#and the eggs stay dormant

[teecupangel]

Do we have a Phonenix yet in the menagire? We need one.

Phoenix!Desmond, probably looking like a normal bird for the most part, and stays with Sef when they go after the mongols (Altair probably thinks he's getting too old he looked a bit ratty lately) and takes the hit when Swami tries to kill him.

Idk whether to have this crack or angest with them thinking Desmond died, had a chick, and was apparently a female bird the entire time.

Okay, so I was checking the Phoenix wiki page for any information if it would be possible that Altaïr would know what a phoenix is and there’s this part written by Herodotus (yes, Kassandra’s Herodotos)

[The Egyptians] have also another sacred bird called the phoenix which I myself have never seen, except in pictures. Indeed it is a great rarity, even in Egypt, only coming there (according to the accounts of the people of Heliopolis) once in five hundred years, when the old phoenix dies. Its size and appearance, if it is like the pictures, are as follow: The plumage is partly red, partly golden, while the general make and size are almost exactly that of the eagle. They tell a story of what this bird does, which does not seem to me to be credible: that he comes all the way from Arabia, and brings the parent bird, all plastered over with myrrh, to the temple of the Sun, and there buries the body.

… which may be a reference to Bennu, the Egyptian deity connected to the sun, creation, and rebirth.

So Altaïr would meet him during his travels with Maria and he just stays. They assume he’s an exotic bird (or eagle), maybe a native to one of the places Altaïr and Maria visited.

Altaïr never told them that the bird flew into his room one night and began to chirp at him as if trying to tell him something. He also tried to tap the Apple but all it did was glow a bit.

The bird had been quite annoyed by it and began to hit it with his talons so quickly the Apple had a taptaptaptaptap sound rapidly before Altaïr could take the Apple.

After that, the bird just decided to sit on Altaïr’s shoulder when he left his room the following morning and Maria assumed he had bought the bird yesterday when they went their separate ways.

Her guess sounded so much better than the truth which was Altaïr spent the entire day yesterday holed up in his room, writing letters to be sent back to Masyaf as part of his deal with Malik in exchange for letting him go on this trip (which was to send letters detailing the geopolitical situations of the places he travels to with suggestion on what the Brotherhood should do in those parts… if they could do anything).

So nobody ever questioned the mentor’s newly acquired bird (except Malik but Malik had been more focused on the ex-Templar that Altaïr brought to Masyaf and married).

Then Darim and Sef were born and the bird (named Desmond because Altaïr thought of the name first when Maria asked what the bird’s name was) usually stayed with the children, letting out loud screeching cries whenever one of the two children were doing something they shouldn’t do.

When they got older, Darim and Sef learned the word ‘bribe’ and how Desmond can be easily bribed to look the other way in favor of delicious food.

Desmond stayed in Masyaf though, regardless if Altaïr or any of his sons left for a mission or to travel to a bureau. At some point, the bird had become a symbol of Brotherhood with its gold and red plumage.

So when Altaïr left with Maria and Darim to take down Genghis Khan, it was only natural for Desmond to stay with Sef in Masyaf.

Altaïr had been a bit conflicted though as Desmond’s feathers had grown quite… dull and he was moving slower than usual.

Maria and Malik both told them that Desmond was growing old and maybe it was time but the Ibn-La'Ahad boys refused to believe that.

Darim also believed that they might find medicine in one of the camps of the Mongols as they have been to many lands.

So when Desmond flew to protect Sef and got stabbed on the chest by Swami, Swami screamed as Desmond became shrouded in flames.

Swami burned as well and Sef could only watch in horror as white hot flames consumed the both of them.

Swami was left as a corpse charred beyond recognition.

While Desmond…

Only ashes remained…

And from those ashes…

Sef heard a small chirp.

As a little chick with red and gold plumage poked his head out of the ashes, shaking the ash from his small body.

Sef could only stare as he asked, “Desmond?”

And the bird gave him an enthusiastic chirp while jumping.

[crevicedwelling]

I used to be sad all winter long since the pretty bugs of summer die off or only exist as eggs, dormant pupae, or slumbering adults… but with my camera I can now appreciate the little bugs that stay active even through the cold!

a bouquet of mites—if you have never taken time to appreciate mites, you are missing out.

springtails are classic charismatic mesofauna, with the cute globulars being a staple of the cool season, but I also saw some entomobryomorphs and a neelid just a fraction of a millimeter long!

isopods & myriapods next

[trulyumai]

care for me?

pairing: Messmer the Impaler / Wife! Reader

synopsis: exhausted, you try to stay up for the arrival of your husband. only he doesn’t come back the same man.

wk: 1.1k

warnings: mention of death, violence. mostly fluff

A/N: EJ come, water! (no seriously enjoy Messmer lovers) this was a request, thank you for the suggestion anonymous!

Enjoy!

It was so cold.

Dreary winds busted across the little home, invading the shack with freezing temperatures that nipped at one’s bones.

The girl of said residence could not battle such a feat alone; so she lay bundled up in many cottons and wools that cascaded her form just in front of the fire pit.

With her teeth clanking together, she drew in a particular large blanket that seemed to swallow her whole being.

She was trying— attempting, to stay away for her husbands arrival.

“He— he will be here soon,” giving herself words of comfort, little fingers smoothed over the skin of her arm.

Back and forth they went, seeking any form of warmth they could gather.

But, she was getting tired. It had been hours since his departure.

So, with a defeated huff, her lashes fluttered.

Eyes now shut, her form slumped against the wooden boards.

Maybe she could greet her doting husband upon the fields of dreams

Everything went wrong.

His mother… his own mother…

A cry, weak and low left Messmers lips as he shuddered in pain—agony.

Instead of telling the citizens, the people what had been done of the shadow lands of between, his mother lied.

She blamed the knight of flames for his part in the destruction. Blamed him for the plans, the deaths, the innocent lives gone—

“O, Mother!” Just outside the home, Messmer sat. His head tilted towards the ground in shame as his long nails twisted and pulled at his cheeks.

Blood seeped down almost instantly, yet he couldn’t find the energy to care.

Tears streamed down his face in waves, meeting the bloody patches along the way.

His nails tore and scratched at any skin that came in contact, only making his wounds worse.

“Does thou… not perceive mine own consciousness?” A yellowed Iris glanced forth upon the house.

His home.

Only now realizing he made it back, a shudder ran through him.

“Wife,” he whimpered. “Please… forgive me.”

Only the sound of wind greeted his ears, as his now bloody and weakened form pushed against the stone. Slowly making his way to the wooden door merely a foot away.

The flowers lay dormant, the fields around him lay bare and dead. Much like the lands he left behind his wake.

With bodies, upon bodies—

“Augh! No more!” With a slam, the door receded against his strength, banging out against the wall behind.

The ball of blankets jumped up in surprise, a head peeked out from the warm egg shaped cocoon the girl placed herself in.

Messmers eyes softened upon such a sight, he couldn’t help but let out a little smile seeing the girls attempt to warm herself.

“little wife,” he called. Already on his way to the girl sitting about the floor.

“husband!” she cried, reaching out her hands to signal for the man’s embrace.

He gladly accepted, sweeping her into his arms and cradling her head soothingly.

“I’ve missed you,” little sweet kisses dotted across his neck, to his jaw and up the face.

“What— what happened?” Her lips met with a red and open wound, to which the flame winced at.

He had forgotten about such a display.

“It’s nothing, dear wife,” big palms rubbed along her sides. “an accident, nothing more.”

Fear began to corrode his mind, it crumbled and tore at the seams of sanity.

People will come for him.

For his betrayal, his slaughter.

His wife— gods what has he done?

A hand pulled him back, it was soft and careful as it cradled the man’s left cheek.

“It’s okay,”

She didn’t know what was wrong, only that something was amiss.

For the man was troubled, that much was clear.

“I… listen closely, my heart.” Setting her upon the ground he looked down at her form, so much smaller than his own.

His back had to bend uncomfortably to meet her gaze but he ignored such pain.

Big palms surrounded her face, angling her eyes to meet with his.

“We need to go, does thou need anything before our leave?”

“Leave?” She shrieked. “This is our home… why would we leave so—“

“Please, please wife understand me so. I cannot dote on such a matter yet but please.” A desperate yellowed eye looked upon both of hers

“I will protect thee. With mine own blade, with mine own body. But we need to leave, most ardently”

Confused and somewhat scared, the girl could do nothing but nod her head. Even when he placed a mirage of kisses upon her, she did nothing but look upon the man.

Almost as if to study him— understand him.

Soon, she was lightly pushed into the direction of their room.

“Grab what thy can carry and need.” Messmer had said.

So she did.

She grabbed her favorite blanket, the one that had been with her since birth.

She grabbed her jewelry box that lay full of gifts from the knight.

And finally, she grabbed the last vials of homemade oils. Lavender scented, which always seemed to calm her husband down whenever it graced her soft skin.

Seeing his wife’s hands full, Messmer acted. Gently picking her up, the objects shifted about as a bridal style posture was given upon her.

Head now bumping with his armor with every movement, she decided to speak.

“Are you alright, husband?”

This was an opening.

A pristine opportunity to tell her of his forthcomings.

Of his tidings with his mother.

Of the burning lands.

Even of the soon to be castle that will be there home for god knows how long.

Messmer only looked down, peacefully admiring his wife so.

“Everything will be fine, my wife. Thou can sleep while the travel begins.”

He was a coward. Biting down upon his cheeks blood ran across his tongue, to the back of his throat.

Past all the lies and short comings, two thing stay true; he adored his wife

and he would do anything to protect her.

[angel-eyes05]

a spider in the snow

pairing: fem!reader x miguel o’hara

summary: you help rehabilitate an injured miguel after he returns from one of his late night patrols…in more ways than one

warnings: nsfw, fluff then smut then fluff, handjob (both m and f recieving), blood mention, an incy wincy tincy bit of angst

word count: 2.5k

notes: heyyyyy i've come back from the dead. i don't really write a lot of one shots so go easy on me for this one. just like every horny person on the internet, i’ve fallen head over heels in love with miguel o’hara. this is me giving into my impulses lmao. sorry if i do anything thats out of character idk him that well so just work with me here. i also don't know everything about nueva york and if names are different than here or something so im just gonna pretend they’re the same. if they are, great! if not, just go with it lmao. one more thing, despite being cuban i am a no sabo kid (rip me) so i had to use a translator for some of this so apologies in advance if some things aren't super accurate. ok lets get on with the show.

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Snowy nights in Nueva York have always been one of your favorite parts about moving up north. Seeing all the lit up buildings illuminated in the snow, all the people ice skating in Rockefeller Center rink just below your apartment window, the reminders of Christmas coming soon. It kept your heart warm against the freezing temperatures outside. You also loved the feeling of being able to bundle yourself up in blankets and hoodies, a mix of yours and your boyfriend’s, having an excuse to make hot chocolate, and finally being able to use the fireplace that normally laid dormant in the middle of your living room. The one con about the snow was when it would land on Miguel’s patrol nights. Your already nervous mind was only heightened by the added uncertainty of everything that could happen while he was out there. What if he got too cold while out there and it affected his ability to fight? What if it started snowing too hard and he wouldn’t be able to find his way back to the apartment? You knew some of your concerns were probably dumb, but they felt serious to you. 

This was one of those nights. One of the nights where you would sit on your couch, next to the cracked window, unable to sleep until you could see him come back safe. You flipped through the channels of the tv aimlessly, trying to find something to keep your mind off of the growing cold outside. You eventually turn it off after coming across the weather channel, claiming a snowstorm would be rolling into the city in about 15 minutes. Deciding there was nothing you could do about your situation, you walked over to your bedroom and wrapped yourself in your massive duvet to shield from the cold. Worries dashed around your mind about everything that could happen. Despite being verbally supportive about Miguel and his…hobbies, you really hated the idea of him sneaking out in basically pajamas almost every night to “beat up the bad guys” essentially. Even though he had explained everything to you by this point, having been dating for about three years now, you still couldn’t quite understand everything. Radioactive spiders? Corrupt businesses? Fangs and claws? Mutations? A multiverse? It was a lot to wrap your head around. But, despite all of this, all of your worries and concerns over Miguel, you stayed. Because you knew you didn’t start dating him because of his whole superhero business or whatever. You were dating him because you loved him. The real him. The way he would always press gentle kisses into the crook of your neck. How on his days off, you would be woken up to the smell of eggs and bacon cooking in the kitchen just for you. How he would always whisper sweet praises to you while you would give him head. How easily he could be crumbled down beneath his rock hard exterior. The Miguel underneath the red and blue spandex. You dreamt of this as you slowly fell into a calm slumber. You fell asleep bundled up in all the blankets on your bed, arm outstretched to the opposite side the bed, almost as if you were reaching for something that wasn’t there. 

After some time had passed, you’re not sure exactly how much, you were awoken by a thud coming from your bathroom. You lazily rubbed your eyes and grabbed your alarm clock to check the time. 3:47 am. Yeah, that’s definitely Miguel in there. You dragged yourself out of bed to help him out, throwing one of this hoodies over your tank top for extra warmth. You also liked how it still smelled like him after three times in the wash. You opened the door, eyes squinting from the bright fluorescent light. And there he was. You found it endearing. How Miguel was trying, and failing, to reach this massive scratch on his back to clean it instead of just waking you up to ask for your help. You look to the floor to find a bottle of hydrogen peroxide sitting there on the rug, probably what caused the thudding sound. You stood there leaning in the doorframe, waiting for him to notice you, even though he probably already heard every step you’ve taken from the bed up to the door now. “You need any help there?” you ask him, jokingly. You had seen him in much worse conditions, so you took moments like these to be more comedic, an attempt to lighten his mood sort of. It didn’t usually work. “No, I got it. Please go back to sleep,” he said, still attempting to wrap his arms around himself. You rolled your eyes and walked over to sit behind him, picking up the hydrogen peroxide off the floor and grabbing a couple of cotton balls from the first aid basket. “Mi amor, please go back to sleep, I promise I can do this by myself,” he argued. Before he could get another word in, you poured some of the hydrogen peroxide over his wound. He groaned in response and squeezed your thigh to help level out the pain. “That’s for worrying me all night,” you said to him, just over the volume of a whisper. As you began to dab the blood off of his cut, he responded. “You know I don’t want you to worry.” Once you could see he was turning his head around to look at you, you turned your eyes away. You didn’t really want to look at him right now. It’s not that you were mad at him. Ok that’s a lie, you were a little mad. But it was more of a helplessness you felt when you would see him like this. Beat up, cut, scratched, bruised. And there wasn’t anything you could do to help. Not until after at least. And it wasn’t like you were a trained nurse or anything. You dreaded the day that he would come stumbling through the window, too injured for you to take care of yourself. Or worse. The day he wouldn’t come home at all. “Yeah, well that doesn’t mean I don’t,” you said sort of coldly. You stood up from your position, waiting to patch up his back until after he showered. You changed your positions to sit from behind him to in front, ready to take care of his front side now. “I don’t want to talk about that right now tho-.” You cut yourself off when you finally saw his face

Cuts were scattered across his face, one above his eyebrow still dripping blood catching your attention first. He also had a bruise quickly forming on his left cheekbone. Once you moved your eyes more, you saw his nose marked with a deep cut going through the middle. His beautiful nose. It was one of your favorite parts of his appearance. Done scanning his face, your eyes moved down to his chest and his torso. His chest was marked with similar cuts to the one on his back. You kept your eyes on his chest in an attempt to hide the fact you were holding back tears right now. “I’m sorry mi cariño. I really am.” You knew he was. But sorry wasn’t going to keep him safe. This was one apology among many. It didn’t really matter. He wasn’t sorry for getting hurt again and again and again. He was sorry for the fact you had to see him like this. If you wouldn’t have seen that he was injured, he wouldn’t have said anything And you knew after this apology as well, he would go out tomorrow night and do the same thing over again. You didn’t respond to his words. All you could manage to do was pull him into an embrace and apologize when he winced from your hands hitting his cuts. You sat there for a bit, running your hands through his hair and trying to hold yourself back from crying. He nuzzled his head into the crook of your neck and planted gentle kisses there, each a little apology from him. Once you finally pulled away and wiped your face, you started to clean the scrapes on his face, this time more gentle than his back. You dabbed the cotton ball on his forehead as he held you straddled on his lap. He admired your features as you concentrated on him, rubbing your back with his fingers in the process. You didn’t say much, only a simple “sorry” if you were a little too rough with cleaning. Despite the stern face you were putting on, Miguel knew you secretly liked the way he would grab at your thighs and hips with his claws when you did something that hurt.

Once you were finished, you silently put the first aid equipment away and left the bathroom so he could take a shower. He planted a soft kiss into your forehead before you left the room. Once you crawled back into bed, you sighed to yourself. How did you end up here anyways? There’s no way you were expecting all of this when you first saw Miguel at the concert bar that day. Some days were amazing with him. Others were much harder. And while you’ve definitely had worse days with him, today was leaning on the latter option. You contemplated all of this until you heard the door to the bathroom behind you open, Miguel stepping out of the steaming room with his towel wrapped around his lower body. You were very quickly reminded of one of the reasons you’ve stayed with him for so long. The way his wet curls were laying around his head. How his chest glistened while it was damp, despite currently being tattered with cuts at the current moment. He sleepily shuffled over to the bed, dropping his towel before crawling up close to you in bed. The warmth of Miguel’s freshly showered body against yours helped to melt the majority of your worries away. It also helped that you could feel his his cock getting harder against your leg while he cuddled against you. You finally turned around to face him, cupping his jaw in your hand and rubbing your thumb across his face. He grasped your hand and pressed soft kisses into it. “I love you so much Miggy,” you finally said, breaking the silence and drawing his eyes towards you. “I really do, and I’m sorry if I ever make it seem like I don’t. You just…you scare me sometimes.” You quickly realize those weren’t the words you meant. You begin to stutter and take back your words a bit, until you see that Miguel has given you his full attention. You take a deep breath and continue. “You don’t scare me. It’s more of what you do that scares me. I never know when you’re gonna come back or if you even are. If you think I take joy in taking care of you after you come back, I really don’t. I hate seeing my boy like this. And it makes me scared that one day you’re gonna come back in a shape I can’t fix. It scares me so bad Miggy you don’t even know,” you say, choking back your tears. Once Miguel notices you’re about to start crying, he wraps his arms around you immediately. “Shhh it’s ok preciosa,” he comforts as you quietly cry into his broad shoulders. “I’m so sorry for making you worry,” he says in between kissing the top of your head. “I promise I’ll make it up to you, and I love you too.” 

You pull away from his hug and stare into his beautiful crimson eyes as he wipes away your tears. You suddenly fall into the overwhelming urge to kiss him. He returns the kiss with even more passion than you put into it. You quickly found yourself exploring his body with your hands, moans escaping his lips whenever you would graze over one of his wounds. You drew yourself closer to him to absorb more of his body heat, though you were quickly reminded of his bare cock as you could feel it hardening on your leg. Your hands eventually made it down there, teasing Miguel along the way as you felt him up on the way down. You then took his hard, already wet cock into your hands, caressing every ridge you could find on it. You could hear more moans exit his mouth and slide into yours as you handled him like putty. He would let out messier sounds, even a growl at one point, and jerk forward into your hand when you would tease around his tip. “F-fuck baby. Y-you’re s-so good to me. ‘N pr-retty too,” he would blurb out Feeling his cock get increasingly hard in your hand began to make you slightly wet as well. This only increased as Miguel began to take off your underwear as well, sliding two of his fingers into your pussy and placing his thumb to draw circles onto your clit. Your grip on his length becomes lazy and sloppy as you’re stimulated as well. You’re surprised at how quickly Miguel is able to find your clit, but then again you expect him to know your body so well after three years. After both of you have been at it for a while, you’re the first one to get close to your orgasm. “Fuck M-Miggy, I-I’m gonna cum,” you manage to moan out. His kisses on you get sloppy as he reaches his as well. It’s over for you once he begins to put more pressure onto your core. You let out an inhuman noise as your stomach fills with the white heat of your orgasm, shaking your entire body. Miguel takes his fingers out of your entrance and licks your cum off of his fingers. It’s then over for him when you eventually put the pressure of your fingers onto his cock. You hand is then covered in his cum once he reaches his climax in your fist, moaning intensely into the air. While he’s in the middle of his orgasm, his claws pop out of his fingers and into your hips and underneath your thigh where his hands are placed. Then, he lets out his fangs and uses them to leave hickeys into your neck, making sure not to let out any of his poison while doing so. “Just stay here with me Miggy,” you sigh out, his fangs deep into your neck. “You don’t ever need to go back out there again. Just stay here with me forever.” He simply nods at first, still sucking into your neck. Once he lets go and and begins to calm down, he responds with “Forever and always mi corazón,” whispering the words into your ear as he lays more kisses along your collarbone and neck.

You stare outside the window at the falling snow, hoping this time he’ll keep his word, but knowing deep down that he wasn’t going to. But for now, you could just appreciate your time with him now. He was all yours right now. Everything. And that was enough.

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A/N: uhhhh sorry but i didn't feel like proofreading this cause its super late for me rn sorry not sorry lmao

[mydearestbeloved]

Chapter 9 [Draft]

Sung Jinwoo/Trial Player!Reader

CW:

Inspired by @circeyoru ‘s “Future Power Couple”

[Masterlist🦋✨️]

Jinwoo had been mulling over a simple, yet increasingly puzzling question: How does one even contact you?

Despite weeks of fighting together, not once had he taken the initiative to reach out. The strange thing? You two hadn’t even exchanged numbers. You either planned your next raid before parting ways, or—more recently—you would simply show up because of your own schedule, or a butterfly of yours would come to him first.

The answer came to him, in a way that felt both obvious and absurd. Your butterflies.

Jinwoo wasn’t one to wait idly for answers, so he decided to test his theory. Concentrating on the familiar presence of your aura, he extended his hand, replicating that feeling in his mind. Moments later, one of your butterflies��the one that often remained hidden nearby, perhaps acting as your eyes—fluttered into view, landing lightly on his open palm.

Its wings faltered slightly, as if in acknowledgment.

This might actually work.

Closing his eyes, Jinwoo focused on the connection he had felt before, the distinct feeling of the red butterfly communicating with him.

Take me to her.

He didn’t know if it would respond, but soon enough, the butterfly took off, guiding him through the city.

---

He found you in the Hunter’s Market, haggling with a merchant. You were engaged in a rather intense back-and-forth, and judging by the merchant’s begrudging look, you were winning. In your hands, Jinwoo caught sight of what looked like a dormant magic beast egg, likely the reason for the negotiation.

"You're late."

You greeted him without even turning around, continuing to inspect the wares. Jinwoo raised an eyebrow. Not even a flicker of surprise from you. It was becoming clear that not much could catch you off guard.

By now, he was getting used to your way of doing things. "I need to talk to you."

There was an unspoken understanding between you that this wasn’t a conversation for public ears.

As you continued to browse the market, you hummed in acknowledgment. "I need to talk to you about some things too. Let’s continue this conversation in my domain. I’ll be done here in a few."

Jinwoo froze, staring at your back in confusion.

“Domain?"

"Dungeon," you corrected nonchalantly, still focused on the items displayed before you, your words casual as if you were discussing the weather.

Jinwoo’s brain paused for a moment.

"You own a dungeon?"

At that, you paused, a beat of silence passing before you turned toward him with a curious tilt of your head. "Did I never mention it before?"

"..."

"Ah."

For a split second, Jinwoo had the very distinct and rare urge to pinch your cheek. But instead, he just stared, half-amused, half-incredulous. You owned a dungeon, and you were mentioning it in the most off-handed way possible.

Of course, you would be the kind of person to forget to bring up owning something like that.

And just like that, another piece of the puzzle that was you fell into place, though Jinwoo knew he had only barely scratched the surface.

---

Jinwoo couldn't help but feel a rising sense of disbelief as he followed you into the alley. He had barely come to terms with the revelation that you owned a dungeon. Even now, he had to force himself to stop asking questions before they overwhelmed him.

He kept telling himself, Stay calm. Just get to a private place. Ask your questions there.

But, of course, fate had other plans.

As if summoned by his very thoughts, a glowing portal materialized in front of them with a soft hum. Jinwoo froze mid-step, his eyes widening. The gate was far smaller than the typical ones he had encountered, just big enough to fit a full-grown adult comfortably—yet there was no mistaking it for anything but a dungeon gate. The shimmering silver-white wisps that surrounded it were unlike any other, almost blending with rainbow-like accents at the edges. It looked... strange, subdued compared to the usual ethereal blues and reds, but somehow still powerful.

It was just his luck.

Jinwoo had been trying to push the thousand and one questions flooding his mind to the back of his thoughts, but now, they came rushing back in full force. He glanced at you, but you didn’t even seem phased by the sudden appearance of the portal. Instead, you waved him forward, as if portals and dungeons appeared in alleyways every day.

He hesitated for a split second but, deciding it was better to follow your lead than be left behind in confusion, he stepped forward, his senses alert. The instant he crossed the threshold of the gate, everything seemed to shift. The world around him blurred for a second before stabilizing again, and he found himself standing in a vast open temple-like structure.

It was nothing like the harsh, ominous dungeons he’d been to before.

The structure was grand, with high ceilings and pillars that seemed to stretch endlessly upwards. The atmosphere had an air of serenity to it, something so starkly different from what he expected when entering a dungeon. But it didn’t end there. As he followed you forward, stepping through what looked like the entrance of a colossal, ancient temple, Jinwoo’s gaze was drawn outward.

The view beyond the floating temple was breathtaking.

The sight was nothing short of a dreamscape. Lush forests and vast gardens stretched far beyond what the eye could see. Gentle rivers meandered through valleys, their sparkling waters catching the sunlight. Towering, misty mountains loomed in the distance, and there were labyrinthine paths that seemed to lead into hidden areas, mysterious domed structures rising proudly in the distance. The land appeared to have been untouched by time, ancient and majestic in its quiet beauty.

It felt more like a paradise than any dungeon Jinwoo had ever seen.

This is a dungeon?

"I know, right?" you spoke, breaking his thoughts, your voice playful. "Trust me, the first time I got here, I thought I was dead and that this was paradise."

Jinwoo’s eyes flicked to you in surprise.

But you continued walking calmly ahead without a glance back, seeming completely at ease, at home.

This place, this dungeon, was a paradox. It was both beautiful and dangerous, serene and lethal. As you moved forward, he couldn’t help but make comparisons. It reminded him of the butterflies—so ethereal, so delicate, yet with a deadly bite.

Like you, Jinwoo realized.

As if sensing his thoughts, you shot him a brief glance over your shoulder. Your eyes caught his for a moment before you turned back ahead, leading him forward through the landscape. Jinwoo shook his head, his thoughts momentarily swirling. But something made him froze in his steps.

He watched you from behind, the soft fluttering of butterflies surrounding you, some of them trailing closely behind, others flitting about aimlessly.

One butterfly, the familiar red one, fluttered close to you and landed delicately on your finger. You brought it up to your lips and kissed it gently, a soft, quiet action that felt impossibly tender.

Divine.

Jinwoo couldn’t help but wonder again, and for some reason, his pulse quickened. But, before he could dwell too much on his absurd thoughts, he shook his head and hurried to catch up with you.

---

The two of you continued walking until you reached a beautiful outdoor gazebo. The serene atmosphere of the garden, complete with a quiet pond surrounded by vibrant flowers, made it feel just like the rest of this space shouldn’t had been, a paradise. The soft trickle of water from nearby waterfalls added to the peaceful ambiance. On the table in front of the gazebo, there was tea and snacks laid out, ready for the conversation he knew he had to have with you.

Jinwoo sat down across from you, his mind buzzing with questions. He had so many things he wanted to know, and yet, he wasn’t sure where to start.

You, on the other hand, took a sip of your tea, completely at ease, before setting it down. You studied him quietly for a moment, perhaps waiting for him to speak first.

It took a moment, but Jinwoo finally asked, "This place... this dungeon. How did you come to own it?"

You sighed, leaning back in your chair, looking out over the garden for a moment as if gathering your thoughts. "Ah, yes. The story of how I got this place. It’s not simple, but I suppose I owe you an explanation."

You paused, seeming to gather yourself. "The truth is, this dungeon was here long before I ever arrived. In fact, I... was lost here when I was a child."

Jinwoo blinked, surprised. You—lost?

You continued, seemingly unfazed by his reaction. "I was barely a teen when I stumbled into it. The Trial System... it didn’t exactly help me, if you know what I mean. But it gave me a challenge I couldn’t ignore. To leave this place, I had to defeat the dungeon’s guardians."

Guardians? Bosses? Multiple?

You caught his gaze, raising an eyebrow as if to ask if that was a question. Jinwoo didn’t say anything, but his mind whirled. It was clear that this place wasn’t like any other dungeon he’d ever encountered.

"So, how did you own it?" he asked, his voice quieter now, as if trying to make sense of this all.

“The Trial System gave it to me as a... reward, I guess,” you said, a faint smile playing on your lips. "It’s mine now, in every sense of the word. And because I own it, I can summon it whenever I need to. I can open a portal to it and leave at will." You looked at him, eyes gleaming. "That’s how I was able to summon that gate earlier. It’s a... special gift."

Jinwoo absorbed the information, slowly piecing it together. "So, you can teleport anywhere?”

“Not exactly, I need to have a clear picture of where I want to go." You shrugged nonchalantly.

Jinwoo exhaled sharply, his thoughts swirling. As much as he wanted to ask more—wanted to demand answers—he felt something within him pull him back. This was your secret to reveal, in your own time.

So, instead of questioning you further, he allowed himself a moment of quiet contemplation. You seemed to know what he was thinking. With a soft smile, you raised your cup again and said, "I don’t mind sharing more, Jinwoo. But just know, some things are better left unsaid.”

Jinwoo nodded, his gaze lingering on you. He would get the answers he was looking for, one way or another. But for now, he would have to trust you—because there was no other choice.

---

Jinwoo stared at you, completely flabbergasted, his eyebrows raised in disbelief. "You have to what now?"

You sighed, sinking a bit deeper into the seat of the gazebo, as if this whole conversation were some kind of exhausting memory you'd rather not dig up. "I have to level up my skills manually. Yes. Manually."

You could almost see the gears turning in his head as he tried to wrap his mind around it. "Wait, so… no shortcuts? No automatic leveling?"

"None." You let out a dramatic groan, leaning back and stretching your arms out. "The system basically made me work my way up through blood, sweat, and endless labor. You’d think the trial version would offer at least some quality-of-life updates, but nope. If I wanted to get better at farming, I had to actually go out and till the fields. If I wanted to improve cooking… yeah, let’s just say that was a nightmare."

Jinwoo blinked, half in shock, half in amusement. "Wait… so, all those skills that the system grants—crafting, mining, cooking—you had to actually do all those things?"

"Yep," you replied, with a roll of your eyes. "No instant boosts for me. While you get to succeed or fail with crafting based on your intelligence stat, I actually had to sit down and grind every skill point myself. And, of course, I started off just as badly as you’d expect.”

He tried to picture it and stifled a laugh. "So you’re telling me… you burned a boiled egg?”

"Listen," you huffed, giving him an exasperated look. "It was the lowest-level cooking skill, okay? Apparently, it was so low that I couldn't even be trusted to make something as simple as a boiled egg. Somehow, it just… burned." You buried your face in your hands, grumbling, "It’s still a mystery to me how boiling water and an egg turned into charcoal. But that was my life. Trial version for the win."

Jinwoo couldn’t hold back his laugh anymore, and the sound of it filled the air, rich and full of genuine amusement. "You? Burning an egg? You?"

"Hey, don’t laugh! It’s not funny," you protested and pouted at him. "Let’s just say I made my fair share of… tragic cooking attempts before my skill level got high enough to handle basic meals without a disaster."

You watched him try to stifle his laughter, but your own lips twitched, betraying a smile as well. "And it wasn’t just cooking," you added. "Farming was another story. I didn’t even know the basics—soil preparation, crop rotation, pest control. Do you have any idea how long it took me to produce anything that wasn't... wilted? Even mining was brutal. There I was, chipping away with an old pickaxe for hours just to get a sliver of ore."

He shook his head, still grinning. "Looks like you went through your own personal training arc as well."

"Of course I do." you agreed with a snort. "If the system hadn’t taken feedback from me eventually, you’d be the one cursing it out every time you tried to do something simple. But yeah, thankfully, the system decided to cut you a break. Guess my suffering counted for something, after all."

You straightened in your seat and took a sip of your tea, a satisfied smirk crossing your face. "But at least, once I got a skill to a decent level, it stayed there. Permanent. I don’t have to touch a frying pan for years, and the skill level’s still as good as ever. And the skills I invested in heavily—those have even broader effects."

Jinwoo’s brow furrowed, curious now. "Broader effects?"

You nodded, glancing up thoughtfully as if reliving memories. "Take my language skill, for example. I leveled it up while studying Monster Tongue, which was excruciating at first. But once I maxed out that skill, learning other languages was a breeze. The system gave me a boost, kind of like an automatic enhancement for anything similar. If I tried learning another language now, it’d be easy compared to when I first started out.”

He gave a low whistle. "So basically, the more you leveled up, the easier it became to learn things related to that skill?"

"Exactly." You placed your cup back on the saucer with a gentle clink. "Though there’s a catch. Back then, whenever the system went through an update, some skills would get expanded. The cap would get set higher, and I’d have to grind all over again to max them out."

You gave him a look of exasperation. "Imagine maxing out a skill only for the system to update and say, 'Hey, you can go up to Level 50 now instead of 30!' That happened so many times, I lost count."

Jinwoo leaned back, his expression growing more serious. "So… what happens now? Are you stuck with your current stats forever?"

You took a slow breath, letting the question sink in before nodding. "That’s exactly it. Since the trial stage ended when you became the player, there haven’t been any more updates. My levels, skills, and stats… they’re frozen as they are. I can’t adjust my stats, I can’t level anything up, that’s why I don’t get EXP anymore. It’s like I’m in a kind of… stasis."

He was silent for a moment, digesting the weight of that statement. It was strange to think that someone with as much knowledge and power as you would be… limited.

"I still have everything I gained during the trial, of course," you continued, your tone turning thoughtful as you gazed out over the garden. "But it’s a strange feeling, knowing that I’ll never improve again. All my stats, skills, and levels are frozen in time. There’s no ‘growth’ anymore—not like what you have."

Jinwoo frowned. "And that doesn’t bother you?"

You shrugged, meeting his eyes again. "It did, at first. But after a while, I came to terms with it. I put in the effort back then, and I reaped the rewards. Sure, I miss the feeling of progress, of leveling up. But the fact that you’re the player now means the system’s finished with me." You managed a smile, though it was a bit bittersweet.

He looked at you, quiet for a moment, perhaps feeling a hint of the sacrifice you'd made just for the sake of his journey.

"So now," you said, breaking the silence with a brighter tone, "I’m basically a living relic of the trial version, here to help you navigate the system’s quirks."

Jinwoo smirked at that. "The legendary burnt-egg chef, my official guide through the system."

You snorted, rolling your eyes. "That title better not stick." Then, with a playful nudge of your cup in his direction, you raised an eyebrow. "And hey, if I’m going to help you, maybe you could use a few pointers. Starting with, oh, I don’t know… naming tips? You’re downright horrible at that."

The two of you shared a look, both of you smiling. And despite the strange circumstances, Jinwoo knew he was glad to have you by his side, guiding him, burnt eggs and all.

[Oh, he’ll not let that go, will he?]

“And whose fault do you think that is?”

---

"The meals with healing properties, the intricate mana stones, and how your butterflies can affect my daggers' stats... So that's why..." Jinwoo trailed off, connecting the dots.

You nodded, munching on a biscuit. "Mhm, pretty much. Since I have to actually *learn* the fundamentals of each skill, I can manipulate and craft related items more easily. It makes altering, replicating, or even making things from scratch a lot more natural."

You paused, reflecting for a moment before continuing, "It’s a blessing that the last system update allowed me to max out certain skills to the point where I can do these things in reality without relying solely on the system."

You brushed the crumbs from your fingers and leaned back, satisfied. "Anyway, that's all I wanted to tell you. Now, what is it you wanted to say?"

Jinwoo took a deep breath, locking eyes with you. "Join me for a week."

"...Eh?"

Without a word, he held up an item—a key.

<Castle Door Key>.

It was the entry to the Demon Castle, the S-rank dungeon created by the system itself.

"There’s no rule saying I can’t bring someone with me. You don’t gain any more experience, so there’s nothing for me to lose. But you might get materials you won’t find anywhere else, not even in the hunter's market—"

"I refuse."

Jinwoo blinked, surprised. "What?"

You looked away, your mind racing. The offer was tempting—you had several experiments in mind, but there was too much at stake. There were bigger forces at play—the plot, the system's interference, and Jinwoo's crucial development. You couldn’t afford to be too involved in this one. You needed a good excuse, something he would believe.

"Jinwoo," you began, "you’re aware of my powers' limitations, right?"

"What does that have to do with—"

"Listen." Your voice, suddenly sharp, cut through the air, and Jinwoo froze.

For the first time, Jinwoo felt uneasy, confused, like he had said something wrong. He didn’t like the shift in your demeanor, especially when it was directed at him.

"'Demon' Castle," you continued, your tone softer but firm, "just by the name alone, we can assume the majority, if not half, of enemies there will be undead."

"..."

"My powers thrive off life. In an essentially ‘dead’ land, I’ll be at a severe disadvantage—"

"I'll protect you."

"And that’s exactly the problem. I’ll be a deadweight."

"Just focus on supporting me and my shadows."

You stared at him, the determination in his eyes unwavering. He was serious—dead serious.

You rubbed your temples, feeling a headache coming on. "You’re really persistent."

"I know," he replied, not once backing down.

You exhaled, resigned. Deep down, you knew that continuing to refuse him would lead to something far more troublesome. There was no winning against Jinwoo when he was this determined. "Alright," you finally said, "I’ll join you. But if things go south, you have to trust me to pull back. Understood?"

As if you could leave him, the nagging thought echoed in your mind.

Jinwoo’s gaze softened slightly, and a small, rare smile crept onto his lips. "Understood."

You only hoped that the system wouldn’t interfere or cause any unexpected complications this time. But one question remained: why was Jinwoo so insistent on bringing you along, despite the risks?

Unbeknownst to you, Jinwoo was asking himself the same thing. But it was something he wasn’t quite ready to admit—not to you, and perhaps not even to himself.

End Note:

Unedited Draft of [023/10/2024] -

The middle part of this, the convo between Jinwoo and (Name) feels a bit weird, so I apologize for the OOC-ness. I'll come back to this later.

[rottencherrypie]

R-18+; Bloody Feast (Vampire!Thranduil x Fem!Reader)

Summary - Periods. The time of the month you despise the most, is the time of the month your lover eagerly awaits for.

Warnings - Smut, language, afab reader, fem!reader, vampire!Thranduil, slight dom!Thranduil, mention of periods (frequent), mention of blood (frequent), weird descriptions of periods (I am sorry), mention of blood clots (again, I am sorry), oral sex (reader receiving), brief mention of male receiving oral sex, semi-public oral sex, blood play.

Pronouns & POV - She/Her, third-person-ish

Word Count - 2,200+

A/N - I had a weird thought and well...this monstrosity was created. I never thought I would make another Vampire!Thranduil smut but there is a second time for everything. I am suffering and needed a distraction. I wrote this in the span of about three hours from an odd idea I had. Smut under the cut.

Read on Wattpad Read on AO3

«────── « ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ » ──────»

Periods. That time of the month when your least favorite monthly visitor arrives. Though, out of what felt like spite for you, said visitor would be either fashionably early to put a damper on your plans or terrifyingly late to make you ponder the delay as it took its sweet time to arrive: typically arriving while you were wearing something white.

But, regardless of the name you bestowed upon that time of the month, it was inevitable. It came, bringing along cramps, mood swings, and a bloody mess that always managed to stain a pair of your unmentionables during its stay.

Amongst the pain, mood swings, and mess it left behind lingered an unexpected emotion from your vampiric lover. Lust.

The first time you had your monthly bleed around the pale-haired vampire, you noticed a shift in his demeanor.

A subtle change at first. It was nothing you paid too much mind to, though the pain of the lining of your womb shedding out of your core had blinded you from the way the vampiric king lingered by you. It was something you waved away, believing your lover was merely worried over how you writhed in pain as the unfertilized egg shed alongside the old lining of your womb. Yet, nothing could prepare you for the truth of the matter.

The truth of why he lingered, why his sapphire eyes fixated on you, burning holes into your skull, was due to the fact he thirsted for the blood that poured from your core. He yearned to taste the rotted fruit of your womb, the blood of expired life, upon his tongue, to feast upon the blood you despised.

The lust for your expired blood rose as the months passed. The scent of your shedding flooded his sensitive nostrils, making it nearly unbearable to be in your presence as the urge to take you, to feast upon the blood of your womb, flooded through the vampire's chilled veins. Igniting a fire, a passion that had been dormant inside him for ages.

A fire he managed to keep at a brief simmer. The flame of his thirst managed to stay steady long enough for him to slip away into the forest and feast upon any poor deer he managed to sink his fangs into -- yet deer tasted bitter compared to the scent of your sweet, fertile blood.

However, it appeared that today would test the limits of his resistance.

It happened amid supper; the vampiric king raised his fork to meet his cold, thin lips when the sudden scent of sweet metallicness entered his sensitive nose alongside the chill of air. The muscles within his body went tense, the smooth metal within his dominant hand bending under the pressure of his chilled grasp.

His cold, sapphire gaze quickly snapped up from the various foliage upon his plate and fell onto the heavenly figure that sat beside him. You.

The burn of his intense gaze roamed your figure, warming it even through the chill of the night air as he searched for the cause of that oh-so-delicious scent. And then, he spotted it. The purity of your ivory gown, now stained a delicious deep crimson amid the inner thigh region as you shifted in discomfort upon the wooden chair.

The flesh of your cheeks began to heat as you felt the familiar twisting cramp of your bleed beginning. A sense of dread and embarrassment danced within your veins as you shrunk back within the plush wooden seat, attempting to hide the bloodied bits of your gown beneath the elongated table, unaware of the pure lust that roamed the chilled veins of your lover.

The light within his sapphire-hued gaze began to dim, the roaring fire of lust within his core began to burn wild as he slowly inhaled the delicious scent of your shedding womb. His nostrils flared, the lids of his eyes drooping as they glazed over with an unmistakable hunger and lust.

"Y/N," He spoke, his voice low and twinging with the unbridled lust that nearly burst at his seams the longer he sat beside you. "accompany me back to our quarters. I require your assistance in retrieving something of great importance." A simple request, one that appeared to be your way out of this humiliating mess.

The hue of your head bobbing rapidly filled his darkening gaze, earning a slight smirk on the corners of his thin lips. Yet, it went without notice as you were too fixated on shielding the sight of the delicious blood that stained your once pristine gown.

The soft clank of your beloved's fork hitting the wooden table echoed throughout the silent air, lingering within it as the blur of your vampiric lover standing filled your view. The swiftness of his motions nearly caught you off guard as you felt the chill of his hand encase the warmth that was your own, the steady tug of his led you out of the dining hall and away from prying eyes.

The heat of your cheeks burnt brighter as you felt the gaze of the guards lingering upon your sullied rear. The large crimson color seeped deep within the gown, showing all who viewed it the state of your aching womb. A sight that your lover salivated over as he dragged you into the twisted halls.

──────

The harsh wood of the twisted woodland halls dug into your stained gown as the pale-haired man pressed you up against it. The light within his eyes dimmed, replaced with the dark, burning fire of lust as he inhaled the sweet, metallic scent of your bleeding core.

"Thranduil--" His name left your lips in the air of a surprised gasp, the size of your gemstone-colored eyes widened as they gazed upon the now lust-driven vampire that towered over you. The size of his nostrils increased as they flared with lust, taking in every last breath of your sweet, bleeding womb as he leaned to your ear.

"I have waited long enough." The chill of his breathed growl earned a shiver to roam down your spine, a momentary distraction from the pain that roamed within your core. "And now, I shall feast." A statement you barely had time to process, as the sudden blur of his pale golden locks filled your line of sight.

The wooden floor creaked under the weight of his body down on his knees. The sudden cold swish of the skirt of your gown being hoisted up followed suit in sound, the weight of the smooth, silken fabrics now rested upon the mid of your stomach.

And as you gained weight in the middle of your belly, you lost the weight of the blood-soaked unmentionables that shielded your bleeding cunt from the starved vampire.

"Yes." The words slithered out of his mouth like the hiss of a snake, the moisture within his mouth near overflowing as he gazed upon the bloodied lips that rested around your core. A delicious sight he yearned for, dreamt of for what felt like an eternity to the eternal man.

Before you had a moment's thought, the sudden chill of his frozen tongue lapped upon your bleeding core. His licks were long and slow as he savored every ounce of the sweet, clotted metallic flavor upon his tongue. A pleased growl vibrated against your sensitive, aching cunt causing a small electric wave to roam throughout your pain-ridden body.

The smooth glide of the cold flesh of his chiseled cheeks grazed against the warm flesh of your bloodied inner thighs, furthering the waves of pain mixed with pleasure throughout your body as he continued to lap up the entirety of your aching core. His tongue cleansed every crack and crevice of that delicious, clotted blood he had yearned for, for so long. Savoring the taste and texture of the sheddings of your womb with a feral growl as he delved deeper into each sensitive fold.

The delicious, deep crimson color began to lighten in hue. The sweet, metallic taste now gained a familiar tang of pleasure upon his tongue as the sweet nectar of your arousal began to mix with the blood of your womb. A heavenly combination he had only smelt upon you during the rare times you gave him head during your monthly bleed.

"Ah!" The sound left your lips in a surprised gasp as the sudden, cool stretch of his tongue entered the warmth of your core. The cold swirl of his tongue danced within your core, allowing it to be completely coated with the delicious mixture of your bleeding arousal. The weight of your hips shifted on their own, mindlessly dancing alongside the patterns of his tongue as the tips of your nails began to grasp against the harsh texture of the wooden wall your back rested upon.

A pleased growl vibrated against your sensitive core, the hypnotic sensation coaxed out further sounds of pleasure from your plump lips as the weight of your head began to tilt back into the wood. Any care for the blood that stained your gown, a stain that would likely never come out, faded from your mind as you fell into the trance of the coldness within your aching center.

The vampiric king continued to feast within your bleeding core, slurping up each pleasure-filled drop of your sweet, bloody nectar as his tongue continued to circle inside of you. The speed was unpredictable. At times, it was slow, following the size of a blood clot before it dropped into the coldness of his hungered mouth, while other times it was rapid. Quick. And jutting. Hitting the most sensitive ounces in your core, making the muscles within your abdomen clench as a familiar tightness began to find itself amidst the field of pain that waged inside of you.

The sudden cold, rough graze of his smooth, frozen thumb grazed against your sensitive bundle of nerves. A choked gasp found itself out of your lips as your hips bucked up upon his face. An instinctive reaction, one the vampiric king decided to use to his advantage.

The frozen caress of his thumb pressing into your clit furthered the electric pleasure that roamed your body. The precise circles that danced upon your clit synced with the ones that waltzed within the walls of the entrance to your womb. A skillful dance that led you in the tango of pleasure, guiding you with every motion as your hips followed suit in the hypnotic sway.

"Thranduil." His name escaped your lips like a desperate prayer, hoping for your god to hear you and grant you what you desired most at that moment: release.

"That's it." The vibrations of his words bounced throughout your bleeding core, the weight of his thumb pressed further into your sensitive bundle of nerves, the motions of which it danced upon becoming rapid as he continued to devour you. "Give it to me. Give it all to me." He commanded, tongue jutting in and out of your savory core with immense speed.

Tongue tying knots inside of your clenching walls, scooping out every trace of blood it could catch as the pressure of his thumb grew more intense in weight and speed. The sway of pleasure danced you to the edge, making the room spin with every swirl of his frozen tongue and finger.

And, as the finale of the tango of lust, you were thrown over the edge, leaving you sinking into the sea of pleasure. The tang of your bloodied nectar flooded the vampiric king's mouth, drowning his senses with that sweet metallic zest of your bleeding pleasure. The cries of your pleasure bounced throughout the once silent woodland halls, alerting all those with sensitive ears to what was transpiring amidst the once quick exit.

The vampiric king growled in pleasure, happily downing the mouthful of nectar, groaning in satisfaction at the textured clots that went down his throat as his nostrils flared with relief.

Finally, he had received the bloody feast he had been yearning for all these months.

The speed at which your chest rose and fell quickened as you searched for your breath amongst the scent of pleasure that danced throughout the air. The sweat that clung to your skin allowed for the beautifully stained gown to join it in hugging your heavenly figure, making you appear like a glowing goddess rather than the bleeding mess you typically felt during your annual bleeds.

The chill of the king's tongue departed from your core, and soon after, the weight of his smooth, cold thumb eased from your sensitive bundle of nerves. A soft, disappointed whine slipped through your plump lips as you watched the vampire rise from his knees, the wood creaking at the shift of weight as he licked the remnants of your metallic pleasure off of his lips.

"Come now, my songbird," The king spoke, his voice laced with amusement as he fixed your skirt, shielding your bleeding cunt from the cold air. "we have the rest of your monthly to indulge." The light within his sapphire eyes returned as he spoke, now twinkling with a mixture of mischief and desire as he clutched your blood-sullied undergarments within his cold palm. His free one took the warmth of yours in his hand as he continued to steady pace to your shared quarters where he would surely indulge in yet another bloody feast.

«────── « ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ » ──────»

[cressidagrey]

Indelible Scars - Chapter 2

Summary:

Azriel knew pain. So did Galena.

Also known as: Azriel’s mate is a healer and the first time they meet, he nearly dies on her.

Warnings:

Fainting, Irresponsible use of Sleeping Potions, Cassian POV, Rhys' bashing

(thanks to @cafekitsune for the super pretty dividers!)

The panic that clawed its way up Cassian‘s chest was potent . 

He could deal with it in a fight. Then the survival instincts kicked in and made him just that edge more deadly. 

But right now…right now, it had been a friendly sparring match. And then Azriel had dropped to his knees right in the middle of it and for just one second he had thought that it had just been typical Az…just him trying to get Cassian to drop his guard. 

But it hadn’t. The grabbing at his chest and gasping for breath and then falling over made that very obvious.

And so the panic was…another thing entirely. Because it wasn’t just Cassian’s skin on the line. 

*Rhys, get me Madja! Right now!* Cassian bellowed in his mind, sharply tugging at that dormant connection Rhys kept to all of them. 

*What happened?* Rhys mental touch came back immediately. 

*Don’t know, Az just keeled over,* h e shot back, already checking on his brother, opening the front of his fighting leathers, searching for injuries…but there was nothing . Some bruises on his chest but not bad enough to explain Azriel just… losing consciousness.

*I’ll get her,* Rhys promised immediately.

“Cassian?” Nes hit the floor next to him, kneeling on Azriel’s side, Azriel’s breathing coming in sharp gasps, a cough working its way down his throat…

Fuck, that didn’t sound good at all. 

“Azriel!” Cassian snapped sharply, lightly shaking his brother. 

Green eyes blinked open, hazy, unfocused…like Azriel wasn’t really there. Cassian cupped his brother’s face, feeling the sweat-drenched skin under his own, far hotter than it should be. 

“For Cauldron’s sake, Az!” Cassian hissed. “You’re burning up.” How long had this been going on? How long had Azriel run a fever and had still showed up for training and for work, because of course, he had. Azriel didn’t even know what a fucking break was, clearly. Even when he should. 

Azriel blinked, still unfocused. Another cough. “I am not feeling good,” Azriel choked out. 

Yeah, Cassian bet on that . His skin was hot enough to fry an egg on. “Oh really,” Cassian muttered under his breath, fingers pressing against Azriel’s pulse point, feeling his heartbeat thrumming under his skin. Far quicker than it should be. 

This wasn’t good either. 

Azriel’s eyes threatened to droop again. “No sleeping,” Cassian said sharply, shaking Azriel to get him to stay conscious, meeting Nesta’s worried grey gaze. 

Oh, for fuck’s sake.  He growled as he pulled Azriel upwards, “Come on, you big lug.” 

There was a single twitch of Azriel’s arm over his shoulder and then that was it. 

“I am going to bridal carry you out of her, don’t think I won’t,” Cassian warned him, hoping that it would annoy Az enough that he was going to move but he didn’t. 

So Cassian hefted him up for lack of a better option, Nests watching the whole thing with worried eyes. 

“Tired,” Az mumbled, his voice so quiet that Cassian wouldn’t have caught it if he wasn’t as close to him as he was right now.  

“Come on, stay awake, Az. Rhys is getting Madja,” Cassian promised him. They were going to get Madja, and it was all going to be fine.

Cassian wasn’t sure who he was assuring right now. 

“If you can hurry up, do it,”  he told Rhys mentally, getting a quick affirmation in response, as he dragged Azriel into the house and up to his room. 

He dumped Azriel on his bed for lack of a better option. Azriel’s room still looked as utterly impersonal as it ever had. There was nothing in there that spoke of his brother, which was just the way Azriel seemed to like it. The only thing that made it obvious that the room was even used was a stack of reports for Rhys on the desk and a couple of daggers on the same. 

Cassian was sure that Azriel had even more knives stashed away around the room, but there was seemingly nothing that…spoke of his brother other than that. 

He was careful of Azriel’s wings as he wrestled him out of his fighting leathers, though they were drooping, not even bothering to be closed completely. So unlike his brother.

“Come on, you could at least help me,” Cassian complained, trying to keep the worry out of his voice. He had never seen Az like this. Even during his worst injuries, he had been…well, either completely knocked out or still aware enough to…be conscious, to be there…to lift a hand or his wing and not just…lay there. Not even bothering to open his eyes as Cassian tried to get him out of his clothing. 

“jus…tired,” Azriel mumbled, the syllables bleeding into each other in a way… his voice sounding far, far away. 

“You literally folded together like a bad cardhouse out there, so I am not taking your word for that,” Cassian told him sharply, finally managing to get the top of him completely. Nesta seemingly materialised next to him at that moment, reaching out to hold Azriel up as Cassian freed him from his boots. 

“Can you hold him for a moment?” he asked her, but just before Nesta could even answer, Azriel was back to violently coughing, nearly tipping forward if Cassian’s mate hadn’t grasped him tighter, the two of them exchanging a glance. 

This wasn’t good. 

“How long have you had that cough?” Nesta asked Azriel sharply, managing to get him to blink blearily at her. 

“...weeks,” Az managed to bring out, sounding wheezing and halfway gone to unconscious once again. 

“Fuck, Az,” Cassian cursed. Weeks? How many fucking weeks? “You should have gone to see Madja.”

He hadn’t even finished saying that sentence as Azriel grew lax in Nesta’s grip. Like somebody had cut all the strings holding him upright and left him slumped against Nesta, who was holding him, one hand carefully carding through Azriel’s thick dark hair.  

Azriel was one of the few people whom Nesta wasn’t outright prickly to, one of the few people she doted on when she had the opportunity…And as Nesta’s gaze met his, Cassian could see the worry in it. 

“Cassian,” Nesta said quietly, but he just mutely shook his head, helping her to get Azriel on the bed. He didn’t have the words to assure his mate…not when he could still feel the terror crawling its way up his spine. 

*Where are you?* Rhys wanted to know at that moment. 

*Az’s room,* he responded immediately, staring at Azriel, mentally combing through the last few months, trying to come up with… something that…

He hadn’t even noticed that fucking cough over the last few weeks. 

Either Azriel had done a fucking phenomenal job hiding it or Cassian had been so busy with his own life that he had totally forgotten that his brother existed. 

Azriel had been turning quieter for months. Cassian hadn’t taken it seriously. He had just thought that…maybe Azriel felt like a third wheel in a family where everybody had a significant other and he didn’t… and so Cassian had tried to get Azriel to go out for a night, blow off some steam…and that had been it. 

He hadn’t even given it a second thought…he hadn’t…he had never even bothered to ask Azriel what was going on in his life. He had never even… 

But clearly…clearly it had gone much deeper than he had ever even thought about it. 

Just at that moment, Rhys and Madja finally arrived and something in Cassian’s chest eased, because thanks to the mother, he wasn’t alone with it anymore. 

“What happened?” Rhys asked him tightly, as they watched Madja start her usual diagnostics. 

“We were training and then he just…fainted. He coughed up a storm as well…said he just wanted to sleep,” Cassian said, his voice hoarse. “I have never seen  him like this, Rhys.” 

He had seen Azriel injured but never outright…sick like that. Maybe with a fever once upon a time, when they were still children…when Rhys’ mother had still been alive and she had taken care of them…but other than that…even then Azriel hadn’t been as out of it as he seemed to be these days. 

“He got a cold,” Madja finally said drily and Cassian just stared at her. 

What. 

“Are you serious?” he demanded, staring at Azriel lying still in that bed, his breathing still harsh in the quiet room. A cold? This wasn’t just a cold. This couldn’t just be a cold. That made no sense. How could they come up with only a cold and nothing else and…

“That’s all?” Nesta asked, sounding incredulous. 

At least Cassian wasn’t the only one who couldn’t believe that. 

“Yes,” Madja repeated. “Just a cold.”

“He has never fainted before from a simple cold,” Cassian said carefully. Madja had never steered them wrong before, she was centuries older than them and she knew what she was doing but…Azriel had never been sick like this . 

Madja snorted quietly, rearranged the blanket, and stretched taut over Azriel’s form. 

“He should have been resting, but he hasn’t done that,” she explained. “Probably used a few of the common cold cures…they make you feel better than you are. Now his body is telling him that he can’t go on like that,” she said with a shrug. “I’ll give him another potion and he can sleep it off. I’ll check on him tomorrow,” she promised and Cassian just nodded, rubbing a hand over his face. 

“He’ll be fine,” Rhys told him quietly, watching Madja do her work and Cassian just nodded silently. The moment of Azriel collapsing still played on a loop in his head. Again and again and again. 

“Let him rest. It’s the best you can do right now,” Madja said quickly. Right. 

“Only Az would manage to work until he literally dropped unconscious,” Cassian said with a sigh. 

“He’ll be fine,” Rhys repeated and he looked up to see Nesta crossing her arms but holding her tongue. 

She said nothing, even when Cassian could nearly feel her bristling across the bond. He pushed love at her, but Nesta just turned to stare at Azriel for a moment. 

“You can check on him every hour or so, but otherwise just leave him to rest,” Madja told them, pretty much herding them out of the room.

Rhys took her back down to the city, leaving Cassian and Nesta to play nursemaids. Or more like…check in on Azriel every fucking hour on the dot and realise that whatever Madja had given him only meant that he was so deep asleep that even the shadows were nowhere to be seen. They had disappeared for once. 

It was unsettling. 

Cassian had always been creeped out by them, to be completely honest. He never was quite sure what to make out of them, even when he knew he was safe from their wrath. 

And their wrath was something to be afraid of. He knew that better than anybody. 

 But they stayed quiet. 

Cassian checked with Azriel again before he went to bed…still asleep, wings stretched out over the bed, with no movement, no noise, other than the moving of his chest and the rasping of his breath…

He forced himself to go to sleep, figuring that watching his brother knocked out cold and asleep was probably at least a tiny bit creepy…and then was startled awake, by somebody snatching away his blanket. He was straight up sitting up in his bed, only to see the whisps of shadow swirl around the room, his blanket in their grasp. 

He cursed. “Azriel?” he asked sharply, and the shadows seemed to shake, bleeding out at the edges, something he had never seen them do either…

It was enough to make him get out of his bed and tear down the hallway towards his brother’s room, leaving behind a confused Nesta. 

The bed was empty. That was the first thing he realised. The second thing, was Azriel collapsed on the floor next to the door that led to his bathing chamber, blood sluggishly weeping from a wound on his forehead. 

Fuck. 

He crossed the room in a few steps, kneeling down next to his brother, fingers once again pressing to his pulse point. Heartbeat was quick but steady and Azriel roused as he touched him. 

“Azriel?” Cassian said quietly. “What happened?” he asked his brother, already pulling him to sit upright, Azriel’s skin taking on a near-grey pallor…still too hot and slick with sweat.

“Tried…bathroom…” the words sounded like every single one took so much fucking effort from Azriel. 

“Fuck, Az,” Cassian cursed. “I knew I should have stayed here,” he muttered under his breath, managing to get Azriel up from the floor and back into bed…fetching a towel to press against the sluggishly bleeding wound on his forehead…hissing at how Azriel had really managed to mangle his head…probably having tried to grab the edge of the desk on his way down and his forehead having caught the same.  

“You really got in there,” he said with a grimace. “You’ll need stitches…it’s bleeding.”

*Rhys,* he reached out, not caring that he probably pulled their other brother from sleep. He really didn’t care right now. Not when Azriel was bleeding all over that damn towel, slowly turning the white cotton fabric red. 

*What’s wrong?*

He didn’t even bother talking to Rhys and instead just shoved the memories of the last few minutes at him. For just a moment Rhys was quiet. 

*I’ll get Madja,* Rhys sighed 

“‘s fine,” Azriel mumbled, eyes closed, a weak cough working its way through his throat. 

“You are not.” Cassian disagreed, still wiping away blood. 

“Deserved it,” Azriel mumbled and Cassian froze. 

“No, you fucking don’t,” he snapped. What kind of idiotic thought was that? Azriel didn’t deserve the pain or the injury or anything like that. 

Azriel made a noise that sounded akin to something like disagreement. 

“Tired,” he said again, Cassian just stared at him. 

As much as he wanted to just let Azriel back to sleep, he was not going to do that, if he had a head injury. 

“Don’t go to sleep, Az. We want you to wake up again,” he told his brother tightly. Azriel mumbled something that he couldn’t understand. 

“Why,” his voice was weak and scratchy and he looked utterly miserable, even as Cassian pressed the towel against the wound…hazel eyes opened, looking hazy and in pain…

“Why I don’t want you to fucking die?” Cassian asked incredulously. Azriel didn’t react for a moment. 

Then, that same scratchy voice… bone-deep exhausted: “Y’have Nes.” the words were slurred, but Cassian still fucking understood him. “Sleep. Don’ wanna ‘ake up.”

And with these words, his breathing evened out and Cassian was ready to fucking bury a fist in the wall. 

So he had a mate. And he fucking adored Nesta, who had hung the moon and the stars as far as Cassian was concerned. But that didn’t mean…it didn’t fucking mean that his fucking brother was fucking replaceable. That didn’t mean that Cassian was just going to sit by and watch if Azriel needed help or was…

He stared at his brother. 

Swallowed. 

What had he done that made Azriel think that he wasn’t going to fucking care if he died? That it didn’t matter, because he had Nesta, so Azriel could just lay down to die and…Cassian wouldn’t care? What had…

He growled deep in his throat, carefully placing Azriel into the bed properly, still wiping away the blood. 

“Cassian?” Nesta’s voice came from the door, wrapped in a silky dressing gown and Cassian just shook his head. 

“He hurt his head on the way to the bathroom,” he told her tightly. “Hit the corner of his desk with his temple as he collapsed.”

Nesta hissed in sympathy. 

“I knew I shouldn’t have left him alone,” he muttered. 

“You did what Madja told you to do,” Nesta defended quietly. “We thought he was just going to sleep it off.”

“And if his fucking shadows hadn’t gotten me, he would have stayed laying on the floor bleeding until the morning,” Cassian snapped and then forced himself to take a deep breath. 

“But they did,” Nesta told him, touching his shoulder. “They did.”

Rhys and Madja arrived…the wound on Azriel's forehead was stitched up…

“He needs to rest. He’ll be fine,” Madja promised him once again. 

“He collapsed again,” Cassian said sharply.

“Cassian,” Rhys said with a sigh. “Madja knows what she is doing,”  he said pointedly. 

“His body is weakened,” Madja told him, a quirk of amusement in the set of her mouth. “He needs to rest. This was an…unfortunate accident.”

Yeah, it was. 

“Is there anything else we can do?” Nesta asked, crossing her arms. “I am not leaving him alone again until he feels better.” 

“You can get him another blanket,” Madja said. “I’ll leave you with some fever reducer…I’ll be back in the morning…”

Nesta nodded and he watched how his mate conferred with the house for just a moment before a thick blanket appeared at the foot of Azriel's bed and Nesta started to tuck it around his brother. 

“You are a mother hen, Cassian,” Rhys said with a sigh. Cassian glared at him. 

“You didn’t fucking hear him, Rhys,” he snapped. 

“What do you mean?” Rhys asked. For a moment it warred in Cassian and then he shoved the memory at Rhys. He watched his brother’s expression as he saw what Azriel had said, the shock and surprise filtering over his face. 

“He deserves the pain?” Rhys repeated incredulously. “ Why ?”

“I don’t know.” Cassian admitted quietly, watching Azriel back to being unconscious…“Do you know why he thinks that?” he asked Rhys. He hadn’t really seen his brother for weeks if not months…if not years…his own problems taking precedence and Azriel had never been the type of male to complain about anything. He was more the type of fae that would swallow down everything and anything until finally, he exploded. 

“It’s Azriel,” Rhys finally said, and Cassian stared at him. 

“What do you mean?” he demanded. 

“I mean, that he has been…filled with self-loathing for a very long time, Cassian,” Rhys said with a sigh. “All his shields are stripped away right now. I imagine he would have never said that until normal circumstances.”

“I don’t fucking care about the circumstances, he clearly actually believes it!” Cassian snapped.

“What do you want me to say, Cass?” Rhys asked with a sigh, flicking a piece of lint off his jacket. 

“I want you to act like you care. I want you to see that our brother has been fucking miserable for months and neither of us have even noticed it or tried to make it better!” Cassian snapped.

Rhys opened his mouth to respond and then closed it again. “Give him some time. He’ll get over it,” Rhys finally said with a sigh. Cassian just stared at him.

He turned away from Rhys, too fucking furious to even form the words in his mind. 

Madja and Rhys left the room and it was Nesta that finally said something.

“We are missing something,” Nesta said, crossing her arms. “Something went on between Rhys and Azriel.”

“What do you mean?” Cassian asked his mate. 

“I mean, that Rhys can be an utter prick, but he cares about the people he loves. And just saying that Azriel will get over himself…that’s not…” Nesta shook her head. 

Cassian sighed. “He has not been well, but  I just don’t…I don’t know what is wrong,” he admitted. “Do you think it’s about Mor and Emerie?” he asked hesitantly and Nesta stared at him. 

“What do you mean?”  Nesta asked him. “Azriel hasn’t said anything to Emerie as far as I know at least. He has been...very polite about the whole thing.” 

“He spent 500 years in love with Mor only for her to turn out to be mated to a female. And it’s not like she hadn’t…used other males to make it very obvious to Az that she was never going to be interested in him,”  Cassian admitted with a grimace. She had used him as well and he had been young and stupid and hurt his brother in the process. 

Azriel had never given him the fault for that. Had never even been actually outright angry at him for it. Even when Cassian thought that Azriel had every fucking right to it.

Nesta shook her head, reaching out to take his hand. 

“No…I think it’s about Elain,” she admitted quietly and Cassian could just stare at her. 

“Elain?” he echoed incredulously. What did Nesta’s sister have to do with any of this? What… “What does she have to do with…” 

Nesta’s gaze sharpened. “Azriel and her had a …I wouldn’t call it a fling, because nothing ever happened. But a flirtation maybe,” Nesta admitted. 

Oh. 

He remembered that time, when suddenly after 500 years Azriel seemed to have gotten over Mor. Suddenly. Without a forewarning. In a blink. Had Elain been the thing that had snipped away every last bit of hope…with Azriel suddenly confronted with another female who hadn’t scorned his attention, who hadn’t…And then she had chosen her mate. 

“I don’t know. I never asked,” Nesta said with a shrug. “But he loved her, I think.”

“And she married Lucien,” Cassian continued that though. “He got his heart broken.”

Of course.  “How exactly does Rhys fit into that?” he wondered and Nesta shrugged. 

“I do not know,” his mate answered. He sighed, finding himself the overstuffed armchair that was kept in one corner of the room and making himself comfortable. 

“You should go back to sleep, Nes,” he told her but Nesta just rolled her eyes at him, coming towards him and then curling herself up on his lap like there was no place that she liked more. 

It soothed something in his heart. 

“Don’t be ridiculous,” she hissed. “I am not going back to sleep when my mate is up worrying himself sick.”

It kindled some warmth in his stomach and he held her closer to himself, breathing in that scent of steel and ice that only she had. “I am not the sick one…that’s one Az,” he disagreed with her and Nesta just rolled her eyes.  

“He would be pissed off if he knew we were watching him sleep.”

He couldn’t help but snort, because Nesta was so very right.

They would never hear the end of it. 

[uncharismatic-fauna]

The Basics on the Barred Owl

Strix varia goes by many names: the barred owl, the northern barred owl, the striped owl, the hoot owl, the eight-hooter owl, or the who-cooks-for-you owl. The last few names refer to the owl's distinctive hooting call, which is often followed by what is often described as 'maniacal laughter'. The barred owl is native to the old-growth deciduous and coniferous forests of eastern North America, though in recent decades the species' range has expanded across the Rocky Mountains into the Pacific Northwest.

The striped owl can be hard to spot, due to its white and brown plumage. The back and wings are brown with white barring, while the chest is dull white or gray with brown streaks. The face is surrounded by a gray-white disk and framed with a brown mask. This coloration allows the barred owl to blend in seamlessly with the upper forest canopy where it resides-- although some populations in the southern parts of its range have been known to carry a pink tint due to the amount of shrimp they eat. However, S. varia is not a small birds; adults can be anywhere from 40 to 63 cm (16 to 25 in) in length, with a wingspan of 96 to 125 cm (38 to 49 in), and weigh about 630 g (22.2 oz) on average.

Like most owls, the barred owl is primarily nocturnal, though they can be fairly active during the day. When dormant, they roost in tree hollows or nests abandoned by other birds. At night, adults are active in guarding their territory and hunting for small mammals, birds, reptiles and amphibians, and large arthropods like moths and crayfish. The only natural predator of adult hoot owls is the great horned owl, which will often drive S. varia from their territory. Eggs and nestlings are sometimes prey for raccoons, weasels, and diurnal birds of prey.

S. varia mates for life, and couples are fiercely defensive of their territories and nests. Courtship and territory establishment begins in late winter, and continues from February to April. Males attract mates with their distinctive who-cooks-for-you call, and further entices prospective females with head bobbing and bowing. Together, the pair then establishes a roost and the female lays up to 5 eggs. She alone incubates the clutch for about a month, while the male hunts for her. After hatching, the female continues to care closely for the chicks for another 2-3 weeks, at which time she joins the male in hunting.

Hatchlings quickly become active, and are prone to falling out of the tree, but even at only 4 weeks old they are able to climb back up the trunk. Siblings have been recorded as being tight-knit, often staying close together in the nest and when learning to fly. Fledging begins at about 6 weeks old, and by 10 weeks young are capable of short flights. However, parents continue to provide care to their chicks until they're 6 months old, at which time the young owls leave (or are forced to leave) and establish their own territories. Mortality in barred owls is highest in their first year of life, and once out of this perilous stage individuals may live to be up to 18 years old in the wild.

Conservation status: The barred owl is a common species, and is considered by the IUCN to be Least Concern. The expansion of its range into the Pacific Northwest is considered one of the major causes of the decline of the northern spotted owl.

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Photos

Mick Thompson

Hal Thrachtenberg

Mark Musselman

[kalmiaphlox]

Damn, this is what it feels like to be you?

AO3 Link / Masterlist

Part 2 / Part 3

Don't Touch That!

All it takes is one little touch and now they are no longer where they should be. Hircine is Astarion. Astarion is Hircine. Hircine knows better than to mess with mysterious eldritch artifacts, and so should Astarion. This knowledge does not stop them from looking into the unknowable. Chaos ensues as they learn what it really means to be alive and undead.

Pairing: Astarion x Named Female Tav (Hircine)

WC: 6.7k

Main Tags: Body Swap, Humor, Fluff, Astarion loves himself and boobs, smut coming in later parts, Touching things you shouldn't, Astarion now has an eldritch being in his brain.

Tag list: @zozoparsnips

Dredged up from the deepest bowels of the Underdark, the three mystery artifacts now lie before them, foreign and incomprehensible in their geometry, protectively encased in enchanted glass on the marble slab table.

Hircine claps her hands together softly in excitement, rocking back on her heels, eager to inspect these things in whatever capacity she is able. 

His knowledge of abyssal is worthless here; unfortunately, there will be no wowing his wife by name dropping Ubothar and Malcanthet, or monologuing about the caste system of the tanar’ri—or lack thereof. 

Clearly the subjects of her fascination tonight are from the far realms, a topic Astarion has been learning diligently about, even if it is all a bunch of incoherent devilshite. At the end of the night, eldritch horrors beyond their wildest imaginations are one of the few things that breaks Hircine out of her melancholy, so he’ll indulge her when he can.

The three scavenged objects were somehow so similar to each other in their aura, yet so completely different in their makeup. One warps and writhes in place, as if tentacles might sprout forth from its shell at any moment, but nothing ever happens as the intangible masses flow beneath the surface. The middle object floats a few centimeters off the table, morphing between geometrical and amorphous shapes, hovering within its glass encasing, pulsing an ominous purple, a beacon of nefarious purpose that could easily fit in his palm. The last is a green ball-shaped rock, unassuming in its appearance.

Hircine tugs at his sleeve, pointing at the relatively normal looking rock. “Husband, that's a dormant slaad egg! They are typically implanted into a host and then burst out in a shower of blood and guts. I’ve only ever seen a red egg before… The green ones are more rare since they require a high concentration of magic from the host.” She sighs dreamily, hugging onto his arm and leaning her head on his shoulder.

Astarion fails to ignore the way her breasts press against him, the warmth all too pleasant as it radiates from her body. 

Ugh. If he humors her now, she’ll humor him later. “Will the egg stay like that or is a host-eater about to make us dinner?” 

“Hmm, we should be fine. They need to feed on their host's insides to hatch, so keep it outside of your body.”

“Good to know,” he mutters. “What are the other two?”

To his disappointment, Hircine releases her hold on him, moving in to inspect the more ‘active’ objects. “That's what I'm hoping to find out. I brought some books to help with identification, but I don’t have a lot of confidence that we can glean their true purpose from some texts.”

She reaches forward, carefully removing the boxes encasing each of the eldritch… baubles—that probably isn’t a good idea, just giving the things open access. They stay in place, but Astarion swears the purple glowing one begins to pulse faster now that it’s ‘free’.

“Don’t touch them.” Hircine says.

He nods, not needing to be told twice as he takes a step towards the table, careful to stay slightly out of arm's reach. Astarion won’t be getting infected with slaad parasites tonight.

While he stares between the artifacts, Hircine flips through books on another table off to the side, reading aloud as she tries to find any useful information hidden in their pages.

Like a fish caught on a line, Astarion can't take his eyes off the amorphous orb-thing as it begins to blink between flashes of purple and white, its buzz drowning out all thought. Astarion makes another move closer, a tug within his mind calling out to him, begging for his touch. It whispers inchoate nothings, a madness so real and tangible he could grasp it easily in his hand, feel the coil of its vibrant light as he slips into its unreasonable cocoon.

E̸̳͙̖̟̳̰̟̜͈͙̪̖̲͗̓͗̅́͗͗̚͜͝͠X̵̛̤̟̲̜̳̤̠́͌̈́̈́̓̇̈́́̋̀͘C̵̢͇̤̩̹̬͎̱̀͛H̸̤̦̙̳̬̪̫͇̭̼̩̱̗̅̀̌͋͘͘͜Á̷͎̣͓̓̂̾͂̽̊̂̈́̂̀̀̚͘̚ͅN̸̢̨̧̛̺̟̭͓̖̅̈́̇́̔̓̈́̀̆̈́̚͝ͅG̸̡̠͕̣̝̝̺̗̘̟̺͕̼̗̅̿͂̓̔̈́̏͛͂̋̽̕̚͝͠E̷̡̙̟̔̒͐̅̽̌̕͘

All he has to do is release it.

Hircine’s voice, a distant melody floating through time and space, reaches him within the fog of irrationality. “Husband, did you hea—No! Don’t to—”

Astarion’s fingers brush against the object, a hard jelly beneath his touch, incomprehensible visions flashing before him and—

++++

c̴̛͎̓͌̾̀̓͋̒̋̇͘͝ą̸̫̱͔̥̝͎̯̦͈̼̮̂͂́̊̈́̇̽̿̓̈́̚̚͝͠ĩ̸̡̜͖̫̥̮̬͆́̄̀̒̃̎͒͂̍͑̾̈́̕͜s̷̢̛͇͖͇̰̰̱̻̬̄͂̇͑̕̚ľ̷̩͕̟͕̃̃ȉ̵̙̼ǫ̶̡̲͎̰̗̻̺̦͚̙̼̱̳̌̈́͐͂̒͐̿͆̓̓͛̓̕͝͝ả̵̛̝̞̭̙͖͚̟̻̼̲͑̍̓̋̂̌͗͛͒̉̽ś̸̢̛͖̹̲̖̻̫͉̘̥̮̉̈̃̆̆͝͝͝

Oh gods, his body aches, muscles tight and strained as if he spent days in the kennels under Godey’s watchful care. Even his eyelids are heavy, unwilling to open as Astarion slowly stirs back to consciousness. 

What happened?

He had been watching the eldritch things while Hircine was reading, and then… nothing. 

Did he pass out? 

̴̨̨̢̤̘̞̹̲̻̻̦̓̆̊͜͜h̴̛̗̰̝͚̔̑͜͜͠ḱ̶̮̝̠̜̙̜̤̞̣̗̟͖̑̑̀͌̈́̒̾̔̄̕͠H̷̛̺̟͓̳̱̝̜͈̺̥͉͇͉̖̱͛̂͒̓̿͛̌͘O̴̮̮̞̱̰̙͖̼̹̽͆̒̓͆̿͛H̵̡̨̻̭̗̤̥̰͕̱̘͗̅͑́̓̂̄͛̅͆̾̿̑̕͘g̸̭͚̬̻̻̤̦̺̏̈́̈́̾̏͜͠

There’s this alien warble that ebbs and flows within his head, discordant and atonal, but just as it appears, it is gone, fading from his mind without a second thought as to why it is there to begin with or where it came from.

A twitch of his finger confirms he’s regaining some mobility, slowly working inwards as joints are flexed and rolled around, anything to feel something more than this soreness.

But why do his legs and feet feel bare? Astarion was definitely wearing pants and shoes when they entered the mines. 

Perhaps someone brought them back up and Lexi stripped him down.

Except his shirt is still on and strangely tight against his chest.

He tilts his head side to side, a new feeling other than the ache permeates under his skin—a soft, blooming warmth, so welcoming in its arrival. Not the kind brought on by lying beside a roaring fire, but one deep within, as if Astarion gorged on a mass amount of blood. It's been a few days since a meal like that.

Finally, his eyes open.

The hewn rock ceiling greets him. So, he's still in the mines. 

Then where is Hircine?

Everything feels so… shrunk down, like his limbs aren't where they should be. He raggedly groans as he struggles to sit up but a breathy rasp is all that rattles out of his chest.

Bones in his neck pop as he stretches upwards. Hells, since when has he been so tense? There's such a heaviness to the back of his head too, a weight pulling him back down to the ground. 

And then he feels it, that constant rhythm pounding against his ribcage.

A heartbeat, powerful and steady, screaming that he's alive once again. 

His hand shoots up to place itself over his chest but collides with something much too soft and squishy to be him.

Astarion looks down and—

What in the nine hells is this?!

Fleshy mounds protrude from his(?) chest, draped in skin-tight silk dyed a color only one person wears everyday of her life. Strands of gray and silver streaked hair spill over his(?) shoulders. The hand grabbing at his(?) chest a pearly light gray with neatly filed nails rounded at the ends.

Astarion has no pants on because he's now wearing a dress that is a little too form-fitting, and there's no shoes since his wife hates those.

He is no longer him. 

He doesn't want to be something else again. Isn't one horrific change enough in his terrible, no good life?

But Astarion is alive, literally. His(?) heart beats a familiar cadence, one he knows well from so many nights resting his head right atop where it lies, while the fingers he now controls stroke through his curls or down his arms.

If Astarion is here, inside of Hircine, then where is she? 

That ever-present hunger for blood is now gone. He’s at peace—mostly. He recalls Hircine ate a few hours before they started their artifact inspection and now there is an emptiness within his—her—stomach, though it does not compare to the cavernous, never-ending desolation of being unable to truly sate oneself. 

He should be fine without real food for a little longer. 

Struggling to stand up, Astarion grips onto the table, unsteady on his(?) feet. His balance is completely off center as he uses the table to hoist himself into a standing position but he tips forward, leaning against the cool granite in an effort to not collapse completely. 

Gods, how does she walk around like this, so top heavy all the time? 

No wonder Hircine never complains when he holds her tits.

Now, where is—

Ah, there is his body, face down on the ground, one arm outstretched as if reaching for something.

The steady pace of his heart quickens, his breathing—gods above, I'm breathing because I need it and I didn't even notice!—hitches as he chokes for air. 

What if Hircine is gone because he took her place? 

What if his body is now an empty husk, never to move again?

There's no sign of life from his actual body, and of course there wouldn't be because he's an undead vampire! 

It's not time to stand yet with these legs, they feel so… thin. Astarion gets back down on hands and knees, crawling his way over to his prone body. With shaking hands he tugs at his body, failing to roll himself over. 

Am I that heavy or is Hircine really weak? 

Adjusting himself so his—her back is pressed against a table, Astarion pushes with shaky legs, slowly working his body over onto its side before it flops onto his back, head lolling around limply. 

When Hircine learned that Astarion no longer remembers what his face looks like, she immediately hired a painter to capture his—their likeness together. In Darkfire Hall, there now hangs a single portrait of Astarion and Hircine in the sitting room and he might spend a few minutes a day staring at it, memorizing that face so he will never forget it again. 

But this is his actual honest to gods face, in the flesh, laid out on the stone ground where he can touch it. 

Astarion leans in close but is stopped by his head throbbing with more of that accursed fuzziness. 

ḏ̶̢̼̹̤̣͕͉̘̼͈̑͒̓͌͑͌s̸̡̡̖̟̝͚̜̙̣̖̘̪͍̀̐͒ṣ̶��̭̙̻̐͑̔̒̂̄̃̄͂̈́̓̚̕͝͠ķ̷̡̧̻̮̹̼͓̦͙̫̩̭̤̝̉͌i̷͎̠̰̠͕̊͌͋̕ͅͅ

And then it's gone again. 

Good riddance. He has more important things to think about.

The painting is nice and Astarion will forever be grateful, but nothing—nothing—compares to the real thing.

A strong, sharp nose stands prominently at the center of his face, accentuated by high cheekbones and sunken smile lines that must have formed from times long forgotten, never to be remembered again. Thick, dark lashes line his shut eyelids, no movement to be seen beneath them, and right now he wishes more than anything they would open, even if all he’ll see is the same eyes as his siblings.

The same eyes as Cazador, yet Astarion’s all the same.

He moves on, roving over his features, impressing them upon his memory. 

I will not be forgotten again.

To think all this beauty has been kept from him, and all because of the eternal curse Cazador has subjected him too. He won't be thanking whatever plight they've fallen into, but Astarion can certainly take the time to enjoy what's before him now: the most beautiful man in all the realms—Hircine would agree. 

He uses Hircine’s slender fingers to trail delicately from his full gray brows, down the slope of his nose to the bow of his lips, feeling them give as he presses lightly upon them. His hummingbird heart flutters in his chest at the sight, relishing every moment. Raising a lip, Astarion finds those pesky fangs that speak to his vampiric nature, never perfectly hidden but can be easily explained away with enough wine and sultry stares—not something he has to worry about anymore, being married and out of Cazador’s iron grip, at least for a little while longer.

Oh, and his hair. Styling it without a mirror, he knows it is perfect, but seeing it like this is much better. Those silver curls, softer than maratman silk and styled with more care than a mother would lay upon her babe. 

The incandescent glow of the magic lamps does nothing for his pallor, casting a sickly sheen over his skin that highlights and enlarges his pores, and turns the dark spots under his eyes into something garish, harsh.

How awful. He needs to get his body out of here and into better lighting to remember it by.

Not that Astarion can carry himself like this, not with Hircine’s willowy frame that bows against the slightest breeze in its frailty. 

And what if she is gone?

A lump has formed in his—hers? Fuck it, his!—throat and he swallows it down, rough as sandpaper. 

It was fake to begin with, yes, but their marriage is real as it can be under the current circumstances… It doesn’t feel fair to lose her like this.

Please, be here.

Steeling himself with a deep breath, Astarion winds his hand back and slaps it across his real face, watching it snap away. His palm stings something fierce, good gods, no wonder Hircine is pain-averse. Her skin’s so sensitive. 

It worked though.

The eyelids flutter as a strangled growl gets caught in his body’s throat, head rolling side to side when another pinched groan rumbles from his chest. Red flashes, catching the light as his eyes open completely, searching crazily around the room until they land on Hircine’s face. Scared recognition flares in those molten garnet pools.

Gods, I’m beautiful.

“Hircine?” Astarion says in her feminine voice, barely speaking above a shaky whisper.

His body’s jaw drops open, clicking and choking noses eeking from his throat as he sits up, scrabbling at his neck.

What is happening?

Astarion watches a moment longer in confusion before it hits him. He lunges forward, failing to grab the hands clawing at his real throat as they wrench out of his grasp easily. “You need to breathe! You can’t speak unless you take a breath! I know it’s strange, but you’ll get used to it.” Those words work, his body’s panic calming as a gasping breath is taken in. “Is it you, Hircine?” Astarion needs to know if he’s speaking to his wife.

A nod while she practices breathing in and out, no doubt alarmed by how unneeded it is.

Oh, thank fuck. He isn’t confident in his ability to kill anything right now, let alone a vampire being controlled by an unknown entity, and he's unbelievably relieved that Hircine is mostly safe and mostly sound within his body.

“I—I don’t—” She chokes on her words, struggling to get anything out. All in his voice, with his accent and it’s very, very strange. “I can—member…”

“I know, I don’t either, pet. Take your time, get your bearings,” he moves in to hold her cheeks between his hands, disturbed by the noticeable coolness of his body’s skin. How does she not flinch away everytime he touches her? “We’ll be fine.” Astarion has survived much worse transformations, this is a lot less awful than being turned into a vampire.

Finally, she tests her speaking abilities again, voice thick with emotion. “I don’t want to be a man.” Tears prick at the corner of her eyes, making those beautiful eyes shine with more polish than a red dragon's scales.

Pinching the high cheekbones, Astarion focuses her attention. “Don't you cry with my face! There are worse things than being turned into a man!”

Hircine rejects his words with a head shake. “You don't understand, this is awful! I can't be a man! Mother will—”

His eyes nearly roll back into his head permanently and he drops his hands from her face. “Keep the man hating inside, you little brat. Come on, get up.” It’s a feat of wills as Astarion staggers to his feet. “Do you feel sore as well? Gods below, I’m just aching all over…”

Hircine shakes her head again, the silver curls atop the crown of his—her!—head loose enough to wiggle with the movement. “No, not really…” She gets up fine, maybe faster than expected as she stumbles backwards into the table that holds the eldritch items.

That’s it!

Holding himself steady along the table edge, Astarion crosses over and finds nothing. They’re gone! “What happened to the artifacts? I think I… might have touched one before we… passed out, but now they’re just gone.”

She turns around, eyes wide in panic. “Even the slaad egg?”

“Yes.”

“Oh gods.” She clutches at her broad chest. “I don’t—I don’t think it’s inside me—you… I’m not sure how I would know, though I would imagine it hurts since they need to feed on your insides.”

Astarion looks down, worried there might be a lump nestled under his skin when all thoughts of slaad eggs invading his body are replaced with other, more lustful urges.

 While Hircine searches around the room, flipping over sheets and muttering angrily, Astarion takes this opportunity to really learn his wife’s body—for his eternal obsession and her future enjoyment, should they ever return to their bodies.

He loves her breasts.

A lot.

They’re perfect in every way. Impossibly soft, round, and heavy with the slightest, barely there sag that makes them even more delightful, always overflowing in his grabby hands, but aren’t so large that they dwarf her toned body. He also can't forget the ghostly white nipples that are not too good to eat, especially since they match her pretty little mouth when her lipstick has been wiped away.

He cups them, her small hands sinking into the malleable flesh, though the tight silk of her dress keeps them from moving around too much. 

There's never been a lot of thought put into how this feels for Hircine other than that it's very, very good when he's pinching or pulling on a nipple if her moans and gasps are anything to go by. 

The fat of her breasts being touched, it doesn't feel good or bad, mostly neutral as if he's grabbing at any other part of his body. 

Maybe it feels different with someone else touching them… Experimentation can come later if they don't change back soon.

His lively heart thrums in anticipation of his next move.

The pads of his fingers brush over where he’s sure her nipples lie and—

“Ahhh~!” A high-pitched whine breaks past his lips as his legs squeeze together involuntarily. Gods below, that was—

Hircine looks up from her destructive scavenge, a scowl furrowing her manicured brows and twisting her mouth down. “Seriously? Stop touching me!” She hisses, just the same as he has in the past when telling Petras to get his mangy hide out of the way.

“How do you keep your hands off yourself all day?!” Just that touch sent the most delicious tingle down to his nether regions. 

“I don't have much desire to touch myself,” she says, stepping beside him, “especially while out in public.” She grabs his wrists firmly, pushing them from her breasts and Astarion yelps with shock.

“Ow! Can't you be more gentle?” He demands, yanking himself out of her grasp to massage his probably bruised wrists. “You damned brute!”

Red eyes blink in surprise as Hircine looks down at her—his body’s hands. Oh gods, this is so confusing. His body is now hers, he needs to commit to that. She speaks quietly. “I thought I was being gentle… I barely touched you.”

Oh, dear. “Is this how it feels for you all the time? Am I too rough with you?”

Turning away with a noncommittal shrug, she says, “I don't know. Things feel the way they feel, I never put much thought in it.”

Her non-answer tells Astarion that yes, he probably is too rough, along with everyone else. No wonder she was so touch-averse in the beginning. 

Well, it could be that, or her intense hatred of men…

Or a certain other bastard.

Actually, Hircine lets him know when she doesn't like something. She would have said by now if Astarion wasn't handling her with care.

He’ll still be more gentle going forward.

With a shake of her head, Hircine groans in frustration. “The artifacts are gone without a trace. I don't know what to do!”

Knowing the far realms, they’re probably gone for good. “Why don't we go home and ask Lexi? She can undo curses.”

“I-I guess, but what if someone needs me here in—”

Astarion interrupts her. “Pet, I am in your body and we both know I can't hold a passable conversation in undercommon. I won't be able to answer any of their questions when they only come to you.” He takes her large hands in his, startled again by the room temperature coolness of them. “Besides, I'm always telling you to take a break. It's a sign from the gods—or the unknowable!”

She chews at her lip, a fang peeking through before Hircine nods. “Alright. We should go quickly though.”

They exit into the hallway of the mines, luckily clear of any employees but that could change at a moment's notice. Swiftly winding their way down the hall to the elevator that takes them back home, they are stopped by the disgusting jermlaine, Thirsk, who holds a tiny hand-made shiv in his hands. His beady little eyes dart between the two of them, but they both know he's going after Astarion's body. 

The vile thing lusts after his wife! It's only goal is to remove Astarion from the equation now—too bad for Thirsk, Astarion isn't going anywhere. 

“Oh, someone's in a bad mood.” Hircine whispers. she scans along the ground, pointing out broken glass along the ground. “Watch your feet.”

“I wouldn't have to if you wore shoes!”

“Not happening~” Is her sing-song response that falls very flat in his voice. “You have no idea how badly I want to tear yours off right now.”

“Ugh, whatever! Just kick that thing into oblivion so we can go!”

Hircine gasps. “How dare you! I will not allow you to hurt Thirsk!”

“You and you're—” Astarion's grumbling is cut off as another idea comes to him. “Carry me and then just run for it! He's not fast enough to keep up.”

If Hircine has any doubts about this plan, she keeps it quiet. Quickly placing her arms under his back and knees, she lifts him up with so much ease that Astarion gasps as they make their break for it, sprinting past Thirsk before the ugly beast even knows what's happening.

The elevator entrance is slammed shut and latched before the lever is pulled, beginning their ascent home.

Getting carried is nice. That won't be a common occurrence when they return to their original bodies so he'll make the most of it while he can.

“Will you carry me back to Darkfire, my love?” He asks, fluttering his lashes with the sweetest simper. 

Hircine’s face twists with disgust. “Begging with my face does nothing for me… but yes, I think I can do that.”

He throws his arms around her neck, pressing kisses to her smooth cheek that earn him nothing but an eyeroll. “I could kiss myself all day.”

“Ugh,” she scoffs.

They settle into a silence as Astarion enjoys being held by himself.

He would very much like his body back, as soon as possible, but a day or so of play shouldn't be so bad. Especially when he gets to experience living again. 

“Are you always so… hungry?” Hircine asks eventually, strained and quiet.

His last meal was two nights ago, and a quite filling one at that with a deer and Hircine’s blood to top it off. 

But yes, he is always hungry. An eternal thirst that will never be quenched no matter how hard he tries.

“It's just the nature of being a vampire, Love. Don't worry about it too much.” He sweeps a hand across her face, tucking loosened curls back into place. 

“How do you ignore it?”

“Years and… years of practice. It does get easier, but it will never truly disappear.”

Those sparkling red eyes find his, wide and frightened. “I'm not feeding you enough, am I?”

“No, no. Don't think that. Trust me, Hircine, it's enough, more than enough actually. You give me more blood in a week than I've received in probably ten years.”

 Bringing their lips together, they share a hesitant kiss before Hircine pulls away fast, disgruntled. “I really don't like kissing myself.”

Astarion laughs loudly, echoing off the cavern walls. “How could you not? You're so beautiful!”

“I'm not attracted to myself. It's weird.”

“Fair enough. I'll be attracted to us both then.” He taps her nose, getting ready to say more when that atonal droning shatters his thoughts once again.

ļ̴̨̻̝̻͙͚͙̔à̵̡̢̼̖̞̺̝͍̻͕͊͛̍̈̍͑͘͠d̶̹̬͖͔̩̯͉̳͔̍̓̈́̅̌́͋͛͝Ỳ̴̰̬͙͓̤̹̬̠̳͖̰͋̓̄U̵̢͖̜͚͎̼̙̱̦̲̮̻̦̔̇̿̉̃̈́̌͑̅̍̏̃̕̕͜

Wincing, Astarion kneads his fingers into his temples. He can't be the only one, right? “Do you hear that noise? It's like, uh, a voice but not. I can't understand it. Do you think it's—”

“It's Herma-Mora.” She says definitively.

“As in the far realm entity that corrupted your mind at too young an age?”

She rolls her red eyes. “Yes. Just avoid actually reaching out to him. It’s not like he’s actually meaning to  communicate through our connection, they just slip through. I’m able to block it out for the most part.”

Great, so Astarion is stuck with her mind invader, unable to silence him completely. The only upside is that Herma-Mora can’t hurt him… allegedly. What if his mind just isn’t equipped for it’s irrational chatter?

They depart from the elevator, and make it back to Darkfire without any interruption. Astarion doesn’t fear faking his somber and quiet wife—anyone can do that since that would be easy. It would be the cornering by one of her brothers or her mother’s sharp eyes, catching any wrong movement or inflection when they are always looking for Hircine's imperfections. 

If anything, Hircine is the one in trouble should they be caught by one of her siblings. They both know she can’t make passable conversation on a good day, and having Astarion who is always loudly speaking with his hands be still and stoic would be instantly suspicious. 

Nothing to worry about, of course. 

The doors to their hall are opened, greeting them with silence. Sometimes Lexi is standing here waiting for them…

Ah, right. “How do you do that mind talking thing? Isn’t that how you summon Lexi around?” He asks as he’s set down on the ground. 

Hircine is quick to shed the shoes and socks Astarion put on this afternoon, groaning in relief as her feet are bare once again. “Yes… but I don’t really know how, it’s second nature, I guess. Maybe focus on me and see if you can send anything over?”

Her telepathy only works one way, thankfully. They would have been in for a bad time if Hircine could have read his thoughts since the beginning.

Dragging Hircine over to the couch, which isn’t that easy because his actual body is shockingly immovable when Astarion goes to push her forward, he makes her sit so he can attempt this special form of communication.

Across from her on the couch, they lock eyes as he concentrates, willing his thoughts into her head.

‘Can you hear me?’ — No response from Hircine.

‘What about now?’ — Nothing again.

There’s a chance it’s not even possible, what with their bodies changed, but gods damn it, he wants it to work. Feeling frustration well in his chest, Astarion gives it one last go, forcing a message to Hircine, demanding she hear it.

‘LISTEN TO ME!’

Instantly, she crumples in on herself, clutching her head with a gasp. “Agh! What the—Is that what it feels like when I speak to you? Oh my gods, that hurt!”

Oh, maybe he went a little too hard. “I—No, it’s never hurt me. The first time was alarming, but no pain accompanied it. I’m sorry, I probably shouldn’t play with it lest I inflict some real damage.”

“I think that is a good idea, Husband.” She presses fingers into eyes for what he can only assume is relief from whatever he just assaulted her brain with.

Being called ‘Husband’ by his own voice is weird… and maybe a little arousing. Astarion chews on one of his very soft lips, willing the thoughts away so they can return to their more serious problem. “Do you think Lexi can… help us?”

Stretching back upright, Hircine shrugs. “I don’t know. I forgot she’s out of the manor until tomorrow, so we might have to wait. Maybe we’ll turn back on our own in due time or maybe the slaad egg is buried in one of our bodies so we’ll die horribly and not even have to think about it.”

“I’d rather not die to a fucking frog demon bursting out of my chest, Hircine.” 

She waves his concerns away. “We would have known already if it was inside us, trust me. Let’s just endure what we can until Lexi returns. She can fix anything.”

Tsk, for Hircine maybe. Lexi sure wouldn’t mind Astarion becoming a host for any assortment of things if it meant getting him away from her lady.

How are they going to pass the time like this? He could read, but he feels like that will open his mind up for more of Herma-Mora’s disturbing vocalizations. No wonder Hircine is so scattered all the time when she has multiple people clamoring for her constantly, inside and out.

Actually, there is—

His stomach growls, loudly, demanding all of their attention. There’s an emptiness inside of him, nothing like his thirst for blood which is all consuming and constant, but a slight nagging sensation that could be easily ignored—for now.

Hircine smirks, all fangs. “I guess I haven’t eaten in a while.” 

“I—No, I guess not. What should I do?” Astarion places a hand over his flat stomach, feeling small vibrations from within as it growls yet again.

“Well, you should eat. That’s what I do.”

Eat? Like real, normal food? His mouth begins to salivate. “I can eat whatever I want?”

“Whatever’s in the kitchen, but yes.” Hircine laughter is bright.

Jumping to his feet, Astarion runs for the kitchen with Hircine trailing close behind him. “What do you like? Pick it out for me so I can try it!” Two hundred years of starvation and he can finally, truly eat again. Gods, he cannot wait to be full and satisfied—happy!

As she digs through the ice chest, Astarion looks over her shoulder to see what Hircine is grabbing. “Do you want a full meal or to just try whatever you want?” She asks.

“Give me anything! I want it all!”

So maybe getting their body’s swapped, while not ideal, isn’t so bad. To eat again, to live again, even for a day, is wonderful.

If only it were his own body.

Fruits and berries, sweets of all kinds, cheeses, crackers, dried meats and bread are set on the counter. While Hircine plates them, Astarion paces back and forth behind her, in absolute disbelief of what he is about to experience. 

The hungers of (wo)man have returned to him.

“Sit,” Hircine requests, and he all but throws himself into a chair at the small table in the kitchen. He could request they eat in the dining room for a proper experience, but Hircine hates that room so the kitchen will have to do.

The plate is put in front of him, a veritable feast for his senses with its assortment of choices. 

“What do I start with, love?” He glances at Hircine before staring back down at the food, barely bridled excitement boiling over. 

Sitting across from him, her lips twist with consideration. “How about starting slow with a cracker? Take a nibble, see how it feels.”

He’s eaten plenty of times over the past two hundred years. It always tastes like ash, but eating gives the appearance of non-threatening normalcy and there’s nothing that mortals love more than bonding over a shared meal. 

Taking one of the crackers delicately between his fingers, Astarion inspects every minutiae of the crisp food product. The surface is rough and maybe a touch oily, colored a light tan with toasted edges, along with some flecks of some unidentifiable green thing littered throughout.

“Rosemary,” Hircine clarifies as if reading his mind. 

He likes rosemary, the smell of it at least. It's what he uses in his perfume to mask the scent of his undeath.

On an inhale with the cracker close to his nose, he can detect the rosemary, along with salt and the yeasty scent of baked flour. His stomach rumbles loudly this time, a plea for him to take a damn bite.

The cracker is brought to his mouth, barely pinching the corner of it between his teeth, breaking off a crumb to taste. 

Just that small piece is an explosion of flavor in his mouth, the rosemary and salt a perfect combination of savory delight. 

The rest of the cracker is gobbled down, and now having eaten something, his stomach cries out for more.

Hircine really likes berries so he goes for one of those next. 

Astarion is not prepared for the tart burst on his tongue when he pops a blackberry into his mouth, a trickle of its juice running down his chin. 

Alternating different flavor profiles each time, Astarion pairs food that probably does not go together based on Hircine’s disgusted expressions but she lets him do as he pleases until the plate is completely clean. 

He's stuffed. Full. Sated. No desire to eat another bite lingers.

A dream come true.

When he stands, he pats his hand over his stomach finding it no longer flat. There's a little paunch now from having his fill and honestly, Astarion kind of likes it. “Look at this! I'm full!”

Hircine smiles up at him from her seat, very much enjoying his excitement. “Indeed you are. I definitely gave you a bit more than I'd usually eat but it doesn't hurt to indulge every now and then.”

“And indulge I did. Wow, what a feeling and I—Now, I'm so…” He fails to find the words.

“Tired?” Hircine supplies. “When I eat a lot, I want to take a nap.”

Hmm, a nap doesn't sound so bad but there are other things on his mind. “That sounds nice and all, pet, but could we go to our room? I want to look at myself in good lighting.”

She points at her face and he nods. 

Astarion will see all of him.

In the bedroom, lamps are lit and the fireplace is set ablaze. Hircine dutifully sits on the couch, still as a statue, while Astarion buzzes about, pulling at the soft silver curls set atop his real head, tracing his fingers over the high point like the cheekbones, nose, brows, shoulders, everything and just admiring those beautiful features. 

She lets him work in peace with eyes closed when he isn't staring longingly into them, careful to not interrupt his joyful wonder of relearning his face. What a perfect girl, his wife. Astarion would reward her but in their current predicament, that might be a struggle.

He's pinching and bending the tips of his real ears while sitting on her lap when Hircine opens her red eyes, searching him out. Her voice is quiet and hesitant when she speaks. “What if… we’re stuck like this?”

That is the thought he is not ready to fully confront. 

Inside the manor, they can make it work, hide away practicing their mannerisms to present themselves as they should be, that is until Hircine gets called for by the matriarch and then Astarion has to present himself before her, playing the daughter.

Iimithra would see through the farce immediately, but if she can be avoided, then they could prolong the inevitable—or escape perhaps.

What the family will do to them could be manageable, even for frail little Hircine—he hopes, she’s escaped Lolth and death near one hundred fifty years this long.

No, his worries lie with Cazador. His wife understands to a degree what happens now when he is forced home. 

She would break the second Cazador laid his hands on her, in Astarion’s body or not, and that is not the fate Astarion wants for Hircine. He won't see that hard-earned smile wiped from her face.

For now, there is no plan. They will wait, enjoy the night as is until Lexi returns and then they will do whatever they need to survive, just as he's always done. 

Cradling her cheeks in his hands, Astarion smiles before placing a kiss on Hircine’s nose. “We will be fine. I'll make sure of it, my sweet love.”

And fine, they will be.

“Could you do something for me?” He asks as he pulls back a bit, staring into her gorgeous ruby eyes. 

“If it's within my power.”

Getting up, Astarion takes her hand, attempting to help her to her feet, but it's really all for show when this body is weaker than a rabbit. A few steps are taken away to give them enough distance so that Astarion can capture his entire body in view. “Alright,” he begins, “can you copy my movements? I move this hand,” his right hand shakes before he points at her opposing hand, “you move that one, as if I were looking in a mirror.”

Her pale eyebrows raise up high and then Hircine nods. “Absolutely. Show me what you want.”

Astarion places his hands on his hips, standing up straight, and Hircine follows suit quickly, imitating him wonderfully, just as his perfect girl should. He turns his head left and right slowly, watching as she does the same so he can see every aspect of his body in whatever way possible. 

A soft, no-teeth-bared smile is given with Hircine performing impeccably. Is that how Astarion smiles at her when she’s being cute and sweet? No wonder she turns into a puddle for him all the time. 

Next, he morphs his smile into a seductive grin and Hircine follows as well as she can, lips twisting up so a hint of fang is revealed, eyes narrowed slightly, head tilted to the side… Dashing. Handsome. Stunning. 

Gods, I love that face, and it's all mine!

They strike poses, some silly, some serious. A hand here, a foot there, ‘No, no, the leg should go like this!’ before they go in for some really dramatic looks, kneeling down in a crouch as if they're sneaking their way through the room silently, bumping into each other and collapsing into a tangle  of limbs as they laugh. 

They kiss briefly and Hircine doesn't immediately pull away in disgust, thank the gods.

“Thank you for indulging me, pet.” Astarion says as he tucks some of the wispy curls behind her beautifully pointed ears, propping himself up over her large body.

“Anything for you, Husband.” Hircine smiles, fangs and all.

He's ready to go in for another kiss when a new, very strange feeling encroaches onto his happy high. A slight pressure, a need to get rid of something. “Hircine, I feel weird.”

“Weird how?” 

They both sit up, Astarion now straddling Hircine's lap. “I don't know… It's here,” his hand slides over his stomach, “I think or maybe lower.” 

Her mouth opens, then closes, and opens again before her tongue runs over a fang. “Uhm. I think you have to use the restroom…”

Cold dread coils within Astarion’s gut. “Fuck.”

[alex-frostwalker]

Negati OC Info/Game Mechanic

Bechoe, Nimbui & Tikitoki

Bechoe

A Bat Negati that can be found in the ceiling and in darken areas of the level. It stays dormant and huddled right about a group of 3 to 5. It'll start to swoop down and start to attack you if you are too loud, very near them, or straight up attack them.. It's special ability is it's echoing screech beam that will bounce off the surface to locate you.

So using Invisible Man or Bitsy Elf is not good.

Nimbui

A Cloud Negati that rains and creates dark puddles on the ground in it's path that will damage the Player.

There's also a small chance for it to attack with lightning.

It's sometimes best paired with a Gabugabu

Tikitoki

A Clock Negati, it's small and nimble. It follows the Player and uses it attack to create a dome in the area.

That will either stop you or slow you down. While fellow Negati aren't affected..

Lachi/Lachichie, Okimi, Lampuri, & Globlob

Lachi/Lachichie

A Leech Negati, in which it hides itself above the level and jumps down to the Player when it gets a chance. It laches itself on to you, whether you have a Costume, most of the Costumes or none. When it does, it slows down your movement, if this keeps on, it'll invert your controls. It also has an ability to drain your Drops

The best way to remove it is let the Tims attack it, discard the Costume, or use some Costumes that has advantages on it, like Jellyjolt or Merry Ghost.

If it remained latched on to the Player, it'll evolved and grow large, similar to a Gawgaw since it ate/drained the Drops you collected.

In that phase, it's stronger and faster, climbing up on walls as it chases you down with ease. And latches on to you tightly, instead of draining the Drops. It damages your Costume.

Okimi

An Octopus/Squid Negati that can mimic it's environment, wether be a block, a random Stage prop, keys, crystals, Tim eggs and Drops!

So make sure to keep an eye to spot which is fake. To tell that that it's fake, eye on the objects that twitch, shake and hover.

Lampuri

A Lamp Negati, found in dark areas. With it's light equipped, it lights up paths and areas for you to see. But be cautious, that light can stun you in place when you are in it's light. Making you vulnerable to any attacks.

Globlob

A Blob-like Negati, can be found in gaps, holes of the Stage. It can jump moderately as it chases you down. You can attack it with any Costume but it has one thing special about it is the 3 masks and mask host.

The mask host takes the center of the body while the other 2 are put aside. If it's been damaged enough, it splits into 3.

Happy Mask | Attacking it will make you bounce off and it can jump high.

Sad Mask | Attacking it through contact will make you sink in it's mass body, and has slow movement

Angry Mask | Attacking the body is hard and dense like a rock, and reckless in chasing you down and it's much stronger.

So whenever it spawns, the mask host is different, the whole Negati has the ability based on the masked host.

Juplimulti, Bladance, & Wizizi

Juplimulti

A Jester Negati, it's special ability is similar to Double/Triple Trouble, but it duplicate itself up to 12, 13 when the main one is included. Make sure to clear out the clones and defeat the main Negati before it makes more clones of itself.

The best way to beat this is check it's 'bells' on its jester hat. Spotting the difference within the groups.

It also has the ability to steal your stored Costume.

Bladance

A Knight/Ninja Negati that's found in plane areas of the Stage. It's quick and nimble on its feet, make sure to keep your guard up when facing it, since there is a chance it can parry most of the Costume attacks.

It's sometimes paired with a Paripari.

Wizizi

A Wizard Negati that can be found in tall pillars or rooftops of the Stage. Looking down over the area and used it's elemental magic to strike you down.

You will notice a faint trail of light heading towards you, that means you have to avoid it or it'll activate to damage you.

It's much more difficult if there are Negati in said area and puzzles. So make sure to take it down with a nimble or ranged Costume.

[homeofhousechickens]

Hii, I saw your Marek's disease post, my cousin has a hen that has this kind of eye but she's ok, she eats, moves and everything, do you maybe know if this type can also evolve and become the most dangerous types like the paralysis? I'll be glad if you can answer and hope you have a great day

There are 5 different "forms" of Mareks and different "strains" of the virus that are more lethal or infectious then others. It's possible for a bird to present with multiple symptoms and forms when they have the disease.

Nerve form- Birds with this form have tumors infiltrate into their peripheral nerves. This causes symptoms like wry neck and sometimes a head tilt. It can also cause a chicken to have a slow crop and have trouble emptying. 20% of birds with this form die

Transient paralysis form - Causes brain edema and ataxia. The bird can have partial paralysis of the neck and legs. Usually, you will see these birds trying to use their wings to get around while falling over a bunch. 30% of birds with this form will die.

Ocular form- The virus replicates in the eye, causing tumors and vision loss. This causes the shape and color of the eye to change. 25% of birds with this form will die.

Skin form- The virus replicates in the skin causing tumor growth and enlarged feather follicles. Usually the location for these is around the head, legs, and vent. The bird will be lumpy and might have wonky feather growth but that's usually it. This form has the lowest mortality rate.

Visceral form- Tumors develop all throughout the body and onto the internal organs. The symptoms will present differently depending on what organs and systems are affected. 60-80% of birds with this form will die.

For chickens with Ocular Mareks they are usually older birds that have a bit of an immunity to the virus which is why their body is able to kind of suppress it but unfortunately the chicken can still have tumor development elsewhere in her body especially if her immune system gets compromised by a different illness like coccidosis or fowl pox.

If your girl has the Ocular form you must assume the rest of your flock has it and it's possible for it to present as the other forms. Mareks can stay dormant in a host for a long time then pop out when the birds immune system is weakened.

For anyone reading this and getting worried..

YOU CAN TEST FOR MAREKS! A lot of people don't know you can test living birds for the disease but it can also be diagnosed via necropsy. Your vet can help you with the testing but you can also do the testing yourself using something like VetDNA.com.

To avoid Mareks you can get your birds vaccinated and only purchase from NPIP certified flocks. The vaccine won't stop the spread of the disease but it can prevent birds from showing symptoms. If you have a mareks positive flock it's important to keep them on your property and dont sell them or show them as they can infect other birds.

Good biosecurity practices are a must and the best way to prevent an outbreak is running a closed flock. No adult or baby birds are added everything is hatched and raised on the property is the ideal. Of course accidents can still happen like if you have a close neighbor with an infected flock. Mareks spreads through the dander so it's important that infected birds don't share air space with non infected birds.

If your birds do have Mareks and you want a flock that isn't infected the best thing to do is either cull your current flock, or wait for them to pass naturally. There are certain cleaners like Rescue and Kennelsol that kill the Mareks virus so you would want to clean all old feeders and waterer with it (or get new ones) and I have seen people say to burn down the old coop as it can be tricky removing the dust from the crevices. Mareks can live in the soil for a long long time but like other viruses you can still work towards sanitizing and decomtaminating the soil.

You can still hatch eggs from Mareks infected birds as the disease doesn't transfer vertically.

Hopefully this is the information you were looking for

[brandwhorestarscream]

I just had an insane idea lol. Imagine if D-16 was an infant cybermorph queen in the Sentinel sparkling au. Like what would happen when Galvatron found out that his precious baby got r word, I'd imagine he'd go batshit insane trying to unleash hell apon Sentinal lol. Bonus points if Alpha Trion somehow adopted the crew b4 the reunion with Galvatron happened. Both the papas gonna do everything they can to protect babes.

Ohhhhh my GOD i hadn't even CONSIDERED!!!!!

Holy shit you're so smart!

D-16 is incredibly young, they all are--infant cybermorph queens don't reach sexual maturity for hundreds or even thousands of years, and Dee is only about 30. Normally, it wouldn't even be possible for him to conceive. Despite he himself not knowing what he is, his instincts do. A lone, undefended morph with no hive in sight, surrounded by another species, chances of survival are slim.

Being without a cog actually probably saved him, keeping him in root (what the morphs call hideaway) mode and letting him seamlessly blend in and be safe. If he still had his cog and was aware of what he is, the stress of hiding and feeling isolated could've caused emergency drone egg production. Its happened before (the insectimorph queen and his Kiss of Death), but thankfully, Dee had companionship and love in droves thanks to his fellow miners. His body never felt the need to force him to make drones for his own protection, so his reproductive array remained dormant

Until, of course, they were stimulated for the first time by Sentinel. The Prime was extremely thorough, filled them up so full of transfluid the underdeveloped cybermorph systems went, "oh?? Egg time? Already? Egg? Eggs???" and the unfertilized gametes in his egg chambers slip into the womb being exposed to reproductive nanites. He's still very young and really isn't ready to be laying, but his body didn't get the memo. It's an extremely small clutch, probably 3-7.

When they arrive at the Grave, Dee is still incredibly sick, but he's so fever addled he's barely coherent. Alpha Trion manages to treat the worst of his symptoms, but he's still in bad shape. The egglings are sucking up more than he can give, and theyre overdue to be laid at this point. They crossed more than half of the planet’s vertical length to find Alpha Trion: they've been on the road for months. Fertilized eggs are supposed to do up to 95% of their fetal development outside of the womb, during which period they grow exponentially. Dee's been having horrible, stabbing cramping in his middle for weeks now, failed contractions as his body tries to release the ovomorphs. His whole abdomen feels pressurized, painfully tight and full as his organs are all pushed around while the eggs swell. He can't lay in hideaway mode, nor can his reproductive organs actually shift into place the way they're meant to without his transformation cog.

Alpha Trion, once revived, notices that D-16 hosts several infant sparks inside of him. And, worse, seems to be in active labor! The youngling doesn't even seem to realize what's happening to him. Alpha wastes no time, recognizing that he or the sparklings could die if his valve and array can't transform.

Without hesitation he takes a cog from one of his fallen siblings and slips it into his chassis. Orders the other three to stay back and not interfere, going to hurriedly get Dee spread out on the ground. The silver mech's huffing and moaning now, shaking like a leaf. "It'hurss..." He slurs. "It HURTS!"

Alpha Trion's seen sparklings delivered before, and has even helped some of his siblings deliver their demigods. He's not at all phased when the younging's lower half jerks, panels at his hips and pelvis transforming back with such speed it's little more than a blur. His valve is already spiraling open and gushing copious amounts of glowing pink fluid. These sparklings are coming now.

D-16 wails and cries out for, "PAX! Paaaax!" while sobbing hysterically because, "Wha's happen'ing? What's going'on? It hurts, make'itstooop!"

Despite the old Prime's warnings, Orion Pax scrambles right up to them, sliding in on his knees beside him, grabbing D-16's hand. "Dee! Dee, I'm- I'm here, d-don't worry, we'll-"

The silver mech SCREAMS and his back bows off the ground, heels scrabbling in the dirt--distantly, Orion's fingers crack and he yelps--as something huge and round breaches the rim of his valve. Bawling hysterically, he frantically strains, and with an enormous heave of effort the egg is free, plopping with a soft, wet noise to the cave floor.

D-16 goes limp and boneless, gasping for air and covered in condensation. His optics squint against the already meager light, then flicker shut a moment neck going limp. He cant help it, doesn't even feel it coming: suddenly exhaustion sinks it's jaws into him and he loses consciousness in a single moment.

"Oh, Primus..." Alpha Trion utters the name sounding haunted, staring down in horror at what is definitely not a newborn sparkling.

"Dee?" Orion hasn't even noticed, and is now gently shaking him. "Hey, D-Dee! C'mon, wake up! S-Say something! D-16! You have to-"

He's cut off, yelping as something wraps around his middle and yanks him off the ground and away from his friend. The cave floor zooms by, both his arms and legs are dangling, and he hears Elita go, "Hey! What-"

Alpha Trion's scooped up all three of them in 10 seconds flat, already sprinting away as quickly as he can. He forcefully carries the trio into the escape tunnels, turning around only to shoot at the ceiling and bring it down to block the entrance.

"Stop, stop!" Orion yells at him. "What're you doing?! We can't just leave him! Put me down, what are you-? What about D-16?!"

...

I've written too much and need to stop for now lol. Sorry we didn't get to Galvatron beating Sentinel's ass just yet, but I got inspired and just had to roll with it. I'm loving this!! Ya'll want more? Cuz i do. Lmk

[firefirefruit]

Steel in Her Veins, Prologue

Table of Contents | Next Chapter

Characters: Fem!Reader x Roronoa Zoro.

Synopsis:

Your name is Kozuki Raya, but no one calls you by that name anymore. Using the alias of Tenguyama Raya as advised by your grandfather, you are the descendant of the legendary swordsmith Kotetsu and a distant friend of the Shimotsuki clan.

Following in your ancestor’s footsteps, you dedicate your life to the mastery of sword crafting, wielding, and learning. With much of your life being taught by gramps Sukiyaki, you realise that the dormant power, ancient knowledge and ancestral secrets that thrum within your veins start to play a very important role in the way the future world is shaped.

Meeting the Straw Hats was not written anywhere within your blueprints, but – most importantly - meeting Roronoa Zoro wasn’t supposed to change the trajectory of your life either.

Prologue

"She's passed on, young man."

A weathered voice croaks out from behind one of the passing fruit stalls. The shadowed man lingers from the safety of his merchandise, the scorching sun missing only by a small inch from kissing his leathered skin.

Gritting his teeth, Zoro aimlessly turns around whilst sheathing the limping metal back to her home. Does anyone keep their fucking thoughts to themselves anymore? He mutters in his head.

“You really should let her go," the man eggs on with such a proud voice that it almost flows against the direction of the wind, against the grain of the public. As Zoro stands within the mingling market, with bundles of crowds gracing the pavements around him with their excited chatter, only but this old voice advances stronger than the rest, almost resting too clearly and proudly within the shell of Zoro’s ears.

Zoro kisses his teeth and whips his head at the direction of the sound again, finally being able to spot the silhouette to the voice - right there. The shadow with hands that slice through those blood red apples with an abnormally jagged knife. Zoro narrows his eye at the blurred figure, trying to figure it out.

“Tsch, fruit guy. Butt out, yeah?” He grumbles, shooting him a disdainful side eye. Crossing his arms in defiance, Zoro stays in his position like the good lap dog he seems to be turning into; if Luffy wasn’t so intent on him coming on this bloody island, he would’ve been able to rest. And to be able look at his poor, wounded sword in peace without dealing with so many wandering eyes.

In an instant, the old man cracks out in laughter, his voice bellowing out in clear tides. His shadowed arms grasp at his belly, a large-lipped smile peering out of his shelter. “Feisty one, I see…Is she special to you?”

The she in mention begins to hum weakly against the side of the green-head’s hip, whimpering and struggling, almost as if trying to reply. With an irritated twitch of his eyebrow, Zoro finally gives in to gape straight-on at the old geezer.

“It’s an it, not a she, dumbass. Swords have one purpose only; this one has simply served it,” Zoro snaps, straining his eyes even further to try to look at this peculiar man.

With a broken pang, the sword sheathed by his side begins to twinge again, but in an octane lower - and somehow, Zoro can feel it in his own core; he knows what the thrum of metal tugged across his leg is trying to say – the sword feels hurt by his own stupid words.

In a snap, Zoro's hand carefully rests over her head.

“Looks like you’re caressing her to me.”

“Shut up! Who even asked for your opinion?" Zoro growls, immediately yanking his hand away from his hip. The odd merchant simply guffaws in response.

Tsk. How dare he decide whether his sword was fit for battle or not?

“I’m not here to judge you, green-hair, but it simply looks to me that you have a bond with that scrap of metal. Come here.”

“I’m not in the mood, gramps. Go sell your damn apples to someone else.”

“I see. I suppose you would waste their time, anyway…”

Although Zoro’s ears are now perked by the ‘them’ in question, he keeps his eye shut tight and remains silent; he’s not going to give into this fraud’s tactics in getting a reaction from him. Hmph.

The merchant continues, quite obviously enjoying his jest with the bull-headed swordsman. “You know, that swordsmith. What was her name again…Penguyama? Tenguyummy? Tengushimmy…?”

Zoro stares at him blankly.

Clearly, this geezer is overestimating Zoro’s intelligence.

The small hints of names he’s throwing out is completely flying right past the swordman’s head, seeing how it seems like no one’s at home. Literally no light bulbs are screwed on properly up there. 

Another second passes where they both stare, bewildered by one another. The old, short man clears his throat.

“Pardon my language…But you seem quite dense.” 

“Fuck you! You’re the one who’s talking in riddles!”

“I. Help. You. With. Sword.” The merchant slowly enunciates, using his fingers to imitate the words coming out of his mouth. 

“Come.” He points obnoxiously with his finger at the incline into the hills. “Person. Makes. Swords…They. Help.” 

“Stop talking to me as if I’m slow!?”

“Pfft, you could’ve fooled me.” The merchant giggles like a child.

“Are you begging me to slice you in half?” Zoro shouts, childishly stomping towards the fruit stall.

But then, something very odd happens; as Zoro manages to look at gramps clearly for the first time, he freezes in his spot.

Indeed, it is a weathered old man leaning behind a stack of his precious fruits. With silver hair brushed across his shoulders, his unwavering smile greets the samurai with an odd sense of confidence.

But that isn’t what makes Zoro stop in his track, no, it’s what he says next. The next six words that comes out of the old man’s mouth…his awfully jagged knife limply resting over his knuckles, a knowing glint striking across his well-travelled eyes… all of it sounds self-assured.

“I’d like to see you try.”

Zoro doesn’t know what it is about this guy in front of him, but it just makes him stop. His mouth fails to open to retort something offensive – instead, he simply cocks his head to the side.

He doesn’t know whether it’s the knife that he’s masterfully twirling across the both of his hands, or if it’s the familiarity of his face – those eyes, hasn’t he seen the same ones before? – but something about him makes Zoro pause for a moment.

Gramps smiles wider, indenting his wrinkles further like ripples scattering across water, and rises one thick grey eyebrow at him.

“Now, then. Are we ready to go?”

The samurai kisses his teeth for the fifth time in a row and twists his head to the side in defeat. Subconsciously, his hand inches towards his broken sword - his untethered lifeline.

“Whoever they are, they better be worth it.”

Zoro didn’t know at the time of what was about to unfold, of what was about to be the trigger to a never-ending tale of perplexity and pain, but I can assure you that now, at this very moment, he would say that – indeed - she is worth it all.

[sgiandubh]

Autopsy of a gay lie: the Wikipedia trail

“You can fool some of the people all of the time, and all of the people some of the time, but you can not fool all of the people all of the time.”

― Abraham Lincoln

For starters, sorry for the length and numerous screencaps. It is an investigation, after all and these are sorely needed.

Never underestimate the conjugated power of Internet, a Sunday afternoon and the lightbulb moment that can happen while baking something, because you know, people have also to reward themselves at some point.

I might have fucked up my foolproof Lemon Squares recipe, but I regret nothing. It took me three hours I could have gratefully used to finish that spirits post, but this is too damn good not to share.

Remember Meow Kabob's cross my heart and hope to die pinky swear she found confirmation of Data Lounge's allegations on Wikipedia, out of all places? How she regularly unburies that infamous screenshot listing S under the Wiki "Gay Actors" category? How she told us, filthy and uneducated shipper mob, over and over again, that story about STARZ people scouring the Internet far and wide and scrubbing any gay reference related to S, as soon or shortly after he was cast as JAMMF?

I can confidently prove now Lincoln's perennial truths I quoted above apply to this situation.

I was just pouring my lemon juice, eggs, flour and sugar mix over the hot and nutty shortbread when I stopped in my tracks: 'wait a second, isn't Wikipedia an open source project? BUT OF COURSE IT IS, SILLY COW - yes, I very often talk to myself like that. RUN. NOW. I HAVE TO KNOW.'

Sure enough, like death and taxes, the full edit list of S's Wikipedia page was there for everyone to see:

Even better, since Internet is forever, we have full access to all these edits and can take screenshots.

This is how Sam's Wikipedia odissey started, on November 11th 2007, when he was the complete underdog:

A ' strapping lad with natural dark blonde hair and 6'2'' tall', ideal for the role of Alexander the Great - pious silence and RIP. I grinned, because it sounds well, naïve? It also sounds gay, perhaps? What else does it prove, other than the gay crowd has an acute interest for novelty and a wandering eye?

Nothing. Not even remotely related to S.

Also, note the two classification categories: British TV actor stubs/ British actor stubs. Mark them, they stayed still and alone for a looooong time.

Up until 2009, in fact, when the wikientry was no longer considered a stub and even got several category additions:

Then again, some movin' on up, on that semi-dormant page, in 2013. Totes normal:

By early 2014, even more interest in S commands an expanded webpage and a longer, more detailed, category listing:

Let's quickly peruse 2015...

2016...

The incorrect Irish descent category stayed there for about ten days, until removed by another user. This is how it is done and it is then added to the list:

2017, 2018, 2019, early 2020, no change in the categories, but all hell broke lose content-wise. From Cirdan, the 'estranged brother' acting in a very gay connotated theatre production I have never heard about, in London, September 2016...

...... to a woman named Tiffany Trach who used to dream the impossible dream, in October 2016 (and she was not the only one, far from it)...

...to some halfwit being rightfully slapped for adding brainless Flukenzie Floozy content in March 2017:

By that time, I was getting supremely bored clicking on links and wanted to pack the tent and throw my lemon squares in the trash bin. But, lo and behold, what do I see on January 26th 2020:

With the tag possible vandalism:

Whodunnit?

A very brave person, hiding under a string of random numbers...

... and one single contribution EVER to the Wikipedia juggernaut. This is what I would call a targeted attack:

It stayed like that, unmolested, for five days only, until the user Spiderpig662 decided enough is enough and did something about it...

....categories being then restored to the previous wording:

The last vicious gay reference on Wikipedia dates back to May 28th 2020 (Ha-wa-wee, anyone?), was labeled as 'hate speech' & promptly removed:

Where wuffter is, in British Cockney slang:

Same modus operandi, this time an IP address, pinging in (you simply can't make this shit up, can you?)...

County Durham, FYI.

I then asked myself when exactly did Meow Kabob appear on Tumblr?

Even more exactly, on...

That is, to say the least, a troubling coincidence.

I do not imply anything, I have no wish to attack anyone. All I am saying, is that particular argument, which this user is shouting anytime she is prompted to, had a very short online lifespan. How could an American woman, who appeared in this fandom shortly afterwards, have known about changes operated for five days only, by an unknown user, on the open source webpage of a B-listed British actor?

I have only one question, Your Honor:

WHY?

I rest my case.

[Edit]: To make it maybe more clear, I now know where the person adding that category lives, thanks to Wikipedia's own tracking system:

No surprises here:

Augusta. Georgia. USA.

Now, yes. Now I rest my case.

[lol-jackles]

Walker review, episode 7 "Hold me now"

It's a beautiful golden morning and Cordell prepares to fix breakfast of egg and bacon for August but he's already half-way out the door. Come on Auggie, it's bacon, everybody loves bacon! Cordell puts away the egg and bacon and opt for cereal while he reads James' book on a serial killer. Cereal, serial, get it? I slay me.

Little did August know that morning would be the last time his dad would be there for him, and he'd going to wish he had stayed for breakfast.

At Ranger HQ, Cordell is leading the team search for the serial killer called the jackal who was previously dormant but now back and have killed 2 people. Cordell's first choice of suspect, a wife abuser, turned up to be a dead end but that doesn't slow him down. The following day he picks another suspect from the bottom of the least suspicious list, a former zoo keeper whose zoo was the closest site of the first victim. Nobody is on board with Cordell's theory so he's like, no problem, I'll check the defunct zoo myself. Cassie refuse to let Cordell go alone and Luna invites himself along.

The trio arrives at the creepy abandoned zoo and only the audience see the decayed corpse of an animal, a jackal with missing teeth, which is the killer's calling card. Luna and Cassie find a disturbing underground room filled with tools of the killer's trade. Cordell finds fresh tracks and chases a distant figure, who escapes after he ambushes Cordell and knocks him out. Though the killer remains free, the rangers are closer than they've ever been in years and his lair will provide much needed data for a profile.

Cordell is upset that he was so close to catching the killer and is more determined than ever to finish the job. He returns home to find Liam upset that history is repeating itself, Cordell is neglecting his family and Liam is picking up the slack. Cordell says he will make it up to his children and tells Liam to stop being so dramatic. (At this point I', convinced Ben is running the horse rescue.)

Both men are correct and there's no easy answer. A serial killer is on the loose and catching it is not a 9 to 5 job. There's an expectation that public service jobs mean some family times has to be scarified. I know a family that has 3 generations of firefighters, they never spent a single Thanksgiving and Christmas together as a family because the men are too busy putting out kitchen fires and/or fireplace fires caused by idiots. Mothers Day is the only holiday that most criminals take a break from their usual criminal activities.

Cordell goes to his study room filled with research on the jackal and it is revealed that he stole evidence from the killer's lair, a length of rope. Cordell tightly wraps the rope around his wrist as if he's trying to get into the mind of the killer and looking through his eyes. In an earlier scene, Cassie said zoo keeping isn't that much different from ranching and pointedly looks at Cordell.

Sidenote, Luna and Cassie finds the killer's note written in capitalized letters, which is the same style Luna wrote in his love note to Cassie. I really hope this is a red herring for Cassie's sake, her two previous dates literally tried to kill Cordell: for a cause and for revenge, respectively. Cassie doesn't need the third romance to turn out to be another psycho and also I need the three of them to go undercover at a Shadow Hawk convention.

Speculation #4: the Jackal is a member of the survivor network and encouraged people like Henry to blame innocent people. He knew Luna was undercover at the motel and learned his handwriting style to feed false leads to the survivor network.

Score: 9.7 out of 10.  We get to see why Cordell is the best ranger as the stakes are deepening. A point 2 deduction for the stalled necklace mystery, another point 2 deduction for Bonham and Abeline subplot about derailed retirement plans. Point 1 given back for August maturing and being a good kid.

[shadowy-suitcase-herring-neck]

BIG WYRM DADMARE!

I suppose he found the eggs himself!

yes :3 Nightmare found Dust, killer and Horror with a group of Wyvern egg hunters who had wandered into his territory. As Nightmare has a rather big dislike of trespassers he automatically eliminates them on the spot.

He did not know they where egg hunters at the time. just that they where disturbing his forest. So now he has three eggs... this was not the plan.

Figuring he couldn't just leave them Nightmare takes them to an old abandoned nesting cave near the center of his forest, deciding that he would find a suitable parent when the chance came. (Giant Wyvern eggs wont hatch until they spend enough time around an adult to passively absorb their magic. they can stay dormant for a long while)

a few months later Nightmare comes across a strangely abandoned nest. it had been full of life only a few months ago. Nightmare was going to see if he could find someone willing to take the eggs he currently had. (he didn't really have anything better to do, he was probably rather bored) but yea the entire place was empty. except for Cross's egg which he found in a small alcove like it had been quickly hidden.

Nightmare is beginning to wonder why he is finding so many eggs. is he cursed well one crisis later Nightmare decides to just put cross with the other three.

now he's in a bit of a predicament. he's out of nests he can go to that he isn't banished from. So yea. While Nightmare is trying to figure out what to do he forgets to limit his time around the eggs so they end up hatching. Horror is first, Dust hatches a few days later, Killer hatches a month after horror, and then Cross hatches a month after that.

Since they imprinted on his magic Nightmare has no choice but to raise them now :D