notable Epithets:

Thêritas - Beastly, brutish

Gynaikothoinas - Feasted by women

Enyalios - Warlike

Khrysopêlêx - Of the golden helm

Obrimos - Strong, mighty

Worship

His This section is going to be mainly UPG, so if you think of something else you'd like to do or give, please do so, as long as it is respectful.

Sacred Day:

Tuesday

Offerings:

Snake symbolism

Symbolism of His sacred birds

Spicy food 

Feathers from His sacred birds (sourced ethically)

Self defense weapons

Imagery of Him

Devotional Activities:

Workout or do physical activity

Go to a protest

Stand up for yourself and what you believe in 

Work on anger management 

Honor Aphrodite and their children together

Do something you're really passionate about

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

In Bloom 2

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, allusions to trauma, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: After wasting much of your youth in a toxic situation, things are starting to look up. That’s until you meet a certain flower seller.

Characters: Cole Turner, short!reader

Note: It's a fine Tuesday.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

You walk around the market with your cone. Strawberry. You never really had ice cream much, not until Aunt Bev. It's good but sweet. The coldness makes your head ache. 

As you traverse the crowd, you grow overwhelmed. So many people in one place makes your head spin. Aunt Bev is too distracted by all the sights and sounds to notice when you drop your cone. You leave it on the ground and keep going. 

A girl stands behind a table of goods. Second-hand but pretty. Purses with hand-sewn patterns and crochet sweaters with frilly collars. They're cute. You browse from afar but don't point them out. A large blond man blocks her from your view and your nerves get the of you. 

As you look back to your aunt, you don't find her. Where is she? She was just there. 

You spin and search the crowd. She's not there. What happened? You only looked away for a moment. 

Your heart picks up as you stumble back. Your lashes flutter and your lungs burn. What do you do? You hug tight the flower pot with one arm, your other hand on your purse. Oh no, no, no. 

You turn and rush through the first opening you see. You just need to get in the clear then you can find her. You need somewhere to see her from. A vantage point to get your bearings.  

You keep telling yourself it will be okay but it doesn't feel okay. You rush past people, a smear of faces and bodies all around, the world a cacophony to your ears. You break free of the press and gasp for air. 

Just as you think you're free, you crash into something. Someone. You step back and look up. You know them.  

It's that flower seller. Cole. He barely catches the pot before it slips from your arm. 

“Hey, you alright?” He asks as he helps you get a hold of the daylilies. “Where's Bev?” 

You crane to see over your shoulder then look back to him. You shake your head and give a frazzled grimace. You can't even speak. 

“You lost her, didn't you?” He says, “no worries, you can hang out with me. Mrs. Lee was just watching my booth while I ran to the bathroom. I'm on my way back now.” 

You push your shoulders higher and bounce on your heels. You don't know what else to do. He's the only other familiar face there, even if he is a stranger still. 

You nod and clutch the plant tighter. He gestures you ahead of him and you step past him. He points you towards his stall, directing you with his voice. Even from behind, you can sense his size, you can feel how big he is. You know what damage someone your own size can wrought, so to even imagine what he could do, if he wanted, chills you to the bone. 

You slow as you near the table of plants and pots. He skirts around you, beckoning you behind the long table at the front. A woman with rosy cheeks smiles to greet him. 

“There you are. And you found a friend, no wonder you took so long,” she chides. 

“Sorry, it’s a bit hectic,” Cole rubs his forehead. 

“Oh, I understand,” she winks at you. 

“Mrs. Lee,” Cole motions to her as he introduces her, “you know Bev, this is her niece. She’s looking for her aunt.” 

“Ah, I’m sure you’ll find her,” Mrs. Lee says, “I’ll let her know if I see her. Cole will keep you good company.” 

“Ha, er, thanks, Mrs. Lee,” he sniffs, “I don’t wanna keep you any longer. Thanks for watching the booth.” 

“I tell you all the time, you should get some help,” she tuts, “see you around.” 

She waves at you as she sidles out from the booth and you watch her cross to her own, just across from Cole’s. He turns to you, sweeping back a stray shank of hair back into a fluffy swoop. You look around nervously. You feel bad for intruding. You’d hate to get in his way. 

“Here, sit,” he outstretches his arm to the chair as he touches your shoulder. 

He surprises you and you wince away from him. You don’t argue. You shouldn’t. He’s being nice and he’s trying to help you. Even if you never asked. Even if you barely know him. He gives you a smile and lifts his chin, peering around over the heads of the crowd around him. 

You sit and cross your ankles. You rock nervously as you find yourself walled in by the flowers. There isn’t much space between you and Cole. He’s distracted from his search by some approaching customers. He serves them in the same gentle tone he had you and Aunt Bev.  

You feel worse the longer you sit there. You’re like a child. You just turned twenty-five and you’re still just a burden to everyone. 

You feel your pulse racing and your ears thrumming. The longer you sit there, the more helpless you feel. Your vision skews and you put your chin down, staring at the yellow petals as you try to rein in your panic. Will Aunt Bev come find you? 

“You okay?” Cole’s voice makes you flinch. 

You look up at him and just stare. A droplet of sweat rolls down from your hairline as the sun beats into your scalp. He grabs the bottle of water from beneath the front table and bends to look you in the eye. You shy away as he puts the back of his fingers to your cheek. 

“You’re pretty warm. You should have something to drink,” he advises as he pulls back his hand to uncap the bottle, “here. It’s fresh. Yours.” 

You look at him dumbly then the bottle. You move the pot to balance on your lap, one hand on the rim, as you take the water with your other. You shakily hold it and put it to your lips. You are awfully thirsty. 

“Is that—Cole!” Your aunt calls shrilly and appears on the other side of the table, “oh thank god! I’ve been running around searching everywhere. You found her.” She touches her chest, a swoon trembling on her lip, “oh, how can I ever thank you?" 

Cole turns, standing straight. Once more his figure makes you feel even smaller. 

“No need. She was just hanging out,” he turns his hands out, “no big deal, right? Everyone’s in one piece. Lost and found.” 

“Oh, but you didn’t have to...” she fans herself and glances at you. You don’t miss the gesture she tries to make subtle as she beckons him further down the table. You look at the flowers as she lowers her voice. You can’t make out her words but you assume she’s warning him about you. 

“Honey, we should go,” she chirps as Cole backs up, “Lena will be worried.” 

“Alright,” you stand, hands full as your purse slips to dangle at your elbow. 

Cole faces you and you can barely look at him. It isn’t just that he frightens you, it’s his expression. It must be whatever your aunt told him. 

“Thanks,” you croak as you near and offer him the bottle back. 

“Keep it,” he says as he shows his palms, “please. Go. Have a happy birthday.” 

You put your head down and brush by him. It’s tight behind the table but he could move more, couldn’t he? Your aunt clings to your arm as you come close. 

“Oh, Cole, you are a life saver,” she says, “I owe you one.” She tugs you away from the flowers, “come on, hon. Are you okay?” 

You nod as you let her usher you away. You’ve had enough excitement for one day, even your birthday. You just want to go back to her house and figure out where to plant the daylilies. You know that won’t be what happens. You have to paste on a smile and eat cake, be the good girl you were raised to be. 

🪻

The sun bores down on your back as you keep your head down to the light. You sit amid the soil, pulling out errant weeds as you check the stems and petals for any signs of pest. There is only you and the smell of dirt, the vibrance of a multitude of hues, and the low hum of insects crawling and flying around the lush garden. 

In those moments, you can forget. There is no noise in your head, there are no memories, there is only beauty. Time is nothing. You exist in a standstill. 

"How lucky I am to have a diligent little gardener," Aunt Bev frightens you from your foiliage-induced meditation, "it looks wonderful out here. I'm afraid if it were up to me, it may have all turned brown." 

"Oh, uh," you fall of your knees, sitting on your bum as you turn to see her, "sorry, is it late?" 

"No, hon, I'm just checking on you," she smiles. 

You push your lips together and dust off your hands, "how was work?" 

"Good, thanks for asking," she comes down the steps of the deck and sits on the lowest one, "How's it going out here? It looks spectacular?" 

"Mmm, I had to pull the petunias, there was an infestation," you point to the barren patch. "Sorry." 

"Oh, well that's fine," she smiles, "I'm sure Cole can come up with some suggestions for a replacement." 

You nod and purse your lips. The reminder of him makes you cringe inside. You're still embarrassed to think of how lost you were at the market. You must have come off as a weirdo. 

"He's coming for dinner so he'll want to check out the garden," she chimes. 

"Coming for dinner?" You repeat, "tonight?" 

"Of course," she laughs as if it's no big deal. "I want to thank him for keeping you safe last week. Again, I'm so sorry, honey, I didn't mean to lose you like that." 

"It's... it's okay. I'm an adult, I..." you falter. You're an adult but you've never lived like one. 

"I know. You are. You're so very mature but you're also special and you need a little extra care, just like you do for the flowers." 

You hum flatly and look away. She always has such a nice way of saying the ugly things. You know exactly what she means. You're all messed up in your head. 

“Mm, okay, I...” you glance at your clothes. Your jeans are smeared with dirt and your nails are filthy. You blanch and look at your aunt. 

“No worries, you finish up out here,” she smiles, “then you can come in and get cleaned up. He won’t be here for...” she pauses to check her watch, “more than an hour.” 

“Right, er...” you blink. You always feel so lost. You never know what the proper thing to do it but you’re learning. “Could-- can I help with anything?” 

She smiles, “oh, that’s so sweet of you to offer. If you like, you can make a salad. Your uncles going to fire up the barbecue, he doesn’t want to heat up the house too much. And it’ll be nice to eat outside and admire all your hard work.” 

“Um, okay,” you grab the trowel and your forgotten gloves, disposed to allow for more tactile grip, “I’m pretty much done now.” 

You stand and shake off the rest of the dirt. She gets up too, groaning as she rubs her lower back. You cross to trail her up the steps and can’t help a mope. You love your Aunt Bev, she’s done so much for her, but you will never be like her or the rest of them. You’re trying but you just don’t think you’ll ever be normal. 

You put the towel in the orange pot with the rest of the garden tools and drop the gloves on top. You kick your shoes off before you follow Aunt Bev through the sliding door. You leave your dirt caked treads on the mat and go to wash your hands. 

As you try to decide what to put in the salad, you get an idea, the kind that tickles your brain. You finish scrubbing under your nails and dry your hands. You wander out to find Aunt Bev, your nerves flurrying. Maybe you should ask. You already have so much. 

“Hey, hon, what’s up?” She appears as she tugs on the hem of a loose flowered tee, “you look lost.” 

“Oh, erm, I was thinking... about the salad,” you wring your hands and shrug, “it was silly though.” 

“What?” She looks excited, “now you have to tell me.” 

“Well, er, what if... what if I grew some tomatoes? We could put them in salads.” 

“Ah, that’s lovely!” She claps her hands, “you’ll have to ask Cole about that too.” 

You fold your arms and tuck your chin down. Cole... just the mention of him makes you tense. It’s enough that you’re always surrounded by people; Lena, Mason, Uncle Morris. You can’t handle another new face, another person to deal with. Even he did help you, you never asked for it. 

[tothecrucifieddeer]

Written 07/31/24 [POEM FOUR]

Sometimes in my dreams you pick my wings off slow and meticulous--like you are wiping dust from my moth back one particle at a time.

I am an angel and you make me naked one feather at a time.

Do you remember how I used to fly? Do you?

Naked before God, but in a different way, naked as a sign of trust, of love--

But you have made my body bare and bruised, crumpled up and sick, my hands don't know me now--

nails as my halo--blood as my song--you have made me this, you have, you have--

Worst of all you might be a new Messiah, angels sing your name--there is so much I love about you and I hate that--

Look at the gore you wrought! My bones turned to iron and hid by depression fat--I should burn you down. I love you--isn't it disgusting?

My hands, look at my hands! They're shaking, aching, desperate, needy--I knew you. Open wound of a man--soft, gentle, until no one was around;

burn me if you must, crush me into dust--angry like electrolemon lightning strikes. Do you hate me? I couldn't bear that--melt me back into glass globs--turn me to pure sand again.

Could you ever want me back? I'd let you rip me up all over again--

You know, it's all rigor mortise on the memory--raise the dead sweet boy,

I know you can. In the end, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry.

[ruh--roh-raggy]

To Be Human (Monster! William Afton x Fem! Reader Beauty and The Beast AU) - Part I

Hello hello! First and foremost I would like to wish a huge belated Happy Birthday to my dear friend @yellowbunnydreams this whole AU is dedicated to her 💜💜💜 If you like princesses and castles and ball gowns and Will being a giant fucking monster definitely give this a read, I think this story is going to be very fun! If you would like to be added to the tag list please let me know!

WARNINGS: Mostly plot/set up, Will's kind of a dick, kidnapping I guess but not really, it's a Beauty and The Beast AU there's going to be some underlying themes of Stockholm syndrome if you squint. Not proofread, sorry for any grammar and spelling mistakes!

You can find my Masterlist here!

Word Count: 2,849

Part II (TBA)

You squeezed your legs harder against your horse’s sides, promoting him to run as fast as he possibly could. Tears sting your eyes as you race through the forest, sharp branches snapping at your face, your haste not allowing you time to care about watching out for them. The heavy gallop against the damp, muddy earth, quickly turned into loud, clattering hooves that fell against the cobbled path that formed at the opening of the tree line. The dark castle twisted up into the black sky, its gnarled, jagged appearance not much different than the branches that tangled the perimeter of the clearing. Your body instinctively jolted as a loud clap of thunder rang out across the courtyard, a crack of lightning illuminating the night. You found a small spot of shelter to tie up your horse, pulling the hood of your cloak as far forward as an attempt to stop the rain from pelting you in the face. You were already soaked to the bone, your dress clung to your body, your hair fell in long stringy tendrils across your face. You hurried up to the large castle doors, having to throw your full weight against it in order to get it to move. The creak that came from the ancient hinges was nearly deafening as it echoed through the grand foyer inside. “Father!” You call into the pitch black room, barely being able to make out the shape of the grand white marble staircase that took up a large portion of the space. You hurried inside, pushing the door shut behind you with a strangled groan. You knew what you were doing was dangerous, being so careless left you with a major possibility of losing your life. Your father had been taken captive by the tyrannical monarch who resided in this palace. “Please, answer me! Where are you!” You continued to call.

At this point you didn't care about what could happen to you, you were more concerned about what had happened to him. You raced up the stairs, nearly slipping in the water that streamed off your body, leaving small puddles in your wake. You continued to call out for him as you ran through the halls, your voice echoing off the grand arched ceilings. You hear someone shout your name from deeper inside, your head snapping in the direction of a door you hadn’t noticed. You ripped it open to reveal a winding stone spiral staircase that seemed to lead up impossibly higher into the castle. The heavy wrought iron handle slammed against the wooden barrier, the loud bang echoing through the halls. You could hear thunderous footsteps hurrying in your direction, someone was coming. You hurried in the direction of your father's voice, your hands wrapping around the thick metal bars as you saw a cell with a single candle inside. He calls your name again, this time in a soft harsh whisper. “What are you going here? Leave before he finds you.” His eyes darted down the stairs. “My darling girl, I love you too much to have you resolved to a fate like this. Leave me, take care of yourself.”

“I'm not leaving here without you.” Your voice trembles as you speak.

“You have to, if he catches you I'm not sure either of us will survive.” He explains quickly. “Go.”

“So, this is your insolent little brat.” A voice growls from the darkness.

“Your Highness she came-”

“I don't believe I ordered you to speak, farmer!” The voice snarls. “I thought I was being generous, allowing you to pay off your debt for stealing from my prized garden. Now you're responsible for another trespasser.”

“I'm here to take his place.” You step in front of your father, blocking him from the Monarch's view.

“Absolutely not-”

“This is your last warning farmer, step out of line again and it'll be your head.” He snaps. “Now, as for you.” You could feel him sizing you up despite the fact you couldn't see him. “You want to take his place, hm?” Your eyes widened as he stepped into the dim light. You scramble back, his monstrously tall form too close to you. A white linen shirt stretched tight across his broad shoulders, thick, light brown fur streaked with grey flowed out of its deeply plunging neck. His fingers were tipped with sharp, black claws, fur matching his chest seeming to cover every exposed area of skin. Long ears swooped towards the back of his head, tied at the nape of his neck like a ponytail. The soft rounded muzzle of a rabbit was a stark contrast to the intimidating energy that rolled off of him in waves. Darkly lined silver eyes studied your much smaller form from his towering advantage. “Your father promised me servitude for the rest of his pitiful life just so I wouldn't take it away from him, is that something you're willing to give up?” His eyes narrowed, you swore you caught the faintest sight of sharp canines situated behind his squishy nose.

“If it means you'll let him go, then yes. I'd do anything.” You make your best attempt at sounding strong, you could see from the sneer that stretched across the creature's face that it wasn't working. He scans over your shaking form, your hands balled into tight fists at your side.

“You're free to go, farmer.” He quickly takes the heavy wrought iron keys from his very pocket and tossed them at you. You yelp at the sudden action, stepping to the side and letting them whizz past you and clatter to the floor. “It’ll be nice to have a new pet around for a change.” He spits before turning in his heels and disappearing into the darkness. The moment he was out of sight you scrambled for the keys, slotting them into the lock and ripping the door open. Your father crushes you in a hug, cradling your head against his chest as you break down into tears.

“I'm sorry, you got into this mess because of me and I am so sorry.” His voice cracks as he attempts to comfort you. “I'll bring others, we’ll get you out of here, you just need to buy yourself some time.”

“I'll be okay.” You sniff, wiping harshly at your eyes. “You just focus on getting out of here and back to town, but do not come back with the others.” You lower the volume of your voice, attempting to check around for the beast that lurked effortlessly amongst the shadows. “I will find a way to get myself out of here. It's too dangerous for anyone to come save me.”

“I'm not going to leave you here with that monster.”

“You don't have a choice.” Hearing you say this out loud, your father knew you were right. “If we disobey him, he would kill us both before we even had a chance to argue. Now come, I brought Etienne, he should have enough strength to get you to the next village from here.” You tried your best to remember the way you had come, winding up getting stuck at a few dead ends before finally stumbling into the massive foyer once more. You both looked around, the beast was nowhere in sight.

“Come, if we hurry we can get out before he-”

“Now, now.” Your blood ran ice cold at the sound of the voice. “You've both made it so far, I'd hate to have to take drastic measures.” Your breath caught in your throat as he dragged a long claw across your neck, pausing over your pulse. “Leave this place and never come back. If you do, I'll kill her and make sure you're not around long enough to tell about it.”

“Go.” You locked eyes with him, both of you understanding the severity of the situation in an instant. You stood deathly still as you watched your father slowly descend the stairs and slip out into the storm.

“Such a shame.” His claw leaves your throat, his hand harshly squishing your face. “You really are a pretty little thing. Now, you're going to be stuck here, withering away until you're nothing but an old crone.” He chuckles as he pushes your face away with his thumb. “Pathetic.”

“What are… what are you going to do to me?” You stutter.

“There's a lack of good company in this castle.” Your eyes trained straight ahead as you listened to him pad slowly behind you. “Your job is to sit there and to not get yourself into any more trouble.” He says sternly. “When I've determined whether or not you'll be of any use to me I’ll give you a more specific set of tasks.”

“And if I don’t?”

“Then I'll kill you.” Tears welled up in your eyes at the thought. You stared at the door, a million thoughts racing through your head. ‘Maybe if I ran I would be able to get enough of a head start to make it out.’ You jolted as a warm, soft hand wrapped around your wrist. “I wouldn't act on whatever idea is rattling around in that head of yours.” His lips pulled back into a snarl, now giving you a much clearer view of the sharp canines that filled his mouth. “The more you struggle and resist the harder this is going to be for you.”

“So you're just going to keep me as your prisoner until I die alone in that cell?” You spit at him.

“Oh, that all depends on you, my dear.” A low chuckle rumbles from his chest, sending a shiver down your spine. “If I hadn't caught your father stealing from my prized garden with his filthy hands neither of us would be in this mess, now would we?” He grabs you harshly by your shoulder, dragging you up the hallways behind him. “If you want to take the place of a thief you are to be treated like a thief. You can either behave and accept the consequences and make your time here much easier on yourself or you can scream and cry and carry on like I'm expecting you to do. But trust me sweetheart, I am not a very patient man, it would do you well to be in your best behavior if you want to continue to have any hope of ever getting out of here alive, do I make myself clear?” You're roughly shoved to a stop, your shivering form now standing in front of the same dimly lit prison cell that had previously held your father. You stumble slightly as he shoves you inside, the door slamming loudly behind you.

“I'll bring you a meal in the morning, until then I don't want to hear a sound out of you.” He gives you a warning look before slinking into the darkness. You stood in silence, the only sound came from your shaky breath bouncing off the walls. The slow squeak of the hinges closing on the door below signaled that you were left alone. You took a few steps backwards, your shoulders bumping into the wall before you slowly slid to a sitting position. A steady drip of water splattered against the floor overhead, the soft squeaking of the rats that poked around curiously just outside of your cell made your skin crawl. You were in a complete state of shock. Just this morning you were harvesting berries from the garden to make preserves for the market in town, now you weren't sure if you would ever see the light of day again. What felt like days had passed when in reality it had only been a couple of hours. You huddled into the back corner of your cell as you heard the door open once more. You perked up at the sound of two voices you didn't recognize bickering from the stairwell below.

“I cannot believe he would do something so… so… revolting! To lock anyone away up in this old tower, especially a lady-”

“Sunny, you're acting like His Royal Highness is some sort of lap dog. Just be happy she’s still alive. The last time someone stole from his garden it didn't end up nearly as pretty.” Two tall figures stepped into view, the hallway too bright for you to make out any defining features. “oh, look at her, the poor thing is terrified.” The female voice of the pair coos.

“Honestly,” her male counterpart snaps, “for a king he has absolutely no manners!” A heavy key is slotted into the lock, the door quickly opened as one of the figures steps inside. Long white sleeves billow down his stick thin arms, a red velvet vest embroidered in gold thread molded perfectly to his torso, a pair of striped pants in matching colors ballooned at his ankle. Golden points whirred around your saviors face, a permanent smile carved into the features of what you were assuming was a mask. “My dear girl, are you alright?” He cautiously offers his hand to you, not wanting to startle you by moving too quickly.

“Who-” your brow furrowed as the second figure stepped into the light. You're met with the sight of a long snout tipped with a shiny black nose, her long, multi-colored hair tied into a long braid down the middle of her back. “Who are you?”

“My name is Sundrop,” the jester smiles warmly at you. “And this is Roxanne.” He motions to the wolf behind him. “Before we get ahead of ourselves, what might your name be? Our lovely little captive.” He helps you to your feet, Roxanne keeping her distance from you as you mumble out your name in response to Sundrop’s question.

“You do know you're going to get in a lot of trouble if you take her out of here, His Majesty is not going to be pleased.” Roxanne shoots Sundrop a warning expression.

“And when did you become so uptight? You're really going to let her freeze up here just because he's having a bad night?” He argued with her.

She sighs, shaking her head in response. “No, no that wouldn't be right.” She picks up the candle, holding it out in front of her to light your path. “Let’s bring her to Moon, he’ll have a better chance of keeping her hidden until you can figure out a plan to explain yourself.” You found yourself tucked safely in between the two of them, both of them surveying every darkened hallway and slightly ajar door as they led you through the empty castle halls. You eventually came to a stop in front of a wooden door that looks no different than the other hundred you had already passed. Roxanne reaches out, softly tapping against the barrier with one of her claws. There was a loud crash, followed by some muffled cursing as whoever was inside made their way over.

“Roxanne, I thought I specifically told Sun-”

“I know you're busy, but this is urgent. Your brother,” she shoots an accusatory look towards Sundrop, “has decided to get himself directly involved in the King’s affairs.” There was a tense silence as Sundrop stared back at whoever was on the other side of the door, still blocked from your view.

“You can't be serious.” The voice sighs before letting out a small sound of distress. “What was it this time? Knocked over one of the busts in the hall? Trying to get back at him for calling you unfunny-”

“That has nothing to do with it and you know-”

“Gentlemen!” Roxanne cuts off the argument before it has much of a chance to get started. “You can fight later, it's only a matter of time before he figures out that she's left her cell.” The hidden figure clambered into the hall, paling when he saw you standing alongside the others.

“You took one of his prisoners?” He whispers harshly in Sundrop’s face.

“I am not just going to leave a poor young woman up there to freeze to death. I will do whatever the King asks of me but I will not let him torment an innocent bystander.” He instantly rebuttals. “He’ll come around, I just need to warm him up to the idea.”

“Or he'll dismantle you the moment he gets his paws on you.” His brother scoffs.

“Moon, you know as well as I do, what that man needs is a companion. He's spent so long locked up in this god forsaken castle for so long that all he has left is us.” Moondrop’s gaze drifts over to you, his expression softening as he studies your terrified features.

“You are to go smooth this over at once. I'll keep her here with me in the meantime.” Sundrop thanks his brother excitedly, Moon pressing a comforting hand in between your shoulders as he guides you through the door. “Make sure he understands that this was your doing and not hers.” Moon warns before hurrying you inside, leaving your fate entirely in the hands of these three strangers you had just met.

Tag List: @yellowbunnydreams @zoey5252 @loudchaosking @weirdoartist21 @residentevilbeast @lokanda @emmbny @yukkkiki @dij-ology @maria-moll (if I missed you or you would like to be added please let me know!)

[pursuitseternal]

#1 and #20 for Astarion X Reader 😫🫣

“Wait to start begging… Use my thigh…”

UA Spawn x f!Reader | smut asks

CW: semi-public sex

You had the Elfsong all to yourselves. You had, of course, to tidy up the common spaces and see to having the party’s meal prepared. But aside from Withers who remained in his corner, basically dead, there wasn’t a soul around you.

Just you and your Vampire spawn.

He was enjoying the sun on the little balcony that shot off your suite of rooms. It looked out toward the graveyard, but even that seemed to make him smile. He smirked wistfully in the direction of his grave, the same one he had shown you.

The same one he had fucked you on…. Maybe that’s why he was smiling so cheekily.

“Hello my sweet,” he murmured without even turning as you joined him on the balcony. He leaned over the rail, bathing in the afternoon sun that slatted over the roofs around the tavern. His elbows rested on the wrought iron, the seabreeze kicking up the silver curls of his head in lazy swirls. “Care to join me?” he asked tenderly, opening his arm to you, bidding you to sweep into his arms.

Sweep you did. Nestled in the circle of his embrace he held you against him as he looked out over the city. The sun warmed both your skins now, the breezes playing in your hair, tickling over your cheek. His cool digits pulled your loose strands off your face to tuck it behind your ear. “You know, darling, for as much as I will miss the sun again someday, how I’ll miss feeling its warmth over my skin, I’m glad I have you. You’ll keep me warm, won’t you, my dear?”

His lips pursed and peppered kisses behind your ear, lowering down your neck to the crest of your bare shoulder.

“You always do like it when I’m… gentle, when I feel inclined to worship every inch of your smooth skin.” He chuckled, his chest pressed against you hard enough to make the waves of his voice rumble between your own ribs. Cool fingertips wound into your hair, caressing you and teasing…

Until they gripping hard against your scalp and yanked you around to face him.

Gods, he was delicious and devilish, smirking at you with wicked delight. “But… since we are alone, it would be a shame to waste this time being romantic and quiet and cooing. Withers doesn’t count. He won’t hear a thing, the old coot.” A flurry of lips and fangs on your mouth, his tongue danced with yours to coax a sweet loud moan from within you.

“That’s it, darling, show me how much you want me,” he rasped between your lips.

“Gods, please Astarion,” you gasped, breathless and aching.

But he only laughed. “Oh my sweet, pleading already? Save the begging for when I’m balls deep inside you…”

He pulled you close, that distinct press of his hardened cock into your belly making your heart accelerate. And the smile on his face meant he heard it too. He braced you against the high wrought iron railing, its top edge cutting into your back almost through the fabric of your dress. Those sinfully supple leathers pushed between your legs, hands rucking your skirts higher and higher until it wrapped around your hips.

You were naked beneath, used to these little stolen moments with you and your charming, demanding, loving Rogue.

“Such a good girl,” he praised, shifting to push his thigh against your bare mound, “now… use my thigh, get good and ready if you plan to start begging and pleading, my sweet.”

The cool leather warmed quickly against your folds, the smoothness giving you the most minimal of friction. So you bucked harder, faster, chasing your relief by bearing all your weight on the cords of muscles and the bone of his leg beneath. Your hands clawed into the soft, well-loved linen of his tunic, clutching firmly around his waist.

But it still wasn’t enough. “Please,” you begged again, looking into those devilishly glinting crimson orbs. “It’s not enough…” you whined as you slid on his slick leather pants.

Astarion giggled, a small testament to just how much he was enjoying your torment. “Then I’ll be merciful, but only because I hunger for more.” Gods, what a strong, well-fed vampire could do…. Not even a sigh of relief from your lips, and he had spun you right around. Hard stone wall replaced the metal edges of the railing, and his cool, hardworking fingers took the place of his thigh.

You moaned, head pressing into unrelenting brick and mortar. Unraveling, you came in an embarrassingly short amount of time, just a few thrusts of his fingers and a couple pinches of your clit. Arousal seeped down your legs, making them slick as he grabbed around them, raising you up.

You didn’t even know when he freed himself. Right now, all you knew was the blunted tip of his cock pressing inside you, slowly filling you up, inch by tantalizing inch. He laughed as he stretched you open, his lips sucking on your ear. “Balls deep,” he rasped. “Now… start begging, my darling…”

Astarion fic Masterlist | My Ko-fi