#as are my 2 best blood draw veins

[windowsandfeelings]

I am so ready to be done with this egg retrieval

[ilovetoxicfictionalmen]

ALL THE BETTER

KINKTOBER DAY 2 - RED RIDING HOOD AU WITH EMMETT

Pairing - Emmett x fem!reader

Summary - You must deal with the consequences after leading the wolf into your grandmother’s cottage

Warnings - non con, dubcon, character death, fingering, handjob, p in v, marking, rutting, werewolf.

Word count - 3.1k

Notes - Set in the 1700s. Doesn't Emmett just give off big bad wolf vibes to you? Was suppose to be a very very long story, but couldn’t find the inspiration to finish it in time so i sliced it lol. Not my best work, was really hard to do but oh well it’s kinktober.

It was all your fault. These consequences were due to your naive actions over the past few weeks of knowing this man, this beast. Emmett was kind, gentle, charming and rugged to the ignorant eye. It was so easy for him to fool you. The fateful crossing of paths through the woods may not have been as accidental as you believed. You’d invited the traveler into your grandma’s cottage, given him a place to rest which turned into a new residence for him. All he practically had to do was chop the firewood to keep the cottage warm at night. Together, you both assisted your aging grandma and her declining health.

Emmett was captivating to your innocent eyes. His beard was as thick as badger fur, it turned gray around the bottom of his jaw. The dark brunette strands of hair parted towards his right. He spoke almost in hush tones a lot, but his tone was deep and masculine. He was a tad shorter than the average man in your village. But his alluring blue eyes caught your attention from the beginning, they were gentle and almost sparkled.

A wolf in disguise indeed. Every stare he had given you, was not genuine but sinister. The nights you’d wake up to a figure in the shadows, it was always him, not a dream. The internal need for him to help you, protect you, watch over you constantly would be your ruining. You had let touch you, hold you, kiss you. The beast had tricked you into loving him, to the point where he almost corrupted you.

The night before, shortly after you had shut down his animalistic urges to deflower you, he left in a frustrated manner. Emmett’s chest heaved like a wild creature and grumbles sounded like growls. You tried to stay awake for him, but the late hours of the night grew heavy on your eyes. Until later, he abruptly stumbled into the cottage, in complete agony. His firm body was only covered in sweat and blood as he cried out. A bullet wound in his bare left thigh.

There was no time or thought to question anything, his naked state went unfocused as you were forced to pull the bullet out of him. It took an eternity to draw it out. The silver bullet shined as you washed the blood off of it. He had gone for a swim in the lake, as he claimed, on this freezing night teasing the upcoming winter season. They must have been hunters and mistaken him for an animal. That or they were monsters playing twisted games. Emmett seemed so determined and angered on the matter that you wouldn’t dare to have another opinion. You were like a fish with how easily you bit the bait.

The morning of, Emmett’s face was covered in sweat, eyes flashing red as he whined in despair. He needed a doctor, medicine, anything better than your amending. Even though he was heavily opposed to it, you hurried through the woods in your red cloak. Your grandma assumed she’d take care of him until you’d return.

The clouds rumbled over you, you could smell the rain brew in the sky. But immediately as you entered the village, a townsman warned you, “beware miss! A werewolf is lurking in the woods!”

“A werewolf?” you gasped, fear flashing over your eyes.

“Yes, they shot it in its leg last night, but the beast got away” he huffed out in annoyance.

“Shot it… with what?” you dared to ask.

Your heart pounded against your bones, blood streamed through your veins as you found it hard to breathe. Time seemed to slow down, you felt the man stare you dead in the eye.

“A silver bullet” he answered blankly.

The words dragged out through your mind, you gasped silently as a million thoughts ran through your mind. The instant thought was to cry wolf, but the words were too risky to claim. You had left your grandmother with the beast, you needed to save her, a village of hunters would do no such thing, she was currently a lamb awaiting the slaughter.

You had raced all the way back from the village, the rain spitting onto your skin. Your breathing was heavy, filled with distraught and angst. The forest was shaking around you, you heard a school of birds flatter around you, the dark clouds began to clash with one another. You screamed out in pain, your legs were starting to feel like jelly, but you couldn’t stop now.

As you ran through the door, your adrenaline charged through, but you froze in your footsteps. The floor had a trail of red, your body trembled as you called out her name. But there was pure silence in the cottage. The door was rested over, you dared to push it open.

Throughout the chaos of it all, the walls were painted red, the room stenched of copper, pieces of your grandma splattered across the room, the walls were clawed into, furniture ripped apart. You wailed out, eyes shot in every direction before you squeezed your eyes shut.

“Grandma!” you shrieked, your eyes pouring out hot tears as you shuddered.

Time froze.

No, no, this was all a horrible nightmare, you needed to wake up. These thoughts of yours were crazy, there was no possibility, werewolves haven’t wandered these woods in decades years.

But as you stood frozen for longer, the more it made sense. The more the fear dawned over you, you had led a werewolf into your grandma’s home, and left her alone with the beast.

Your body felt completely numb, your mind raced with every negative emotion daggering into you repetitively. You stumbled out of the room and shrieked when you bumped into a firm figure behind you, your body flung around.

It took you a moment to even realize his appearance. His hairy chest could have almost been mistaken for a shirt through your blurred vision. However, it was the large member that hung freely that switched the gears on in the inside of your head. Emmett stood completely naked in front of you, shamelessly at the matter, however his expression was full of despair and guilt. The limp in his leg was gone, the wound vanished. His skin had marks of blood everywhere.

“I’m sorry… I- I didn’t mean to… I really tried not to! I didn’t want to hurt her” Emmett stuttered out, his mind completely blurred with a range of emotions as if he was in the middle of a thunderstorm.

“Emmett” you choked out, noticing the trickle of blood over his lips.

“I couldn’t control myself… She was dying sweetheart, it was a mercy kill! I needed to feed in order to heal” Emmett poorly explained, he gripped onto the slither of hope that you’d understate.

It was true, she was dying. He could smell the blood from her handkerchief and hear it in her hoarse voice. But you were too naive to look with your open eyes. The smell was sickening, the killing a thousand times worse. But Emmett was desperate, he was dancing with death laying in that bed.

Everything was bewildering your timid mind, your heart pounded against your chest, your throat closed up, you couldn’t breathe. Your blurred vision was darting between Emmett and the massacre on your grandma’s bed. When he took a step closer to you, you leaped back instinctively.

“Emmett, you’re scaring me!” you shrieked.

The tone of your dismay ached at Emmett’s heart, he blinked hard, hoping that it would help relieve his tormented thoughts. With his hands raised up in surrender, he continued to slowly step towards you, your hands felt around the walls and pieces of furniture around you, too afraid that if you looked away from him, he’d pounce at the opportunity.

“Don’t be scared, I’ll never hurt you” Emmett promised, his voice stern and determined. His jaw locked as he watched your fingertips search for a weapon.

As your hand wrapped around a candle stick, Emmett snarled and pounced at you, you yelped and swung the metal object at him. It hit his shoulder but did no damage, his large hand smacked the object to the ground, Emmett effortlessly pinned you against the wall. Your body thrashed, squirmed and turned under his grip, his nostrils flared in annoyance. When Emmett brought his lips closer to yours, you bit the air in warning.

“Get off of me!” you screamed, but your tone was weak and broken.

“Calm down little one!” Emmett tutted harshly.

His hand wrapped underneath your jaw as he pointed your chin towards him, you whimpered out as the tightness. His blue eyes were narrowed, he looked down at you as if you were a child mid tantrum over nothing.

“Get off me! You’re a disgusting monster!” you screamed, tears coated your red cheeks.

Emmett scoffed at your words, his mouth pressed to your ear, the wetness of his beard made you cringe and gag slightly. Emmett’s body shivered lightly as he inhaled your scent. His animalistic urges crawled their way out, despite how badly he tried to keep it all chained up.

“Don’t blame me! You said it yourself, she was stubborn to the bone. If she had any common sense she’d listen to you and be healthy and alive!” Emmett insulted, his words hissing like a boiled kettle.

You whined out, but it was pointless, his hold held you down like iron. The pounding sound of your racing heartbeat ran down his ear drums. It made him feel pity towards you, his stern expression softened. The way he pressed his lips to your sweating forehead was sweet, but you didn’t see it that way.

“Don’t worry… It was quick, she didn’t even have a second to scream” Emmett comforted, his breathing rugged, a weak smile on his lips.

You blubbered out, his words hurt you. This wasn’t real, this felt impossible. How could you be so naive, you helped the enemy, you killed your grandmother.

Emmett’s slippery tongue ran up your cheek, he moaned at the taste of your tears. You squirmed every time he kissed or licked your flustered skin, but he ignored your protesting behavior. His rough hands slowly dropped to your waist, he squeezed the skin around your hips.

“Your scent has been torturing me for weeks before we met. I’ve traveled so far for you, my heart longs for you little one…” Emmett admitted proudly, his lips gently kissed yours.

“W-what?” you whimpered out, complete utter shock painted on you.

Emmett had known you were his before he met you. One evening, your scent lingered in his senses, he couldn’t block out the aura even if he wanted to. That night, he packed a small gathering of belongings and searched for you. He had many sleepless nights, agonizing moments of craving you underneath him. When he stumbled upon your grandma’s cottage, he knew he was close. So, so close to you. He waited nearby for days for you to come to him.

Other werewolves would rut their mate on the spot and drag them back home if need be. But Emmett was different, he wanted to do this right, wanted your love to grow and not be forced down your throat. It took a lot of restraint, but Emmett was certain on making you fall for him.

“You’re mine now” Emmett flared his teeth. “Don’t be upset, it’ll turn out all the better for us” he assured, his rough hand felt soft against your skin.

Without another second to spare, Emmett crashed his lips back onto yours, his tongue darted out and slipped inside your mouth. Your body turned stiff as he practically ate your mouth, his teeth nibbled on your skin whilst his hands ran up and down your curves. He untied your cloak and let it slip to the ground.

“I need you so badly, please?” Emmett almost whimpered pathetically, his eyes two massive pools of desire and need.

You mewled out, lips wobbling and skin trembling, you knew what he meant. Not to mention his throbbing length that poked against your thigh teased you. You dared to look down at it, you squeaked and squeezed your eyes shut. Emmett sighed dramatically and stroked himself.

“Hey, it’s alright. It won’t bite you, here look” Emmett comforted before he tugged your hand to his hairy length.

You gasped out as your fingers wrapped around his thick size, your eyes snapped onto him, glossy with tears. Emmett smiled at you softly, reassuringly. Slowly, he guided your hand to stroke him, all while his free hand scrunched your dress up.

The way his hand rubbed over your cunt underneath your panties made your stomach turn. Emmett’s eyes rolled back at the glistering sensation of your pussy. So fucking wet for him, you needed him just as badly. You tried to squeeze your thighs together in defense, but his fingers quickly pushed into your tight entrance.

“Oww” you hissed.

“It’s okay little one, only hurts temporarily” Emmett assured through a huff.

Reactively, you squeezed his shaft, resulting in Emmett groaning in pleasure. Before you knew it, Emmett stripped you bare, shredding the fabric to pieces. you whimpered and trembled before him, but dared not to poke the wolf. Emmett grumbled out, the animal inside of him demanded to pounce on top of you, to devour you like a lamb. But he needed to be careful, you were timid, you deserved to be treated with care.

Your arms covered your privates, Emmett slowly closed the distance and repositioned your arms to your sides. As he tilted your chin up, you blinked slowly, your tears spilled out. One hand caressed your breasts, his fingertips rolled over your hardened nipples whilst the other returned to your dripping core. You shivered against him as he played with your sensitive nerves. Your body betrayed you, it felt good, too good. The sparks of pain would be splashed away with a bucket of pleasure. Almost naturally, your body curved against his as his beard tickled your face.

Quickly, you're taken down to the wooden ground, Emmett straddled you as he kissed you gently. He took your breasts into his large rough hands as he wriggled his hips against yours. It went unsaid with Emmett lining his cock up with your entrance, you gulped as his tip teased your entrance.

Emmett kissed you passionately as he thrusted his hips towards yours. You yelped against him, your arms latched around his firm back as his cock pushed its way forcefully inside of you. Emmett heaved out, his shaft halfway in as you clenched his size still. Your words came out jumbled, you just wanted him to stop, but he still tried to inch himself in further at every moment. To comfort you, Emmett rubbed your flustered cheeks.

“Breathe little one, I’m not going to rip you in half” Emmett chuckled whilst lifting your hips up into the air.

You whined out, but listened to his command, your breathing was rough at first, but gradually grew more softer. Following after you, Emmett pushed himself in further, his hands kept your hips up as he kissed you in praise. His hips snapped in and out, his balls smacked against your sensitive skin. With every thrust, Emmett reached your sweet spot, you moaned out unwillingly. His tip teased you, you felt your abdominal tighten, your eyes fluttered back at the rapidly growing bundle of pleasure.

“Doing so good little one” Emmett praised, his beard prickling your chin.

As you looked him in the eyes, your heart betrayed you. He was still so beautiful. His features were soft and warming, you felt your heart flutter for a quick second. An inner belief that he’d always protect you flashed before your eyes. Your hand raised to his cheek, even though you trembled, you attempted to caress his skin. But the remembrance of everything fell back into place and your hand retreated. Emmett huffed out, most likely in annoyance. His lips latched onto your neck as he pistoned into you.

Shortly after, you felt your eyes roll backwards. Unexpectedly on your behalf, your orgasm crashed over you. Your velvet walls squeezed onto Emmett’s cock for dear life, Emmett grunted out, his eyes twitched as he felt his member beg for release. Your sweet piercing moans were angelic. His breathing grew heavier, eyes turned a shade darker, his forearms rested besides your head as he continued to ram into you.

He could feel his shaft pulsate, demanding to claim you completely. It felt like the need for oxygen, if Emmett didn’t mark you as his now, he’d think he would die.

“Fuck, I need, I need to rut in you sweetheart, I can’t help myself, I need to mark you as mine” Emmett admitted, his words stiff as he was so distracted with fucking you senselessly.

“What do you mean?” you cried out, unable to catch your breath.

But Emmett ignored you, he nibbled your soft skin. Really, Emmett should be grabbing something or anything to soften your body, oh fuck it, you can just lay on his chest. Swiftly, Emmett flipped you over, his cock buried completely inside of you. You mewled out at the throbbing sensation in your slippery walls.

“Emmett! What are you-”

Now, your parents never went over the details on when a woman marries her husband, however this didn’t feel normal. His cock was expanding inside of you, you cried out, it felt like pure agony. This was supernatural, you were certain it would be the death of you. You body fell limp on him as his shaft almost doubled in size. Even though you were gasping in pain, Emmett was exhaling in sexual relief. His hands brushed your hair whilst he laid comfortably onto the wooden planks. Your face pressed besides his as you heaved out. The entirety of your lower body was on fire, every inch you moved felt torturous.

A wave of possessiveness and ownership crashed over Emmett. “You’re mine, alright?” Emmett spoke firmly, his head tilted towards yours. You laid silently, sight pointed away from him. So he repositioned your head for you to look him in. the eye. “Don’t try to run from me… I’ll fucking rip apart anyone who gets in my way” he threatened before returning to his comforting nature by caressing your bare skin.

Your body shivered, he saw your red cloak and reached over for it. The fabric covered your body as Emmett held you tightly and fell into a bliss of relaxation.

[sunnynwanda]

Hi! I’m reading through your master list and I saw that you asked for people to let you know if it was convenient, and it is! My only recommendation would be to add little descriptions under the links to tell us about what the story/oneshot/prompt is about so when scrolling through we know what we’re clicking on. Hope that helps! :]

Hi!

First of all, thank you for reaching out. I finally got my hands on doing this rec.

So, what do we think? I can make this the main masterlist or leave a link to it like a sort of extention (since it's so long). Everyone's opinion is welcomed. Thank you~

Hero and Villain Oneshots

Standards

When Villain barges in to kidnap Hero, they expect anything but to find Hero fast asleep on the couch, too exhausted to even make it to bed. So, taking care of them was only natural, right?

Newspaper clippings

When Villain found newspaper clippings from five years ago in their attic, they did not expect to see their own face on them. Even more surprising was the face of their spouse on it.

A dance with the enemy

The reception Hero was forced to attend proved to be an unbearable ordeal until the arrival of one particular guest.

Wedding bells 

Walking down the aisle to marry their nemesis had to be a dream... right?

Betrayal 

When Villain first met Hero, they did not expect to fall in love. What they did expect was the betrayal that followed.

Surrender 

On the virtues of oral communication or how to confess your feelings when you're an idiot.

Turn of events 

Shooting your nemesis by accident is bad enough, but when they're secretly your lover? Just Hero's luck.

Sea waters 

A twist of faith that led to the end of Villain and their Hero.

Repent

On how Hero's gift and memories turn into a curse.

Errors in translation

Hero's linguistic challenges with terms of hatred and affection.

Friends & Enemies

Two idiots stumbling over their own words or accidental confessions after a particularly rough day.

A solution *

Hero's mission is to find a solution to a problem. Or more than one.

Entertained *

Villain might just have an idea on keeping Hero entertained after their resignation.

Trouble of Mind

Hero learns that reading Villain's mind was a mistake the hard way.

Seduction Subversion *

When Hero decides to seduce Villain to keep them occupied for a night, they do not expect it to become a regular thing.

Supervillain is sick

Supervillain gets sick. Very, very sick. Will someone help him or is life about to get much, much worse for the master criminal?

[In]sanity

When Villain's lifeless body hit the floor, so did Hero's heart.

Similarity

Supervillain and Villain look eerily similar. Neither will acknowledge it.

Uccellino

When Hero uses the nickname given to Villain by their lover, their blood stills in their veins.

Creation

Villain was bored when they created life, infecting Hero's perfect creation with humans.

Reaching out

Villain does their best to push Hero away, for reasons. But will it work on Hero?

Villain & Sidekick

When the Villain falls in love with a mistreated Sidekick.

Rules to break

Rules to Villainy are meant to be broken.

[Im]balance

Villain's victory proves to be a bitter pill for them to swallow.

Making amends

Villain can forgive getting their arm broken by accident, but they draw the line at pity.

Soulitary

A prison guard's guide to befriending a supervillain.

Meet the parents

The one where Villain meets their Hero's parents, only to be faced by the greatest surprise.

Even odds

On academic rivals and evening out the odds.

Hellbent

A tale of Hero's gruesome crimes and Villain's revenge.

House of memories

After discovering their villainous past and defeat, Villain confronts Hero. Part 2 to the Newspaper clippings snippet.

Point of No Return

When the game takes a tragic turn, Hero has to make a choice.

Two to Tango *

Villain is being a little shit, leaving Hero no choice but to punish them.

In the Heat *

Negotiations gone wrong... or right.

Something Blue

Villain knew attending Hero's wedding was a bad idea, but he refused to be a coward again.

Heal me

Hero has a particular way of healing injuries, and Villain seems to enjoy it more than they care to admit.

Ruin

Waking the sleeping dog (aka Supervillain) might just be a bad idea.

Master

When Hero goes missing, Villain knows they need to find them. Little did they know that finding the dehumanised Hero would be the least of their concerns.  

Do Your Worst

Villain was stoic. Or so Hero thought, until an intoxicated encounter revealed a side of them Hero never anticipated to discover.

Spicy margarita

A spicy drink and a flirty Hero to make Villain's evening worth it.

Not his day

Being a doctor means having to treat even the stupidly stubborn Hero. And if Villain's first instinct is to choke her to death for being an idiot? Well, he'll have to manage.

Dream

When Villain takes the attack aimed for Hero, they are left broken beyond anything they've ever experienced before. Unwilling to be a burden, Villain dissapears.

New Toy

Superhero had just defeated the previous villain when the rookie villain popped up out of nowhere, looking criminally cute and flustered beyond imagination.

Bite me

Walking through an abandoned park at night was not the smartest idea, but it lead to interesting revelations concerning cute vampires and overly willing victims.

Birthday

Hero is a bit too excited for Villain's birthday.

Blow *

Hero needs cigarettes to relax, but Villain hates the smoke, so they have to get creative when it comes to helping Hero relax.

Hero and Villain Series

Wedding Date         Part 1      Part 2       Part 3       Part 4

Asking Hero to be their fake date to a wedding was not Villain's proudest moment, but it might end up being the best decision after all. Especially when their grandmother seems to approve.

True enemy              Part 1       Part 2

When Hero is attacked by someone far stronger than they can take, Villain is forced to reveal two things: their identity as the strongest villain in the history of existence and their affection for their sunflower of a hero.

Blind or Blinded      Part 1      Part 2

When Hero agreed to a blind date with their colleague’s good friend, they expected anyone but Villain to show up.

Kill me softly            Part 1      Part 2

An unexpected request by Hero that causes Villain to pull the biggest stunt they'd ever performed.

The Darkside           Part 1      Part 2 *      Part 3      Part 4

After Villain's escape from Supervillain's headquarters exposes the true nature of Hero's mentor, they have no choice but to investigate. But the things that they unearth still the blood in Hero's veins, leading them down the path of vengeance.

Done                         Part 1 *     Part 2 *

Villain is bored out of their mind, the confrontations no longer providing the thrill they crave. Hero decides to give them a different kind of rush.

The Lab Night Part 1 Part 2 * Part 3

Getting locked in a lab with your nemesis for the entire night is bad enough - but having to inhale aphrodisiacs all the while is so, so much worse.

Temptation Part 1 Part 2 *

Maybe pissing Hero off was not Villain's best bet, but they're damn sure Hero has never had a Christmas quite like this one - and neither have they.

Under the influence Part 1 * Part 2

What's a Hero to do when their Villain is drunk beyond belief and tries to hit on them?

Black hole Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

When Hero wakes up from a fever dream with a wedding ring on their finger and a wound between their ribs, they are forced to confront another constant in their dreams - Villain. Continuation for the Wedding bells snippet.

The Game Part 1 Part 2

Hero should have suspected something was off when Villain did not protest getting arrested, but who's to say they're not playing a game of their own?

Drop Dead Part 1 Part 2 *

Villain can't help flirting with Hero. Hero can't seem to take a hint.

Audio recording of my Betrayal story by Relm Works

Dragon stories 

Of dragons and princesses

When the dragon kidnaps a princess, he expects a knight to show up for her first thing in the morning. What he does not expect is that he won't be as willing to let her go.

Dragon in distress

When the news of the Princess’ kidnapping reach the Prince, he sets out on a quest to the Dragon’s lair. Except he’s not rushing to save the damsel. It’s the Dragon that needs saving from her.

The Legends of Vishaps

(Original characters)

The Escape

When Vanki is brought in front of the King for trespassing, he is terrified of being executed. But the King seems to have other intentions.

The Beginning

The day Vanki meets the King's children is the day that marks the beginning of his new life.

[theluckywizard]

Kiss Me Moonstruck

Hawke x Trevelyan | DA2 | Matchmaking Mischief | Fluff and Smut | Fish out of Water | Romantic Comedy

At long last! I have begun publishing my 'distraction fic' Kiss Me Moonstruck, a romantic comedy romp set during Dragon Age 2, Act 2 between scrappy warrior Garrett Hawke and plucky noblewoman Rose Trevelyan. This fic happened when I overheard Leandra Hawke plotting to find Hawke a spouse right at the start of Act 2 and decided to run with it! New chapters weekly or biweekly (haven't quite decided yet) 💖

Fic Summary: Smashed together in a matchmaking scheme cooked up by their enterprising mothers, Garrett Hawke and Rose Trevelyan are forced to endure one another for a whole week over Satinalia at the Hawke Estate. Rose hears he’s a swashbuckling treasure hunter, as wild as he is handsome and as ill-bred as he is rich. Garrett suspects she’s a brat of an ingenue with a string of rejected marriage proposals behind her. Determined to prove to the other that they could not be less compatible, they quickly find their mothers’ plot might be working better than they thought.

I have loads of art of these two for my DA:I long fic, but not for KMM yet! But this favorite of mine is by @crunchyncrumbly 👇 and the one below is the favorite of mine that I made!

Chapter one excerpt below the cut 👇

The carriage winds from the outer gates through the undesirable part of the city, slowed by restive crowds who can’t be bothered to get out of the way. The unfamiliar livery of their carriage offers no additional incentive; indeed the teeming masses seem utterly unmoved by the finery of the vehicle. Rose counts derisive stares, supposing they’re envious of their fortune, the one passed down through generations. She wonders how they’d feel if they knew that her veins coursed with the same humble blood and whether it might soften the bitterness in their eyes. 

“I wish they would hurry up,” mutters Alsatia, fiddling with her delicate kidskin gloves.

“Oh I’m sorry, Mother, are the unwashed masses making you nervous?” asks Rose. “Didn’t you tell me that Leandra lived in these parts before her fortunes were restored?”

“Well it’s not as though she wanted to be down here any more than I do,” retorts Alsatia. 

“And wasn’t she a Blight refugee? From a humble life in Ferelden she chose for herself? I’m amazed you ever managed to become friends in the first place.”

“Hush, Rose,” says the elder Trevelyan, drawing her furs closer around her neck.

“It’s true. You can be an unbelievable snob,” presses Rose. “But maybe you weren’t so stuffy back in the day.”

“Polish up that mouth of yours,” she warns her.

“Or what? He won’t make me an ill-fated offer of marriage?” she asks. Alsatia’s frosty eyes land on Rose’s with a determination that matches her daughter’s flippant resistance. “Truly though. Isn’t he some sort of swashbuckling treasure hunter? I’d be amazed if he cared.”

“He’s richer than the Maker and an Amell and you will do your best to make a favorable impression.”

“I thought he was a Hawke.”

“The name doesn’t matter as much as the lineage.”

Rose slumps back and huffs a sigh. Aside from Alsatia’s industrious pursuit of an advantageous match for her daughter, she knows it’s all a clever plot to avoid her father’s family who descends upon Swinley House each Satinalia and treats her low-born mother with thinly veiled contempt. And now they’re off to see her old friend who suffers from a similar affliction: Leandra Amell had famously absconded to Ferelden with an apostate mage. The upper crust never forgets these sorts of things. Rose certainly knows that.

Read the rest of the chapter here

DAFF CREW

@warpedlegacy | @rakshadow | @rosella-writes | @effelants | @bluewren

@breninarthur | @ar-lath-ma-cully | @dreadfutures | @plisuu | @hekaerges

@ir0n-angel | @inquisimer | @crackinglamb | @agentkatie | @oxygenforthewicked

@about2dance | @exalted-dawn-drabbles | @blarrghe | @delicatefade | @leggywillow

[crypt-tids]

Not me going to the hospital, being too dehydrated to get an IV going, having two people try (passing out on the third try, which was new for me, but for some reason crook of the arm always gets me a little light headed when they draw blood, but this time it was just the process of them trying to find a vein that made me pass out (to be fair, I gave the guy warning that I was going to pass out but apparently it didn't register immediately until my mom got up to catch me before falling out of the intake chair, then he got me all sorted very quickly, so shout out to my mom for her first witnessing of me actually

passing out, she was very concerned, my dad was fine, he'd been there the first time it happened and he passes out from anxiety too lol)) FINALLY getting a former NICU nurse to give me a baby IV (she got it, but I was scheduled for an ultrasound IV, but they were all busy in trauma, so she was my last hope to get a CT and meds), getting diagnosed with "some type of infection, possibly tonsillitis" and then being prescribed an antibiotic that I had taken before as a child that I supposedly had no reaction to at the time, but am now apparently allergic to, so I had cold sweats and a rash all night that I had to take some Benadryl for. (Luckily I seem to only have mild reactions to meds I'm allergic to, but still very annoying and uncomfortable). But I did have kind of a weird silly reaction to the steroid they gave me, but it went away when they flushed the IV. So IDK if it is the antibiotic, the steroid (I had no reaction within the 2 hours between med administrations which leads me to believe it was the antibiotic), or a combination of both somehow not agreeing with me. Also, the nurses were fluffing around a lot at the nurses station so I ended up having to stay probably an extra hour in the ER for no reason, leaving what should have been about a 3 hour night (waiting room was empty) at 7 hours. Need to follow up with ENT. I have no idea what caused it, I had not strep, colds, or flus in any point in time in the last 2-3 months, and the best I can figure is possibly a bad reaction to mold, since I stayed with my bf for a week before my symptoms started, and the house had a pretty substantial ceiling leak in the kitchen that hasn't fully been taken care of, and the changing seasons always aggravates my allergies (never this bad though).

[kaledya]

Giovanni and Hurrem time !

First, it always make me chuckle when you call me 'Sir' (im very much a she) and each time I'm like *putting a suit and spreading legs* "I'm CEO now. Call me Sir and make my coffee black." Ahah

I mean, Giovanni deserve! He deserves and I give. And I'm ready to see your evolution in his design, when you want it and have time for it🌸 _

I'm very happy you like Hürrem! Thank you for liking the concept idea before anything else!

Oh my gods ! I knew it ! I knew it that guy was a cousin of Nick Wilde or whatever. I didn't want to assume like "he looks like a fox and he is giving Nick" but I did. And love it. I mean Nick ?

1. For Hürrem being half-rabbit, its because I imagine her mother (Parvin) being a mixed of Paimon and you know the female bunny in the Disney movie Bambi ? Very 50s inspired type of very girly girl design but with a demonic twist of course. And that is why!

Then you talk of Nick and I was like, yeah, I saw what you did here ! And we definitely have at least one braincells in common. Yes.

2.  For Hürrem name, yes I know the Turkish serie, I saw like 3 episodes one thousand years ago ?

And I know the historical figure named Hürrem.

I like this name because of the sound of it and the two dots on the ü. Its pretty. Then I just gave a logical reason with Parvin loving Hürrem Sultan in 'real life'.

I like Giovanni's name ! Italian. Like Addolorata ahah. Olcayto was really a surprise when I first saw his name, I never heard it before ! Its original.

Not unnecessary details. Details are great.🌸 _

I like that you like Hürrem background, and yes the Ars Goetia are miserable to the core. All of them.

I didn't think about SSAU Paimon ! Did you draw it somewhere and I missed it ? No ! *throw sparkles in panic* but yes, logically the heigher ranks demons are all fallen angels. They help Luci in the rebellion. I remember, Paimon and Lilith created the Goetia.

So yes Hürrem would have angelic blood in her veins I suppose because her grandfather on her mother side is a fallen angel. BUT in AA, the aristocratic demons are all corrupted by Hell (its just to say that they are more demon in their nature) This is why in a short story, Azrael ask to Abaddon to put a benediction on Charlie and Constantine to not be corrupted by himself. (It works better on Charlie than Constantine but its still a must) _

Yes, Constantine saw an opportunity in Hürrem and used it. Very diplomatic of him and practical.

I wonder if Elrond could be a proposition of a suitor in Constantine's head if Hürrem is successful to find Lilith with Giovanni? Just curious ! _

Hürrem is cute and you are right this type of character have the smoothest arc and changes especially when one party push the other to the better of themselves (they can break some time to time but they always come back together to slay again).

I love your little dialogue "Did you do crimes i dont know about ?" "No?!"

Ahah ! That was funny. And FLUFFY FEATHERS is the best nickname. I love it !!

(Giovanni's presence save the day!) _

The fanfics in Hell thingy is something that Hürrem would definitely like. She would ship everybody with Carmilla, Alastor with Luci and Vox with his assistant or something ahah.

I always find it so impressive Serenity is a doctor in her time period ? Like that is dedication. A nurse is what to expect but a all female doctor ? In America XXe century ? Slay.

I just imagine Human Serenity and an university professor argued for let her pass the test.

S : Thank you, sir. I will do my best. You said I have excellent scores at the last test ? Professor : I did. Very good. But... S : So, I'm on top of the class. This mean, with your marking I will pass, yes ? Professor *inconfortable* : Yes but maybe, I thought, doctor is very difficult, and for a woman of your background its your last chance to...(stay in line)

*Serenity jump on him and put a knife on his neck.*

S : ... I will pass, yes ? Professor : Yes. *removes the knife.* S : Thank you very much, sir. I will see you at the ceremony. _

Thank you ! I'm glad you her 😭 no need to use my others one then.

_

Thank you for your answers about Giovanni faq! It was interesting to know and now I can tie down the character of Hürrem.

•So shorter Hürrem it is. Noted. •Ahah, I just think that Giovanni would lost his mind if he meets Lolicia one day. •His backstory is very difficult and very well done. Tragic and important to his character. Its good. •The two options of the Clan gives to cubs is a good plan to manage the organisation and have members who actually wants to be part of the Clan and not forced to be part of it because they got keep as orphans. Liberty of choices. •the secret hideout in all the Rings give me Lupin The Third vibes (anime) and I appreciate it. •Ahah Giovanni and its 20 lucks charm on gun mastery make me thing of dnd. I think Hürrem would be fAscINatEd by the gunsmith expertise. _

The duo will first appear between episode 7 and last episode of season 1, perhaps two times but we will see much more of them in the season 2 !

Have a great day too 🌸🌸🌸 !!

LMAO! and SORRY!! (⁠ ⁠≧⁠Д⁠≦⁠) We use the word "Sir" in my native language, regardless of gender, to be more respectful and sincere at the end of the conversation or at the beginning.English is burning my brain on this subject, every word has a different meaning depending on gender.In my native language, He/She/They/It all equals just one word.

And Lmao Yes, CEO Marquisev sir. Today your suit looks perfect as always and I will bring your Whiskey Neat and your Coffee black ☜⁠ ⁠(⁠↼⁠_⁠↼⁠)❤️/ (too Sweet cover by Reinaeiry)

*You can also think of me in a butler's uniform*

Thank you! When I reply to the messages you sent before, I will draw them as soon as I get the chance!!

Of course I will love Hürrem, she is a very well written character!

And I'm so glad you like Giovanni!!

--

Yes I remember! And it was a really smart decision. And very clever!

Yes' Precisely, and thanks to that brain cell, we now have Nick and Judy in Hell, sort of. YIPEPEPEP

And strangely, I'm already very fond of these two characters, I'm curious how their stories will progress!!

--

Yes, and I'm glad you saw it centuries ago. I think each episode is about 2-3 hours long. It would take a lifetime to finish the series.

Seriously, the sound 'ü' makes is so beautiful, for some reason, when you say Hürrem, you get the Vibe of a noble character!

And for the sake of connection, it was wise for Parvin to love Hürrem in Real life.

--

I'm glad you like Giovanni's name! And I love Addolarata's name, it's so creative! And seriously, I've never heard a name like that before.

And I'm glad you like the name Olcayto! In short, the meaning of the name means lucky in Turkish. (Serenity Sometimes is not CREATIVE person)

For some reason, ı thought Serenity like This while choosing the name from The books "What does lucky mean in other languages?! I mean, I can't just name the child Lucky, it's like the name of a pet dog."

And I'm glad you liked the details!!

Yes, unfortunately, the Goetia, they arereally miserable, but after all, they're noble demons, what can we expect?

Nope I didn't draw!! But I read that he was the one who was most loyal to Lucifer during his rebellion against Heaven, so I thought of him as a fallen angel!But after all, a cursed fallen angel, the reason Lucifer wasn't cursed as much as the others was because he was the True Archangel

And Yes!

Yes, you have made a really logical decision in AA. After all, even if they were fallen angels, they would not be strong enough to resist corruption.They are all demon now.

Yes, I remember that scene and it caught my attention.Seriously, Azrael's words there make a lot of sense.In the end, it's not in anyone's best interest for Charlie or Constsntine to be corrupted.

And I have a question. In SSAU Constantine and Charlie's blood is orange/a kind of resin color because they are half angel and half ex-human.

(Both of their blood has a seriously different structure. But , I can give an example of one of ıt characteristics, Charlie or Constantine's blood is like the blood of an angel, it is like acid for sinners)

But I do not intend to do the same for the children of sins.

So I'm planning to have their blood black like a hell-born, do you think that makes sense?

--

Yes .

Maybe, after all, he's the of the young Goetias close to Hürrem's age so he will offer this option to Hürrem and Elrond if her mission is completed successfully.

But if either of them does not like the offer and Hürrem does not want marriage as an option, Constantine can do something different Solution on what she wants.

--

Yes definitely! And such characters are so much fun to read!

I'm so glad you liked the little dialogues, and lmao that dialogue was my favorite too!

And I'm glad you liked the nickname! Giovanni would probably be the type to call people with a lot of nicknames.

--

LMAO Imagine, Giovanni and Hürrem are sitting while they are on a journey to move to another ring.Giovanni's attention goes to what Hürrem is reading and asks what she is reading.Hurrem she panicked and said that she didn't read anything and that it was nothing important

(30 fanfic tabs were open in Chrome at the time).

(By the way, funfact, if you have too many fanfic tabs on chrome, the box at the top will stop showing the number and say ':D 'lmao)

---

Yes, Serenity was a Doctor, and yes, women were often nurses at that time.

But this was a very difficult task. Serenity studied at university around 1940 and was there.There's a lot of sexism and a lot of racism at the same time.a lot of university didn't even accept women or people of color.

((English is not my first language, I researched and found out that the term "People of Color" is the best way to address, please tell me if I'm wrong))

In other words, this meant that Serenity was studying at university while dealing with a lot of things.

(I had to do a LOT OF research on whether this thing was possible (I hate racism and sexism SOOO much))

But in the 1940s, there were medical universities that accepted students of color.

Serenity studied at Howard University College of Medicine.

Also, the money and human connections that Alastor left her helped her a lot. It can be said that this path was nearly completely closed to the woman in that time(It was very difficult, especially if she came from a family with no money, that woman was usually just married off.),

But the door was open to Serenity, but she had to work in an inhumane way and she did it.

The reason she wanted to become a doctor was because people of color did not receive proper healthcare at that time. They're were not admitted to the hospitals, or even if they were admitted, they did not receive good service.

That's why Serenity wanted to become a doctor and then open her own clinic in her hometown, to ensure justice and help those in need. And she did this. When she announced that the she will open a Clinic, there were many people who supported her And they donated money to open her clinic and expressed their moral support for her. and she helped many people until she died.

She didn't even take money from patients who couldn't afford treatment This much. In return, patients always give her food or gifts. (There was a time when Serenity didn't even need to cook at home. She didn't need to buy food because she ate the food given to her as a gift)

I'm sorry for the lore dump, but while doing research, the more I saw discrimination, the more mad I became.

DEFINITELY! There is a possibility of such a scene There were probably men somewhere who tried to remind Serenity that a woman's duty is to be a housewife.

And Serenity be like: *putting a knife to the throat* Oh yes, If I should be a beautiful housewife.you will be a good fertilizer for the soil in my garden. Do you want to try??

After all other people's opinions are important, right?

-

And seriously the dialogue you wrote was beautiful!!

------

It was an honor to answer your questions!!!

-It would be really interesting if Lolicia and Giovanni meet!!

-I'm so glad you liked the background!!

-Yes, after all, "you can't force a dog to go hunting."(This is an idiom)And Serenity needs loyalty and love. There must also be fear, but such a structure cannot be governed by fear.

-Yes! I saw Lupine The third!! And I'm glad you liked it!!

-LMAO and yes!

----

-I seriously can't wait to see these two!!

Thank you for your return and I wish you a good day!! 🌸🌸🫂❤️

[sleepingdeath-light]

a lot to take ; 18+

requested by ; pj simp anon (17/05/24)

word count ; 1651

content ; sexually explicit content, dominant!reader, intended sub-leaning switch!macaroni cookie, intended dom-leaning switch!cheddar cheese cookie, accidental voyeurism, dick worship (macaroni cookie receiving), hand job (macaroni cookie receiving), oral sex (macaroni cookie receiving)

fandom ; cookie run

pairing ; cheddar cheese cookie x macaroni cookie x gender neutral reader

read also on ; here only lol

note ; this was written in one sitting and i haven’t written dick worship before so… erm… this might not be a piece that meets the prompt 100% to the letter, but i really did try my best here haha ^^

note 2 ; haven’t written for either character in a prose format before and they’re both (as of now) just one off npcs so they’re gonna be very shaky — sorry about that!

minors and ageless blogs will be blocked

Both of you knew how stupidly risky this was, how dire the costs would be should anyone walk in and catch you, but neither of you could find it in you to care. Not when you finally had them exactly where you wanted them after those restless days spent apart with only your own hands and fleeting memories to tend to your needs and desires.

And, Witches and Ancients alike, who could blame you for casting caution to the wind when they looked like this?

When Mac, your usually so perfectly put-together Mac, was practically melting into their recently bought office chair: hair all mussed up and falling out of its usual style and down onto their red sweat slicked face, thick jacket slung carelessly behind them and bunching up against the back as they slid further and further down, shirt partially unbuttoned and creased to all hell and back, belt unbuckled and visibly scuffed from your messy desperation mere moments earlier, legs spread just wide enough for you to kneel between their slender thighs, and cock standing proud and pretty in your hand. Visibly flushed and trembling, having to bite down on their fist to quiet all of the delightful sounds you love to hear and drawing blood in the process. Messy, needy, and all yours.

The sight alone was enough to send another wave of white heat straight to your core. But you did your best to ignore it, taking a deep breath and refocusing on the task at hand.

Tonight was about them. Not you. And you were determined to show them just how much you missed them… and what they can give you.

—————————————

You started with your tongue. Initially just using the very tip of it — following the path of that one protruding vein along the underside of their cock from root to tip and back again along the curve of their shaft, breaking away for only the briefest of moments to kitten lick the beading drops of precum off of the head and quietly delighting in the choked gasps they gave you in return, before returning your attention back to that vein — until you tired of that and began to incorporate the flat of your tongue as well. Not letting your eyes stray from their face to take in each and every little reaction of theirs as you fell into a comfortable routine of intentionally placed kitten licks to their slit, running the flat of your tongue along their shaft, and swirling the tip of your tongue around their head, altering your pattern to get the best responses out of them.

Once they started to buck up against your lips and you could see the muscles in their abdomen twitching with the effort of keeping still, you finally relented and started to slowly take them into your mouth. Inch by inch. Centimetre by centimetre. Using one hand to guide their cock between your eager lips whilst you leaned your other arm across their lap to try and help them keep still. Hollowing your cheeks to better accommodate them as you continued to sloppily trace swirling patterns onto their dick with your tongue wherever you could reach. Not stopping until there was nothing left of them to take and your nose was nestled directly against the scratchy denim of their work trousers.

Then, and only then, did you take a moment to steady yourself and take a deep breath through your nose as you looked up at them once again.

They looked absolutely wrecked: fists clenched so tightly that they were practically paper white, eyes half lidded and unfocused as they looked anywhere but at you, brows furrowed and forehead covered in sweat. All of this and you hadn’t even gotten started… seems like they needed this just as much as you did (how stressful was the Holiday Express anyway?). If you hadn’t have had their cock buried down your throat you might have even laughed at them, but alas.

Pushing that thought out of your mind, you got back to the task at hand and started to move your head. Starting off slow and gentle to give you both the chance to adjust, just barely bobbing your head and quietly humming around their shaft as you gently guided their hips to thrust in and out of your mouth. Everything you did, every swallow and hum and suck, was done with intention and a keen memory for everything that had gotten the greatest responses out of Mac in the past — the things that made them throw their head back and groan, that had their restraint crumbling and them grasping at your hair or clothes as they fucked your face, that had their eyes rolling back in their head as they repeated your name like a mantra — and thankfully your brief time apart had done little to make these little tricks of yours less effective as within a matter of moments you found the familiar warm weight of their hand settling on the back of your neck as their hips twitched and spasmed under their efforts to not go too hard on you.

How sweet. You pulled away from their cock with a barely audible pop, smiling up at them with wet lips as you replaced your mouth with your hand.

‘You’re doing so well for me, Mac,’ you cooed, delighting in the way their dick throbbed against your palm in response to your praise, ‘such a good boy. So pretty…’

Your movements weren’t by any means slow, but you were gentle enough not to overwhelm them. Not when they were so close.

‘I missed you so much, you know that?’ You leaned your cheek against their shaking knee, placing a comforting kiss against the crease of it as you let your grip get a smidge tighter around the base of their length. Mac whimpered out something that you couldn’t quite catch through all of their moans and gasps, but you thought you heard a few broken syllables that sounded like ‘me too’ and ‘oh gods’. Close enough, you straighten up your posture and press another wet kiss to the leaking head of their dick, it was a miracle that they were even able to say that much at this stage and you missed them (and their cock) so much these past few days so you supposed you could let them off just this once.

‘That’s my good boy.’ And then in a single swift movement, you took the first inch or so of them back into your mouth.

—————————————

They really weren’t supposed to be seeing this. Cheddar Cheese Cookie had only popped back into the office to return something of their partner’s that they’d picked up by mistake; they hadn’t intended to intrude on such an intimate moment. A moment that he wasn’t meant to see and that he really shouldn’t be watching, but he that just can’t bring himself to look away from because, witches and all, has Mac always been this damn pretty?

Cheddar Cheese Cookie briefly contemplated quietly walking away and pretending that none of this ever happens, but before they get the chance you meet their eye through the open office door pull away from Mac’s (annoyingly pretty) cock to call out to them. Mac’s cum and your saliva are still clinging to your lips as you smile at them and call out their title in a lightly hoarse voice, your invitation as clear as day despite you never saying more than just the one word in greeting. Still he hesitates for a moment before Mac, still flushed and messy and panting with their cum leaking down their shaft and their clothes a complete mess, gives them a smile that borders on shy and tiredly cocks their head towards you.

That’s enough confirmation for them to shed their momentary mortification and finally take that first step through the door.

You shuffle to one side and help your darling to better adjust their legs to fully accommodate Cheddar Cheese Cookie as they settles on his knees beside you. Half of you expects to have to talk them through Mac’s needs, but that formality is quickly proven to be unnecessary as they almost immediately settle into a routine of their own that has the other detective throwing their head back and bucking their hips up to meet their waiting hand.

You give them a faux-questioning look as you place your own hand further up than theirs, focusing your attention on carefully and gently massaging the tip and upper third of Mac’s cock. In response they offer you that same old smile they always wear before placing a large, strong hand on Mac’s hip to keep them still.

‘You seem surprised?’ Their tone was light and almost teasing, enough to have you rolling your eyes as you leaned forward to briefly swirl your tongue along the head of your partner’s length. ‘You two weren’t exactly quiet earlier; you can pick up a thing or two from observing.’

‘How long were you observing, exactly?’ You retorted with a smile, using your freehand to make quotations in the air as you continued to tease your lover’s cock.

‘Not long,’ they responded, tracing the length of that delightfully prominent vein with the calloused pad of their thumb, ‘just long enough to know that they’re your good boy… or was it pretty boy?’

Though you knew it was a rhetorical question you couldn’t help but respond, punctuating your statement with a chaste kiss against the underside of Mac’s knee. ‘Can’t they be both?’

The detective beside you laughed and nodded as Macaroni Cookie whimpered, their cock throbbing and blazingly hot under your mutual touch. They were close already… how cute. You were just glad that they seemed to be enjoying themselves.

… maybe you’ll ask Cheddar Cheese Cookie for his number later so you can do this all again some time.

[syncopein3d]

Broken World

5: The Unlikely Truth

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Content Warning: injection, blood transfusion

Something stung a little. The Ripper ignored it for a while, but the weird spreading feeling of warmth radiating from the inside of their left elbow eventually made it impossible to stay under. It blinked and squinted. The room was dark, and it was lying on something soft – comforter? It tried to shift position and a hand planted squarely just below their collarbones stopped them from moving.

“Hold still. We got a couple more to go,” said Robert. The Ripper turned its head. He was holding one of the syringes from the duffel, gradually injecting what looked very much like blood into the vein in the crook of its elbow.

“Type,” the Ripper croaked.

“I’m O Negative, so what you are doesn’t matter. Hold still. I said I’d fix it, and I will.”

The Ripper grunted, other hand still reflexively wrapped around Robert’s arm. It didn’t remember grabbing on, and it hadn’t made the slightest impression. There might be a big gap between how strong Robert was and a B level like Teledyne, but it was now equally obvious there was also a big gap between what Robert described as a “slightly strong regen guy” and someone with no strength meta at all. It couldn’t have budged him on its best day.

“Did you used to do heroin?” Robert asked. “Your arms don’t look like it.”

“Testosterone,” Ripper said. “You don’t use a vein for T.” It shrugged the arm he wasn’t holding. “Decided it wasn't for me. I just never threw the needles away. Isn’t O Negative rare?”

“Least common on Earth, probably,” Robert said. “They bred us for it. I’m going to fill another one. Are you gonna be still?”

“Yeah,” the Ripper said. “That feels… Weird…” Now it could feel warmth creeping up its arm, a strange inverse of the cold burn of anesthetic. And where it went, the pain went with it. That arm didn’t hurt at all now, the permanent ache fading away as if by magic.

“It’s nice to have it back,” Robert said. “I don’t know how you can live with that much pain.”

“You get more used to it as the years go by,” the Ripper said. “And you work around it.” They looked up and found Robert looking down at them, eye to eye. Now they could actually see his eyes, they were light brown, almost yellow. The pupils were big in the dark. It had never imagined him as having much of an expression. There was something there now. It wouldn’t have said what.

“Well, at least I can take it away for a little while,” Robert said. “I’m a man of my word. That’s why I try not to give it.”

He pulled the needle, ignoring the little drop of blood, and plunged it right back into his own arm with no apparent concern for contamination. “They made us do our own blood draws,” he said. “So they wouldn’t have to come into the pod. I got real good at this part.”

“That seems like it would be a bad memory,” the Ripper said. The warm feeling had dissipated a little when it hit the throat and jaw, but it felt good enough to sap any urge to protest. They watched Robert thump their elbow and effortlessly find a vein again. It didn’t hurt as much this time.

“Not really. It was an everyday thing. I didn’t even know it was bad there until I saw what outside was like,” Robert said. Warmth blossomed through the Ripper’s face and chest. Belatedly, they realized they still felt the N95. Robert had left it on them.

The Ripper inhaled slowly, trying to remember when their lungs and chest had last felt this elastic. They hadn’t thought of breathing as hard, but suddenly it felt so easy. Everything felt a little clearer. They could flex their toes and not cause a thigh cramp, close and open a hand and not bind up their elbows.

“There you go,” Robert said quietly. They looked at him sidelong and found him watching again, unblinking, almost eager. “Feels better, yeah?”

“Yeah,” the Ripper said. Its voice even sounded different. It didn’t remember hearing itself sound like its throat wasn’t raw. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

Robert cleared his throat as he took the syringe back for a third refill, looking down at it and away from Ripper’s face. “It’s just. I never done this on purpose for somebody. I couldn’t risk it.”

“Well, I definitely won’t sell you out to a pharmaceutical company,” Ripper said. “Pretty sure you’re not worth nine hundred million.”

Robert laughed, an actual full-throated guffaw. “Nah, I doubt anyone’s offering over one, even. Okay, last one, I think. You sound better.”

“I still can’t believe you weren’t lying.”

“Well, it won’t stop you hurting yourself again,” Robert said. “So you still gotta go talk to the crazy lady.”

“Does everyone really call you Robert?” Ripper asked. It watched him apply the third syringe almost reluctantly. It felt something was ending.

“No. I just like Robert. Mostly when I’m working I go by Bloodless.” He sounded dry, almost rueful. “I didn’t pick it. My arteries close fast enough there’s no splatter when I get shot. Somebody noticed and it stuck.”

The Ripper snorted. “I think I saw a contract on a Bloodless once. It was for five million. That’s a lot for an unregistered C-level.”

Robert shrugged modestly. “Been a busy couple of years,” he said. “See you around, thing.” He snatched at Ripper’s tank top front faster than they would have thought possible, yanking it up over their eyes. By the time they had fumbled it clear, he wasn’t in the room any more.

Somewhere in the vastness of the empty house, a door closed.

“In no shoes and no shirt?” the Ripper said aloud. Nobody answered. Robert was gone.

The End

(For Now)

[novarunestone]

Waiting on the invite for my new AO3 account but I've been writing a ton since full release dropped. So here goes. Spoilers for the Astarion romance so be warned if you haven't gotten through Act 2. My take on his confession and my first time writing completely in Astarion's POV.

••••••

Her flesh is soft and so warm that it sends a shiver racing down his spine. It is another stark reminder of the many differences between them. He is cold to the touch, his heart long since stopped beating. The blood in his veins now is mostly hers…something borrowed to sustain him. As if he is no better than a parasite like the hellish insects that seem to swarm the wilds. Blood…just another thing he relies on her for. 

Touching her should sicken him. The reminders of all he has lost. Of how low he has fallen. Of how many times he has ended up on his back for the pleasures and wants of others.

He feels himself retreating into the darkened recesses of his mind as he works on instinct. Or, well…tries to. 

The way she touches him is unlike anything he’s experienced before. The way she stares back at him as they move together. It unravels something inside of him that he dares not name.

Her hands smooth tenderly down his back as he feeds, two fingers working in and out of her core as he does so. She lets out a breathy sigh as he pulls his mouth from her neck, tongue flicking out to catch a stray droplet of blood. The taste of her on his tongue is…divine. Not in the way that her goddess is. No, this is uniquely her. Entirely Pryderi. The warm rush is belied by the sweet taste of her. The scent of rosewater and incense on her skin is as familiar to him as anything after a few weeks in her company. The taste of citrus and something earthy fills his mouth every time he catches sight of her. 

He squeezes his eyes shut as her fingers trace gingerly over the scars on his back. She has seen them now. She has attempted to begin translating them for him…she even has scars of her own. He understands the shame that floods her every time she removes her shirt. The way she will twine her arms around her torso or twist away from him until he presses kisses against the line of her jaw and the blade of her ear and she slowly relaxes in his hold. 

Astarion tries to tell himself she is as desperate for some inane distraction as he is. That she is falling to his charms as so many have done before. 

But something inside of him cowers, shying away, when she looks at him. The way her fiery green eyes seem to strip him of his usual defenses. She sees far more than he would like though she rarely calls him on it. The little cleric seems content to allow him his walls so long as he does his best not to be too catty with the others. 

He moves his mouth to her chest, his lips pressing against the twisted rune scarred just below her clavicle, between her breasts. A gift from her father to stifle her arcane abilities. The memory had slipped down the bond of the tadpole the first night he'd fed from her beside the campfire. It had felt like a serpent the way it had slithered into his mind and the feeling of dread and unadulterated terror had nearly made him believe it was a memory of his until he had seen the very man who helped create the stunning little creature currently beneath him. He had felt her rage, her fear, her utter hopelessness as a blade had torn through her flesh over and over again while she had been charmed and restrained, unable to escape or fight back.

His teeth tug on a peaked nipple and she throws her head back against the ground. He feels as if perhaps they are not so different after all. Both kept by cruel masters, held captive and tortured until they'd nearly broken. 

Thoughts swirl in an endless and restless pool in his mind, dark and twisted. He feels himself slipping from the present and down into the darkness that accompanies him everywhere. 

A whisper of his name draws him abruptly back into his body, like a tether drawing taut as it's pulled. He blinks, swallowing hard past the sudden lump in his throat.  

She is looking up at him, her devilish eyes wide with concern. 

His stomach turns. He does not deserve her concern. Her pity. 

"Astarion," she murmurs again, her hands coming up to delicately frame his face. "We can stop if you like." Her voice is breathy, her pulse hammering and he can nearly taste her desire. Despite that, she stops. Her thumbs brush featherlight across his features, tracing the bow of his mouth, following the angles of his cheekbones. Her gaze flits across his face and he doesn't think he's ever felt more bare. "Do you want to talk about it?" she asks, her voice the faintest whisper. 

His throat feels tight and despite the fact that he hasn't needed to breathe in two centuries, he feels a bit light headed. 

Here she is laid out before him, naked as the day she was born, his hand still cupping her sex, puncture wounds from his fangs decorating her own neck…and she is worried about him. 

Astarion isn't sure whether to laugh at the absurdity of the situation or to flee into the woods to clear his head. To put space between them. 

Pryderi begins to sit up, lightly pressing on his shoulders to move him back into a sitting position. She draws herself up with a shiver as his fingers withdraw from her warmth. She crosses her arms over her chest to combat the chill of the night air. "Darling," she tries again, coming up to rest on her knees. "I was so sure this was just sex to you but if there's something-"

"You-what?" His brain seems to misfire, his words clumsy on his tongue as he stares back at her. 

"I'm not angry," she hastens to tell him. "I understand. The last few weeks have been incredibly stressful. It's natural to crave some sort of comfort or distraction. I had assumed that's what you were after. But you…something doesn't seem right. You don't seem quite yourself."

Well, fuck. 

He had truly believed she was falling into the web he had spun for her. She had come to him so willingly as soon as he'd batted his lashes at her. She had acted as his mirror and studied the scars on his back without disgust. She had offered him pieces of her own troubled past to put them on equal footing-

The reality of their situation crashes into him and he feels flayed anew. She is not his victim. Something in her sees his jagged edges, not unlike her own, and she cares about what he is feeling, what happens to him. The revelation feels so surreal that he nearly breaks out into a fit of hysterical, choking laughter. 

He decides to brush it off. To see if he can take back the upper hand. He chuckles goodnaturedly and offers her a roguish smile. "Oh, my dear, I assure you the only thing on my mind is depraved carnal lust." 

Pryderi frowns. "You know I have had other lovers in my time," she informs him without much feeling. In truth, she nearly sounds irritated. "I know I may be younger than you and you may see me as naive, but I can tell when someone isn't truly interested in me."

Astarion blinks, speechless. 

How could she believe he is not attracted to her? He realizes he is well and truly fucked as he begins to panic. "Why would you think me uninterested?" 

Pryderi smiles sadly. "You aren't just holding back," she says with conviction. "This isn't about not wanting to lose control. I've seen the look in your eyes like you're a million leagues away. The way you clench your jaw when you think I can't see." She hunches up her shoulders against the breeze whistling through the trees around them. "If I've done something wrong-"

"No!" he blurts out before he can consider his own racing thoughts. "No," he tries again, more calmly. "You haven't done anything wrong at all. I-" He trails off, fear unfurling in his gut. This is where he loses her. This is where all of his plans fall apart. Where she will tell him to leave for good and he will lose the only person willing to protect him and his only chance at ever being free. He closes his eyes, steels himself, and retrieves her shirt before passing it to her. "You'll catch cold," he mumbles, bothered that he even cares. And he does care. 

She slips her shirt back over her head, mindful of her horns, her pebbled nipples still straining at the fabric. She brushes her dark hair back over one shoulder and waits for him to continue. 

He cards a hand through his curls. "I…I think we need to talk."

Pryderi nods, worrying at her lower lip. "Are you alright?" she asks again. 

"Oh, yes, I'm fine," he says quickly, too quickly. He watches as one of her brows arches up questioningly. "I just…feel awful." He takes in a breath, studying her face, trying to commit her features to memory. "Look, I had a plan. A nice, simple plan-seduce you, sleep with you, manipulate your feelings so you'd never turn on me." He lets out another nervous laugh, trying not to look too closely at her. "It was easy. Instinctive. Habits from two hundred years of charming people kicked in. All you had to do was fall for it." He dares a glance up at her now, taking in the sad understanding etched across her face. "And all I had to do was not fall for you," he whispers. "Which is where my nice, simple plan fell apart."

Pryderi shifts across from him, her eyes locked on him as he speaks but she makes no move to interrupt. 

Astarion sighs. "You…you're incredible. You deserve something real. I want us to be something real." 

The cleric does not react for a long moment, she simply stares at him with her lower lip caught between her teeth, eyes slightly wide. "So…the nights we have spent together didn't mean anything to you?" 

He hears what she isn't saying. That even though she had assumed all he desired from her was a distraction, she had hoped to be a worthy distraction. She had hoped to make him feel something. Whether it be simply safe or something more, he dares not guess. "Of course they did," he tells her, his voice low and rough. "That's the problem…or part of it, anyway." 

She waits patiently for him to continue, her own hurt carefully masked as she tries to take in everything he is saying. This confession that falls gracelessly from his lips. A vulnerability he has not dared to share with anyone before. A realization that he, himself, has only just had. 

"Being close to someone-any kind of intimacy-was something I performed to lure people back for him," he explains, rushing through the words lest he lose his nerve. "Even though I know things between us are different, being with someone still feels…tainted. Still brings up those feelings of disgust and loathing. I don't know how else to be with someone." He inhales through his nose and brings his gaze up to meet hers, their eyes locking, as he hopes to convey his complicated feelings to her. "No matter how much I'd like to." 

His voice sounds broken and raw, even to his own ears. 

Pathetic. As always. 

Pryderi shuffles closer to him on her knees, reaching out slowly-giving him a chance to pull away, he realizes. But he doesn't. His spine stiffens but he remains deathly still as her hand comes up to rest against his shoulder. "I care about you, Astarion," she murmurs. "Deeply."

If his heart still beat, it would have stopped. He remembers dreaming of a hero to whisk him away as a child, as a teenager he had dreamt of someone good and strong to marry him and keep him safe. He remembers pleading to the gods to save him from Cazador. Remembers that feeling of helplessness that led him into isolation. No one could truly care for him, not broken as he is. Not as weak and pathetic as he is…

But something in his chest stirs at her unwavering words, spoken with such conviction. And he finds himself whispering back, "Really?" 

The look of utter devastation that crosses her face nearly makes him look away. She reaches forward, wrapping herself around him as she draws him into a tight embrace. 

His hands come up in shock and he pauses, trembling and unsure of what to do. He feels her press her brow against his shoulder and nuzzle against him. A moment passes in silence and then another. He begins to relax beneath her before his arms lock around her, holding her against his bare chest, his hands pressing gently against her back. He waits and when she does not move, does not speak, he lowers his face into her hair, inhaling the scent of her deep into his lungs. 

"You are worth a great deal to me, Astarion," she whispers, her lips moving against his flesh. "Regardless of what you are going through. I told you I'd be here for you and I meant it."

She slowly pulls away and he feels oddly bereft for a moment at the loss of contact. He can't recall a time when someone had touched him without wanting something. When was the last time someone had simply held him? "You…you're full of surprises, aren't you?" 

Pryderi smiles again, this time it reaches her eyes. "I want nothing from you in return," she says. "You can tell me where you want to go from here. We don't have to do anything you aren't comfortable with. Just…promise me one thing?"

The panic returns, fear knotting his stomach into ropes. 

The cleric looks him over. "I see it in you even if you can't. It's small right now," she whispers, one hand moving to press over the place where his heart should beat. "A flicker, an ember. Promise me that you'll continue to feed it, nurture it."

"An ember of what?" he asks, his voice raspy and breathless. 

"Hope," she says simply. "I can see it in you, bright as the noonday sun. Don't let it go. Not now. Not yet." 

The tension leaves his muscles as he understands. She is not asking for her sake. She is not asking to garner something from him. She sees a path he has yet to acknowledge. A path where he can make his own choices, be his own man. If only he is brave enough to reach for it. 

He sighs, breathing through another anxious chuckle. "Honestly, I have no idea what we're doing. Or what comes next." He slowly extends a hand to her. 

She takes it just as carefully, her fingers curling around his own as their palms press together comfortably. 

"But I know that this?" he continues, forcing himself to look her in the eyes, to convey everything he is feeling but cannot yet put to words. His other hand comes up to rest over hers. "This is nice." 

[moonlightrei]

Cloud of Daggers Chapter 2 - Burning

Chapter 2 is out now - click here to read on AO3!

Relationship: Astarion/Tav (or reader) Tags: Angst, Pining, Post-Canon, Aberrant Mind Sorcerer Tav, minor shadowzel, others to be added Word count: 4.3k

Burning. Your skin was ablaze, the heat licking into every inch of your body, mind and soul. Your blood fizzed, boiling and bubbling, ready to burst out of your veins. You cried out, a raspy, disembodied scream, but it wasn’t your voice. The flames roared in response, your skin melting and twisting until all that remained was ash and crumbled bone.  

You awoke, immediately feeling how your sweat had drenched the bedsheets around you. Another night terror.  

The scorching light that poured through your window told you that you had risen late; Lae’zel would be arriving soon. It seemed the sleeping potion had worked, though you cursed that it didn’t protect you from your violent dreams.  

You stretched your arms out in front of you to shake the sleep from them, half expecting to find them covered in burns and blisters, vile reminders of the torment that had felt so real.  

Dressing quickly, you donned your elven chain and turned to the mirror. The familiar weight was comforting, your body not yet having grown used to a life without the need for armour. The road to the grove was not particularly dangerous, but it was long enough for something to go wrong, and you had learned better than to undertake such a journey with careless planning.  

Three solid raps alerted you to the presence at your door. You grabbed the doorknob and twisted, opening the way to reveal your githyanki friend.  

“No lock?” she mused. “I could have entered and gut you in your sleep. You have grown sloppy.” She smiled, betraying the lack of malice in her words. “Your head would make a fine addition to my collection of battle trophies.”  

“And Shadowheart would have hunted you down and clobbered you,” you said, grabbing your pack and untying the thread which sealed it to complete a final check that you had packed all you would require.  

“I’d like to see her try.” Lae’zel crossed her arms and leant against the wooden doorframe. “She is formidable in battle, but besting me?” She grinned at the idea, baring her teeth. “That is a farce.”  

Satisfied with your inventory, you glanced around your room one final time. Your eyes settled on the drawing of you and Astarion. You rolled it up and slid it into your pack, pulling the thread and tying a tight knot. You were taking it with you to keep Mae and her mother in your prayers, you told yourself, refusing to admit that there could be any other reason.  

The sun beat down on you as you traversed the city, shelter from the hot rays only being provided by the dark shadow that fell over you and your companion as you passed the Szarr palace, its imposing form blotting out all light to the streets below. You yearned to burst into the building and save Astarion from the wretched place as he had wished so desperately for over the last two centuries, only now you knew he would not see you as a saviour.  

“Where’s the egg?” You piped up, searching for a swift distraction. Lae’zel raised an eyebrow at the sudden, utterly unprompted and seemingly random question. “It must be somewhere safe whilst we’re away, I mean,” you stumbled, quickening your pace to get out of the city as rapidly as possible.  

“It’s in safe hands,” she assured you. “Shadowheart has been caring for it. She would make a fine mother, I expect.” Her voice softened a little. “She could heal the hatchling and I could show them the way of battle.” The wistful words tugged the corners of your mouth upward.  

“ Tsk'va , what is this pounding in my chest? It is as if I am in the heat of the fray.”  

“Yet the one you want to conquer is a certain cleric?” you prodded, noting the pink that bled into Lae’zel’s cheeks.  

“Chk.” She increased her pace further, her heavy boots clunking on the ground with purpose.   

A flaming fist stationed at Basilisk gate gave a curt nod as you passed, the sound of Rion training new recruits ringing out from the barracks. The bridge to Rivington was lowered, as was its usual position now. You hurried through the town, stopping only at the crinkle of paper under your feet.  

You peered down at the faded green and red of a poster advertising the Circus of the Last Days. Kicking it away, you cursed that Dryad and her honeyed lies. How ridiculous it was that your heart had fluttered as she gushed about your deep bond and your future together. How you had stared, utterly enamoured, at Astarion, at the delicate curls of his pale hair around his ears, his fanged grin at the answers you gave. He had been so alive, witty and hopeful. Your skin craved the incongruent sunshine he had emitted, a light you would stand in until it burned you to cinders if that was the price of experiencing it once more.  

“Now is not the time to be snivelling over that loathly clown,” chided Lae’zel. It mattered not if she thought you were mourning the loss of Dribbles or if she knew you well enough by now to see right through you, her words were sage. Wallowing would change nothing.  

Your small party continued on its way, covering ground efficiently. The surface of the earth beneath you crumbled slightly with each step, the dirt thoroughly dried out from the beating sun. Mercifully, no breeze threatened to carry dust into your eyes, an irritation you were glad to avoid.   

Lush greenery surrounded the well-trodden paths as the city was a speck in the distance. The once shadow-cursed lands, still practically abandoned, had been overcome with flourishing vegetation, a fine replacement for the vile blackened tendrils that had previously grown there.  

Perhaps once Baldur’s Gate was fixed up, you would set your sights on this place, you mused. The newly fertile land could support a vibrant community of people. You imagined a thriving society, tight-knit and kind. Bustling, but not noisy like the city. A place without the ostentatious commemorations of your achievements, without that dreadful palace looming above.   

A quaint little house of stone brick, a solid oak door adorned with a heavy brass knocker for your loved ones to use when they visited you. Flowers strung from the ceiling with twine to dry out for potions and decoration, a toasty fire to cast a warm glow throughout your abode and a soft bed, your love reclined upon it, just as he was the last time you travelled through here, gazing at you with adoration etched across his face. The fire would crackle as you undressed and joined him, the flames’ flickering reflected in his eyes as you inched towards him, warm skin against his cool pallor. A content sigh would escape you as your lips touched, a gentle graze giving way to something more urgent, his hands coming to rest at your waist, pulling you ever closer.  

You almost walked straight into Lae’zel’s back, wrapped up in imagination as you were. She had come to an abrupt halt, holding one finger in the air in a wordless instruction to be still and silent. Muscles tensed and you strained your ears to hear something, anything, searching for a sign of what had roused your travelling companion.  

She unsheathed her silver sword soundlessly, assuming her battle stance and taking careful, calculated steps. The familiar simmering of magic fizzed at your fingertips, ready to rupture from you at a moment’s notice.   

“Fer Maglubiyet!” The screech rang out through the hush, and a pack of goblins poured into view, charging with axes and scimitars raised high, faces warped into dangerous snarls.  

“ Ignis !” you yelled, your heart thumping in your chest as adrenaline coursed through you. Flames erupted from your fingers and your target screamed and crashed to the ground, convulsing, his burning flesh pungent.  

Lae’zel swung her sword with a cry, cutting effortlessly through the air and into multiple enemies, dispatching of them swiftly. She sliced through another, bringing her elbow back sharply to stun a goblin that dared attempt to race past her, his black eyes fixed on you.  

Few foes remained, the death rattles of those already felled the music to which the others danced, trying in vain to strike Lae’zel, leaving her with nothing more than slight bruises beneath her heavy armour. Your breaths steadied as you resolved that there was little hazard present and cantrips would continue to suffice.  

A frenzied dagger sailed from a goblin’s claws seconds before his foul hand was cut from his body, the appendage landing in the dirt with a sickening thud as the cruel blade buried itself in your shin.  

A pained yelp escaped you, greater flames exploding from you in retaliation, your judgement momentarily clouded by the sting of cold metal in flesh. “ Ardē !”  

The ball of fire impacted with a roar, the blazing inferno desecrating all in its path, sparing Lae’zel only as she leapt from its trajectory. You panted, your head beginning to spin. A heavy thump alerted you to the fact that your knees had buckled, and you placed your palms in the dust to steady yourself. Lae’zel was at your side in a flash, yanking the dagger out and holding your leg still as you reflexively went to scramble away.  

She grabbed one of your hands and thrust it to the wound, ordering you to keep it there whilst she slung her pack from her back and opened it, extracting bandages and her waterskin. She pulled the cork from her bottle and removed your hand, pouring some fluid over the wound to rid it of the dirt you had pressed into it before wrapping a ligature tightly around your leg.   

“Your pack,” she prompted. You shakily removed the bag and handed it to her. Its stopper discarded, she held a potion of healing up to your lips. The liquid slipped down your throat with ease, instantly comforting as a warmth spread through your body, alleviating the pain.  

“We’ll rest here for a moment,” Lae’zel said, picking through the goblins to see if they had anything of use. You repacked the items that she had hastily pulled from your bag, shaking the filth off of the precious paper you carried and tucking it safely away.   

You unwrapped a portion of your rations and began to eat, dried meat preserved in salt quelling the hunger that had blossomed once you’d calmed from your altercation. Satisfied with her inspection of the corpses, Lae’zel joined you.  

“Their rallying cry was to Maglubiyet,” you said idly. “Almost nice, hearing them praise their own god.” You swallowed the last bite of your food, rolling up the wrapping and putting it away. “The Absolute is truly gone.”  

“Have you suffered a knock to the head?” queried Lae’zel. “The Absolute was no more from the moment we destroyed it. A most valiant victory.” You chuckled.  

“I do miss travelling with you, you know?”  

“Of course you do,” the warrior nodded. “I am a formidable ally.” She smiled. “Or did you mean my famous charm?”   

“All of it,” you replied, heaving yourself up and gingerly testing your leg. “You seem to have me well on the way to healed, too. Perhaps you don’t need Shadowheart’s aid when the egg hatches, or was there possibly another reason you seek her out?”  

“Don’t make me regret helping you,” she said with narrowed eyes, though the absence of malevolence was again quickly betrayed as she picked up not just her pack but yours too, swinging both onto her back as to not burden you. “Come, there is only so much daylight remaining.” You scurried to follow as she marched away.   

“ Lae’zel -” you sang, elongating the sounds of her name. “I’ll just keep on pestering you, you know how stubborn I can be.” She continued staring straight ahead, taking such broad strides that you had to skip to keep up. “So, do you think you love her?”  

“Argh, k'chakhi ! Cease your babbling.” The tips of her ears had reddened.   

“Come now, Lae’zel, that’s no way to speak to your dear friend,” you lilted. “Especially one in such an infirmed state as I.” You held the back of your hand to your forehead dramatically. “Surely, I may be close to the brink of death, and to think that I would pass on with our last interaction being so-”  

“Fine,” she growled, cutting you off abruptly as she had reached her limit of your incessant prattling. “The half elf makes my chest tighten, my body hunger only for her. When I turned from Vlaakith I vowed I’d never bow to a deity again.” She stopped walking and turned to make eye contact, her voice hushing to little more than a whisper. “But she would be my new goddess, if only she would accept my worship.” She looked to the ground for a second, then continued on her way.  

“I would devote myself entirely to her, kneel at her feet and offer her my blade. I am free from the lich queen, free to be my own being, yet I yearn to serve her. I had thought this pebble you call Toril to be bland and accommodate no end of displeasing creatures.” She sighed. “That is still true to an extent, but Shadowheart is beautiful. She is the astral sea, glowing and threaded with silver. She is the first blood spilled in battle, the striking crimson and pulse-quickening scent. I read every vital tir’su text during my education in Crèche K'liir , and none described anything as resplendent as her. Nor did they make any mention of this feeling. I have never met a gith who knew of this love you speak of. Yet, I cannot be the only githyanki to experience this obsession. This fluttering of the stomach, occupation of the mind.” She shook her head. “Perhaps I was never meant for Vlaakith’s vision of my people.”  

“You say that like it’s a bad thing,” you challenged.  

“Chk. You know as well as I that these matters of the heart can be a weakness, a dagger in your side. A tragic pair we are.”  

The sun hung heavy in the sky as you neared the Risen Road.  

“You grow weary. Let us make camp,” said Lae’zel. She set down the bags and began gathering kindling as you arranged some rocks to contain the campfire. She stacked the wood then sat back for you to light the fire with a cantrip.  

You untied your bandage and cleaned your wound again, inspecting it carefully. The healing potion had knitted the flesh together, leaving only a slight raw slash where the knife had entered – with rest you were certain it would heal nicely.  

The streaks of colour drained from the sky and stars glimmered up above. It had been too long since you had sat under them. You ate your fill then lay back on your bedroll.  

With your gaze and your mind focused only on the stars, you considered if Shadowheart might have been correct. Perhaps sleeping under the night sky once more was what you needed to truly rest. You felt calm. Detached.  

You were roused suddenly from your serenity as Lae’zel shot up, her eyes fixed on something in the darkness that you couldn’t quite make out. Your pulse quickened as she retrieved a small blade and approached her target, your fingertips buzzing anew.  

She knelt to the ground, and you felt your brow furrow in confusion. The sound of easy slicing through a stem reached your pointed ears and she returned, holding a night orchid.  

“A most bewitching bloom,” she mused.   

“For Shadowheart?” you asked, already knowing the answer. Lae’zel nodded.  

“I shall have one of the druids see to it that it survives our journey back.”  

The tender gesture made you smile, though as you relaxed once more you couldn’t help but wonder which plant Astarion might enjoy as a gift. You remembered well the warm scent of bergamot that clung to him, how it had embraced you on a bitter night after he had seen you shivering and insisted you layer up with his shirt, the citrus intertwining with your own scent to create a shared fragrance that felt like home. How you yearned to envelope yourself in that aroma, to bury yourself in that coupling and shut the complications of your relationship out, to bask only in the mixture of your essences on the most rudimentary physical level. You would drown yourself in it, let it fill your lungs until they burst, if only it would bring a moment of feeling as you did then, so close to him and so loved.  

Imagining yourself choking on that sweet poison was hardly a lullaby. You swigged your half dose of sleeping potion and settled down, briefly envisioning that the sensation of being wrapped in warmth was because your beloved was there, rather than just the magic taking hold.  

Birdsong awoke you, the tuneful twittering a welcome reprieve from the horrors that met you when you slept. Lae’zel was already up, packing away her bedroll. You followed suit and shared rations before setting off again.   

The familiar sight of the grove edged into view, the rampart covered in vines as it always had been, but lacking the addition of tieflings upon it as had been the case when you first came across the dwelling.  

As the two of you approached the entrance, the great wooden door rose to allow you in. Kagha met you a little way up the path, placing her arm against her chest as she greeted you.  

“Silvanus keep you, child. What brings you back to us?” Her abandonment of the shadow druids and renewed devotion to true druidic ideals appeared to have been maintained.   

“Is Halsin around?” The last you had heard he had elected to go back to the grove to complete some business there before setting his sights on the land that Thaniel kept.  

“Master Halsin busies himself at the site of the nautiloid crash, working on returning the area to its natural state. You are more than welcome to remain here until he returns for the day.”  

“Thank you,” you replied. “I think we will go out to meet him. There’s a place nearby that I’d like to visit whilst I’m here.”  

Kagha bowed her head in acknowledgement, the loose sections of her auburn hair swinging with her movement.  

You headed south with purpose, making a beeline for the dilapidated temple you had explored long ago with uneasy new allies by your side.   

Hinges wailed as you pushed the ancient door ajar, a thick layer of dust swirling up into the stagnant air as your boots disturbed it. You cast a light spell on Lae’zel’s armour so she could see, and paced gingerly though the crypt, careful not to set off any traps you may not have disarmed previously.  

The sarcophagus stood exactly as before, cold and imposing. You brushed your fingertips over the edge of the smooth stone, and it jolted, making you jump slightly despite your expectance that it would happen. You took a step back, making room for the familiar undead that lifted from the tomb, hovering momentarily before meeting the ground.  

“And so thou returneth, as he vowed thou would.” Withers stared at you, his gaze boring through your soul despite his never changing expression.  

“Withers,” you greeted him with a smile. “it’s been too long.”  

He said nothing, continuing only to look at you expectantly. You shifted nervously, flicking your eyes to Lae’zel as you tried to put together the words you sought to speak.  

“The last time I felt lost beyond recognition you put me on the right path. Any advice for an old friend?”  

“Thy path was thy own,” he uttered. “Thy wheel of fate spins still, I can do little to change its course.”   

“Still, any words of wisdom?”   

Withers considered your request steadily.  

“Very well. I asked thee a question before and so I ask thee again.” His voice reverberated through your chest. “What use dost an empty vessel possess?” Your blood ran cold. “He hast eschewed becoming illithid, that may be, yet so it comes to pass that he hast not escaped the fate of a soulless being.”   

You stood in silence, turning over his words in your head as your stomach flipped in time.   

“Thou knowest of whom I speak,” he asserted. “And on this occasion, cleaving soul to body is beyond my abilities.”  

“Astarion,” you whispered. Withers bowed his head in affirmation.   

“And thou,” he turned to Lae’zel. “Thou seek thy bosom-companion, yet walkest alone.”  

“You are wrong, skeleton,” she spat. “Presently, I seek a blade to hold to your throat.”  

Withers looked almost amused.  

“Come, Lae’zel,” you said dejectedly. “Let us be on our way to Halsin.”   

“Friends,” Withers’ voice echoed as you took your leave. “There shall be a time yet when thou will hast need for my services. I shall remain here until such time comes to pass.”  

You swept away the tear that had spilled from one of your eyes, dampening the back of your hand.   

“Until then,” you croaked.  

Daylight blinded you as you exited the mausoleum, the heat of the outside world a welcome return from the chill of the undercroft.  

A breeze carried the stench of rot. The festering remains of the nautiloid lay sprawled over the surrounding area, a blight on the wilderness.  

Approaching the vile carcass, you spotted a tall elf, magic bursting from his hands to purify the purple flesh. Halsin.  

Hearing your footsteps, he glanced over his shoulder.  

“My friends,” he exclaimed. “One moment, please.” Satisfied with his cleansing of the section he was working on, he flattened his palms above the tissue. The earth beneath the tentacles raised and roiled, blending the materials together. He raised his arms to the sky and plants erupted from the ground in reflection. The bright swirl of magic popped up throughout the landscape, a sign that Halsin was not alone in his mission.  

“The source of decay becomes a compost to feed the earth. The worms will have their fill.” He faced you and your companion. “Though forgive me, friends, if talk of worms is still of discomfort to you. It brings me great pleasure to see your faces again.”  

“It seems the wilderness will be better off without the remains of our hardship here. You are doing fine work.” You clasped the elf’s outstretched hand in salutation.  

“I am one of many,” he replied. “Now tell me, what brought you here?”  

You told him of Senta and Mae, and of the countless hungry mouths in the city that needed a druid’s touch for abundant produce.  

“If you require the services of a member of the grove, it is Francesca you need to talk to; I am first druid no more. However, I would be more than willing to undertake this task, if you’ll have me. With Francesca’s sound leadership, I am not needed here.”  

“Are you certain?” you asked. “You weren’t overly keen on the city.”  

“The city may give me a headache, but the heartache of allowing the needy to starve would be much more of a burden to bear. Let us make haste.”  

He accompanied you back to the grove and gathered his belongings, informing a dark-haired elf of his plan. Francesca, you assumed.  

The druids offered you a place to sleep for the night, but there were still many daylight hours remaining and the hungry of Baldur’s Gate could not wait, so you declined politely.  

Your party of three travelled quickly back along the path to the city, Halsin in high spirits at the prospect of sleeping in the wilds.  

“I don’t suppose you came across Thaniel and Oliver on your way here, did you?” he queried.  

“We cut down some goblins,” said Lae’zel. “But no children.”  

It was soon time to camp again, the orange glow of the setting sun spilling lazily through the gaps in the shrubbery.  

Woodsmoke billowed from the campfire and you held a skewer of small vegetables the druids had gifted you over the heat. The crackling of flames filled the quiet, interrupted only as Lae’zel cleared her throat.  

“Druid,” she began, then halted, reconsidering her diction. “Halsin.”  

“I am listening,” came the reply.  

She opened her pack, producing the flower she had picked.  

“I understand you can keep beheaded plants fresh.”  

“Ah, a token as part of your mating ritual, is it?”  

Pink crept into Lae’zel’s cheeks as her grip on the blossom tightened. She thrust it toward him, turning her face away with a scowl.  

“Yes.”  

Halsin smiled and reached out to the bloom, viridian light rippling gently around his outstretched fingers. Dark petals glimmered, instantly renewed.  

“It is done.”  

You reclined on your bedroll once more, the moss beneath you making for a comfortable bed. You slid a ring off your index finger, rolling it aimlessly in your hands, the metal reflecting jittering flames.  

You might have stared at the rotation of the jewellery for an hour, or maybe two. The hushed voice of Halsin conversing with Thaniel and Oliver carried over to you. He was being mindful not to disturb your rest, though your eyes had not grown heavy. You slid the ring back into place and turned onto your side, fixated on the fire itself. Fragments of your nightmares seeped into your mind. The flames had devoured you whole yet here you were, untouched and smooth-skinned as ever. You urged to stretch out your fingers into the blaze, to see if this too was false. How could a vision that had appeared as real as your current view leave you unharmed? Perhaps you lacked the ability to sleep because you were already dreaming.  

You sat up to down your sleeping draught, then rolled onto your other side, your back to the fire. Entertaining such thoughts was fruitless. You set your eyes on the dancing shadows cast from your body as the light flickered, creating a charming show for you to watch until your lids fell shut.

[v4lky-ri3]

The Siblings

˙｡ᯤ°☣︎⋆｡°⋆💉°⋆˙

Notes: This is dedicated to my brother. I love you to the ends of the Earth and will definitely protect you through the zombie apocalypse. I've had this idea in my head for months now, and thought it's about time I make it real. There will be a part 2 later down the road. As always, would love to hear your thoughts <3

CW: gore/graphic imagery, mentions of death and the undead, apocalyptic and dystopian setting

Word Count: 567 words

Soundtrack: The Promise by When In Rome 💿

No one knows how it started. One minute you’re in school and the next you’re running away from your best friend down the corridors. Chaos swallowed the world, entire governments crumble in a matter of days. Cities were abandoned, metal skeletons now decaying, and those who were left behind didn’t make it. Except me.

***

Heavy footfalls echo across the halls, screeching following shortly behind. Flashes of colourful garment and glistening jewels are ignored as the glass crunches underneath my boots. I need to get away, I need to hide. I’ve made it this far, 2 years of surviving by the skin of my teeth. Glancing over my shoulder, the ghastly beast’s jaw hangs and gapes. Hollow eyes, bulging black veins, and a rotten corpse add to the walking nightmare. A shell of the person that once was. Now merely a husk, a host to the virus.

I turn the corner and crash into a store, shelves bare and covered in blankets of dust. The creature's shrieks rings in my ear, until a small whimper and pair of wide eyes peek over the counter. The cluttering and shuffling of objects, and low growls draw closer. Maneuvering around the counting and crouch beside the boy. I look to the side, where a young boy was trembling with fear. Placing a finger to my lips, while reaching out to grab an empty can and throw it across the store, as it lands with a clatter. A shrill screech rings out as the creature lunges toward the can. Without hesitation, I grab the boy’s wrist and pull him to his feet.Rushing out of the store, while the creature is distracted. 

The scrapping of nails and pounding of shoes against the tiles bounce off the walls. Sunlight reflects off the broken glass underfoot, puddles as they splash. The creature hisses, its hand stretching towards us as we weave beams of sunlight. Its skin bubbling and burning under the light, howls of pain cut through the air as smoke rises from its flesh. Mere steps away from the door, the feeling of bony fingers curl around my ankle yanking me back. I kick the beast in the face. Blood splatters, staining my cheek, as its fingers slowly unfurl itself from around my ankle. Dragging the boy out of the building and into the desolate streets. 

"Are you okay?" I ask, hunched over gasping for breath.

"I’m okay," he muttered, looking down at the ground, "Thank you for saving me." A moment of silence passes between us, an unspoken question hangs in the air.

"Alessia,” I sigh,  “my name is Alessia." A blinding smile bursts from his face, as he wraps his small scratch-covered arms around me. 

“My name is David,” He says, “Can I join you?” Looking up at me with eyes sparkling with hope.  I can’t  leave him here to fend for himself, it feels wrong. People changed, humanity became the worst version of itself after the Outbreak, becoming worse than the creature that chased us. He won’t survive on his own.

“Sure,” I said.“But we have to get moving. It’ll be dark soon.”

We walk down the streets hand in hand. Greeny sprouts from between the cracks in the concrete. Vines climb and sprawl upwards. As our shadows stretch along the pavement. Distant calls of growls and howls carry through the air, as the clouds glow a burning orange.

[thefinalthresh0ld]

hellsing fic wip

working on an andercard thing split into four ficlets, each (some more loosely) themed around the four "mortises" (pallor, algor, rigor, livor) aka the stages of death. I plan to publish it as a oneshot when they're all done but here's "algor mortis" if you're interested, because that's the one I wrote first

2. ALGOR MORTIS: post-mortem cooling of the body.

Alucard had very mixed feelings about the cold. At times, it made him ache. Even from within the bowels of Hellsing Manor, he could feel the cruel blanket of winter as a newfound stiffness in his body, and it was like death descending upon him once again. The damp stone walls of his basement were no longer a cool, refreshing relief, but an inhospitable barrier. His blood bags were always cold. There was no appeal to cold blood. Once, in desperation, he had drank from a body he found left in the woods—the staleness reminded him of day-old coffee. Even the light was cold, refracting tenfold on the white snow, yet only managing to assault his eyes and make him itch all over, never enough to warm him. 

But when he fought, when he hunted and killed and there was fresh blood and adrenaline to thaw his icy veins, it was worth it. Like the first rain after a long drought, England’s harsh winters only served to thrill his senses with violent contrast. 

Winter was the best time to fight Anderson. 

Before he saw the priest, he knew he was there. His human blood practically screamed out to Alucard—the vampire had been blessed with an almost infrared-like sense for flesh upon his turning, and Anderson ran hot. When Alucard had him up close, and he could feel the heat emanating from Anderson’s skin, from his blood, in waves from his wounds as he regenerated, the explosive division of his every cell fueling the fire they both fanned… there was no better cure for a cold winter’s night. A house fire couldn’t hold a candle to Anderson.

Alucard peered out into the town, hiding from the sun under the eaves of an abandoned cottage. From across the town’s open plaza came the crunch of Anderson’s heavy footfalls upon the snow, still falling around them. Illustrating the path behind him were two twin bayonets, drawing parallel lines that disappeared into the forest. His gaze was hidden by his glasses, which reflected bright white circles like miniature suns. 

“Hello, Father,” he grinned.

“Vampire.” 

“On a vacation to the countryside? I’d have thought Italy much nicer, this time of year.”

Anderson huffed, and perhaps Alucard only imagined the smell of his blood on the white clouds of breath that disappeared in the air. The snowflakes that fell on Anderson succumbed immediately to his body heat, curling quickly in on themselves and expiring into nothing. 

“To serve God is my only purpose, vampire.” The threat was sufficiently implied. I am the keeper of God’s kingdom, it said, and I will not allow your plague upon it. 

The first bayonet came to his shoulder, and Alucard allowed it. Piercing brittle, dead bone, the silver blade seared into the disorganized flesh of his physical form and elicited a cauterizing hiss. He delighted in the burning sensation that clouded his mind.

“I’d been missing you, Judas Priest.”

“Amen,” he said, and Alucard knew he felt the same.

Anderson drew the second bayonet up over his head and drove it directly through Alucard’s throat, who in the same instant shot Anderson through the middle and pulled him by the lapel into a headbutt that resulted in a sickening crack that even Anderson’s engineered human instincts couldn’t ignore the visceral discomfort of. As the priest regained his footing, Alucard gripped both bayonets by the blade and pulled them free, feeling the familiar friction, the painful pull of flesh shifting against itself, simultaneously reforming to fill in the gaps. He moved to toss the blades aside, but Anderson interrupted, grabbing both handles and pulling, slicing through Alucard’s palms and taking his left index and middle finger off at the second knuckle. 

Anderson lunged at him and Alucard deftly slipped away. Anderson narrowly avoided a collision with the cottage’s brick wall, catching himself with a gloved hand, smearing a bloody handprint that pooled in the lines of mortar.

They continued their dance across the plaza: step, step, shoot, step, step, stab. The tango left a blossoming trail, like a scatter of rose petals on the white sheets of a lover’s bed, latent with alluring promise—follow me to pleasure, follow me to pain, someone waits for you here, they want to take you. Alucard noticed along their path that, while his blood sat prettily on the surface of the snow, a falling drop of Anderson’s blood would create a wispy line of steam and bore a hole through the few inches of snow straight down to frozen earth—like his blood was drained of plasma, leaving only molten iron. Perfect.

Another bayonet came at Alucard’s heart; Casull’s titanium barrel redirected the silver blade in a shower of sparks. It lodged instead in the unguarded expanse of his stomach, where Anderson did not slice but tore a line down to his hip, pulling not parallel to the blade but perpendicular along one face in perhaps the most compelling testament to Anderson’s strength thus far. They both wore unsettling, punch-drunk grins. The flesh hanging from the vampire’s torso was in tatters, his monstrous imitation of human intestine spilling from the wound, tinged with the black fog that made up his more incomprehensible forms. 

He didn’t have to do this. The gory details—the bones, the sinew, the viscera—Alucard was fully capable of maintaining his physical form as a mere shell, leaving the insides a heterogenous mass of blood and tissue. He didn’t have to leave the spatters of blood on the ground or on Anderson’s coat, he could pull such small amounts of himself back inside almost as soon as they were lost. This gratuitous display of vulnerability, albeit ostentatious, was a show reserved only for the priest. Alucard willingly laid himself nearly bare for the only person (barring his master) who deserved to see it.

Their faces were hardly an inch apart. Anderson’s glasses were shattered in one lens; Alucard had abandoned his sunglasses entirely. He could feel the priest’s breath condensate on his cheeks in a warm sheen. A flush of exertion colored Anderson’s tanned skin with a sweet pink hue, exacerbated by the cold and the red reflection of Alucard’s vivid coat, and his short, bristly hair stuck out in odd spikes, wet with sweat and melted snow. A warmth gripped his shoulder with a bruising grip as Anderson braced himself against Alucard before wrenching the bayonet from his body with a sharp twist, the movement of the silver sending an exhilarated shiver up his spine. Anderson made a grumbling noise deep in his chest as he stumbled back, and Alucard could see the vibration in the priest’s clerical collar as he loomed a few inches over Hellsing’s nosferatu. His breath was ragged, and visible in the tatters of his shirt were an array of slashes and gaping gunshot wounds, filling themselves from the inside out with unfurling webs of muscle fibers.

So Alucard added another. In a swift movement he brought Jackal from beneath his coat and shot point-blank, blasting the right side of his face clean off. Anderson fell to the ground. His large body sunk into the snow and his blood melted into uneven, ruddy depressions, forming a perverse snow-angel. Alucard began pulling his blood back into his body from where it was strewn across the village’s entire length. 

In a few minutes he had returned to his original state, and he walked back to where Anderson remained in the snow. He stood over him, shadow shielding the priest from the sun. A drop of melted snow fell from Alucard’s hair and landed on Anderson’s face (now only missing an ear, but still smeared with soot), where it ran down his nose to his cheek before quickly drying. He grabbed Alucard’s ankle with a white-knuckle grip, but made no other move to continue the fight.

“Are we done for the day, Father Anderson? I fear Seras may be in need of me.” 

He scoffed. “A fine young girl you’ve ruined.” She’s better off this way would be the natural, combative reply, but they both knew she wasn’t.

“Well, she’s my responsibility either way. Go home to your children, Anderson.”

Anderson released Alucard’s ankle, and the warmth was swiftly replaced with a swirling draft around the cuff of his pant leg. He pushed himself to his feet, soaked cossack clinging to his frame. Alucard turned his back on Anderson first in an infuriating act of pride and courtesy. 

“Next time, vampire.”

“Don’t keep me–”

“I won’t.”

[stardustbarbarians]

Too Pretty For War

Chapter 7 (ch. 1 | ch. 2 | ch. 3 | ch. 4 | ch. 5 | ch. 6 | ch. 8| ch. 9)

Summary: The only way for Prince Sam to end a war is by marrying the enemy.

Tags: Prince!Sam, war, arranged marriage, enemies to lovers, slight angst

Trigger Warnings: blood, death, nightmares, grief

A/N: PLEASE DON'T LET THE WARNINGS SCARE YOU they're just briefly mentioned in this chapter. I hope y'all enjoy this one I had fun with it. As always, this series is dedicated to @safety-sam (happy birthday, my love <3).

Words: 2.8 k

+++

After the fifth night of isolation with his new bride, Samuel was free to leave to his own chambers. It could not have come any sooner. Ever since their… mishap… on the third night, the air between them had grown stale. While there was less of a chance that one of them would end up in a pool of their own blood at the hand of the other, it was very clear that they were actively avoiding one another out of embarrassment more than anything else. 

Before, Sam had attempted to avoid his wife’s eye simply out of fear that he would fall into an inescapable rage. Now he dodged it out of the deep guilt he experienced each time he glanced her way; seeing her looming above him as he used her for nothing more than his own amusement at seeing her come apart at the seams by his tongue. Each time she would draw breath it reminded him of the small noises she made while astride his hips. It made his face burn, shame and disgrace thrumming thickly through his veins at the memories. 

She also hardly looked his way. Samuel took solace in the fact that they were both embarrassed by that… whatever one would call it. 

As soon as dawn broke over the ocean and shed its weak beams of sun into the temporary chambers Sam had been housed in, the prince was alert and attempting to dress himself. Deciding that being haphazardly dressed was favorable over having to experience that awkward air for another moment, Samuel burst out of the doors. He already had his destination in mind, his feet carrying him swiftly down the sleepy corridors of his marble palace. He passed statues in the likeness of the gods, open archways that led into atriums and gardens until he reached his destination. 

Knowing that he should have knocked, Samuel barged through the doors of Daniel’s chambers anyway. It was dim, that weak sunlight trying its best to light the large room of the advisor. At the sound of someone entering, the figure laying in the bed at the far wall began stirring. A stab of guilt lanced through Samuel’s heart as he came to the realization that he had awoken his best friend. However, it was quickly replaced by joy at the sound of hearing his voice for the first time in days. He had not even spoken a word, rather groaned in confusion, but that mattered not to the prince. 

Sam bounded over to the scholar’s bedside, wrapping his arms around the form of his best friend tightly. There was so much that he had felt as he embraced Daniel, guilt being at the forefront. However, he chose at that moment not to allow himself to think. He would just experience each second as it passed. 

Confused and still had a mind muddled with sleep, Daniel reluctantly reciprocated the embrace. His brow was knit as his mind attempted to piece together what was transpiring. 

“Sammy?” the scholar finally asked, his voice rough from sleep. 

The prince simply nodded, not wanting to disrupt the calm of the moment with his anxious voice. He felt Daniel’s arms tighten around him as he recognized the person embracing him. They stayed in that position until the room was fully filled with sunlight, Samuel finding much needed comfort in the arms of his closest relation. 

Sam was the first to pull away, knowing full well that Daniel would allow him to stay like that for however long he needed him to. However, he did not remove himself from his seat on the bed. 

“Your honeymoon has ended, I see,” the advisor pointed out, shifting himself so that he was able to sit upright against the headboard. 

“Please, refrain from calling it as such,” Sam lamented, flinching at the thought of such a thing. It was far from sweet, his forced time with his wife. 

“It did not go well, I take it.” Daniel’s voice was still gravelly from sleep, clearing his throat to attempt to rid it of that quality. 

The prince scoffed, shaking his head minisculely. “It is a wonder that we both still draw breath.” 

There was a moment where it seemed that Daniel was deciding what his next words would be. Sam knew that meant he was about to say something he knew the prince would not enjoy. 

“Why do you hate her so? I have never seen you this prone to malice towards anyone in all the years that I have known you; not even your father,” he questioned, laying his hand gently atop Samuel’s that was resting on his bedding. 

“She has taken so much from me, Daniel. She ripped away both of my brothers from me, from my poor mother! She took away the life I was meant to live! She removed my right to be with whom I choose rather than forced to live my life at the side of one I can hardly stand to look at! That is why I despise her!” 

He had not meant to get that angry. His own yell bounced off the walls of Daniel’s chambers and back towards him, making the royal wince at his own tone. There was no mistaking the rage in his words, however Samuel hardly recognized his own voice. If he had not known that he had spoken those words, he could have easily mistaken them as those of his father. 

“Was it she who took all of that from you? Or are you simply placing all the blame on a single face to make it easier for yourself?” 

Samuel froze at the words of his best friend. He suddenly felt as if Daniel had peered right into his soul. 

“Something else disturbs you,” the advisor pointed out, his eyes taking in the haunted look in his best friend’s eyes. He recognized that look as the one Sam harbored after experiencing a nightmare. 

Heaving a bone-deep sigh, Samuel closed his eyes and hung his head. Truly, there was nothing that got past his best friend. Glancing back up into Daniel’s compassionate face, the prince began to wonder how he had never seen it before. 

“It was her. She managed to sack the castle and stage a rebellion. The twins both died in front of me, Veronica was beheaded, mother and father were burned at the stake, and-” Samuel’s voice failed him, the hyper-realistic visions of all his loved ones dying horrific deaths making his chest ache, “And you bled out in my arms after she slit your throat before my very eyes.” 

Daniel was silent as Sam attempted to futilely prevent himself from crumbling. It truly was a fruitless venture, the warmth of their blood on his skin resurfacing along with all the visuals from his night terror. 

“What if it is an omen? What if Apollo grants me the gift of prophecy through my dreams?” Samuel finally asked, breaking the silence of the moment. It had been a question he’d pondered for many years. 

“Sam-” 

“This is not the first time I have seen one die in my dreams only for them to perish within days of my vision, Daniel. You know this to be true,” the prince argued, his tears flowing freely down his cheeks. 

The scholar seemed at a loss for words, his brow knit together in deep concern for his best friend. He pulled Samuel in for another embrace, laying his head atop his chest. 

“Perhaps Apollo has favor towards you, I will not deny that possibility. However, I cannot allow you to torture yourself with this burden. This nightmare of yours is most likely a manifestation of your fear of failure,” Daniel reasoned, his voice humming in his chest against Sam’s skin. The scholar’s hand gently smoothed Samuel’s hair, both sensations providing immense comfort to him. 

The prince allowed himself to adjust his way of thinking to accommodate Daniel’s reasoning. It made sense to Sam that the fear he experienced in his waking moments would also extend into his unconscious mind. 

There was something else that Samuel wanted to share with his best friend, but he found himself unable to conjure the words while in his presence. It seemed wrong to discuss what he and Princess Y/N had done on that night, afraid of breaking Daniel’s heart further. It was truly selfish of Sam; Daniel had the right to know. But when he gazed into those hazel brown eyes, Samuel found himself unable to witness them with sorrow caused by his hand. It was unlikely that he would find out what happened, anyway. 

+++

After a while, Daniel had eventually shooed the prince out of his quarters, citing that Sam had princely duties he had to attend to. Knowing the advisor was right, as usual, Samuel left his best friend in order to be properly dressed by Pythius. Instead of his silken Chitons, the manservant suited Sam in his armor. It had been a great deal of time since Samuel was weighed down by his bronze armor, but it was not an unwelcome feeling. It was a familiar one and the gods above knew he had so few of those recently. 

Once he was clad in his battle gear, the prince made for the field behind the palace specifically cultivated for training. He heard the sound of swords clashing into one another before he saw his soldiers sparring, their armor glinting in the sunlight. 

“The prince has returned!” one of them called, the rest of the warriors turning their helmet-clad heads in his direction. Upon spotting the royal, they all ceased their fighting in order to greet him. 

He was soon surrounded, familiar faces smiling up at him. Sam was glad to know that they had missed his presence in his near week absence. 

“Welcome back, your majesty. How was your vacation?” one of them, Alerio, jokingly asked. Every one of them knew that it was far from a peaceful break for the prince. 

The group of soldiers broke out into a fit of chortles, laughing good-naturedly at Samuel’s expense. He was sure the face he made added to the hilarity. 

“Yes, jest all you like. I had much time to ponder our training technique and how to up its difficulty while I was away,” Sam taunted, hearing them all collectively groan at the suggestion. Their training was rigorous as it was, considering they were the prince’s chosen warriors. 

“Was that what you thought about in between bedding the princess?” another one of his warriors called, Sam unable to catch who it was. The prince glared in the general direction of the voice, the group breaking out into immature calls and whoops that often went hand in hand with the topic of intercourse. 

The prince was sure his face was bright red at the implication, embarrassment flooding his veins. “Silence! I wish not to discuss what transpired while I was away! Now, you can either put all thoughts of it from your mind or I will make you run the length of the shoreline-” 

Samuel stopped dead in his tracks, his eyes befalling a figure as he scanned his warriors he was far from expecting to see. But he knew that face anywhere, the difference in armor standing out like a lighting strike in the dark. 

“What are you doing here?” the prince hissed, his teeth clenched together in reaction to the sudden and intense feeling of spite flooding his veins. 

Moving as one, all of the warriors turned their attention towards whatever made their leader so furious in a manner the likes of which they had never seen before. They all came face to face with none other than Samuel’s new bride, varying degrees of shock on their faces. 

“I have come to train with you, your majesty,” Princess Y/N replied, her helmet resting beneath her arm as she stood at her full height. 

“You have, have you?” Sam began trekking towards her, the warriors parting for him to make a clear path to his betrothed. 

“Yes. I wanted to see just how superior Spartan training is to that of the Athenians.” There was no mistaking the challenge in her tone. She was aware that the comment would get under her husband’s skin; she was correct. 

“You are more than welcome to join, Princess,” Sam was unable to quell his dark satisfaction at her surprise, “however, you must first prove yourself.” 

“And what might that entail?” They were sizing one another up, a near perfect parallel to that of the third night. However, Sam would not allow himself to be weak this time. 

A cruel smile slithered itself across the prince’s lips. He had hoped she would ask. 

“You must best me in battle.” 

The crowd of soldiers broke out into a clamor of shock, Sam catching snippets of men debating over who would win. Excitement grew amongst the soldiers as the silence between the newlyweds carried on, both maintaining tense eye contact. 

Finally, the princess nodded. She accepted the challenge. “Be sure that advisor of yours is available, your highness. You shall need someone to lament to after I have bested you.” 

The amount of fury the prince experienced in that moment was not helped in the slightest by his warriors’ reactions to the taunt, all of them “ooh”-ing in clear support of her comment. He would not allow his anger to show, however. He knew it would only grant her satisfaction. Instead he held out his hand to signal to one of the servants to place his sword into his hand. A moment later, he felt the weapon pressed into his palm. His helmet was passed to him as well, the prince never taking his eyes off his opponent as he slid the metal over his head. 

The warriors moved out of the way of the arena, standing off the sides of the line dug into the dirt. Once both were ready for battle, they approached one another, their gazes locked as they sized up the other. The two of them crossed blades, the sound of metal on metal a familiar one to both. 

“The rules are simple. Forcing one out of the battle area or successfully disarming your opponent counts as an instant win. For either side.” 

The princess scoffed in arrogance. “Hardly a challenge.” 

“BY YOUR COUNT!!” Samuel shouted to Pythius. 

With his heartbeat in his ears, the prince hardly heard his servant speak. However, once the word “one” entered his ears, Samuel attacked. He swung his sword right for her chest, the princess parrying his blow with her own sword. It soon became a dance of skill, both parties having years of experience pertaining to swordplay. Each attack by the other was met by a defensive measure, following it up with an attack of their own. Neither was equipped with a shield, only having their weapons to defend with. 

Sweat was soon accumulating on Samuel’s skin, the sun heating up his armor along with the physical exertion. She was a worthy opponent, Sam was willing to admit. Her foot work was excellent, never allowing him to trip her up with his movement. Where took a more defensive approach, Princess Y/N favored the offensive. That was how Sam would beat her: allow her to tire and then best her. 

There was a moment where she managed to catch the prince’s arm with her blade, the sharpened metal drawing blood. However, Sam hardly flinched and continued to battle her. They were both becoming winded, the fight lasting much longer than the other had anticipated. However, pride would allow neither to surrender. Pride be damned, it seemed, as the princess was able to grab the prince by his ankle and cause him to fall onto his back. Wasting no time, she quickly pinned him down by straddling him and pressing her sword into his throat. 

“Do you surrender?” She was panting, the fight a strenuous one. Sweat was also forming on her skin, the moisture catching in the light. 

Sam would not have the chance to answer. 

“Prince Samuel!” Someone called, catching the attention of every person in the immediate area. 

Heaving a heavy sigh, Sam threw his head into the ground beneath him in a fit of annoyance. Taking the opportunity, Sam was able to change positions with the princess by pinning her to the ground. She growled in frustration at being bested in that instance, the prince throwing her a wink before getting to his feet. He would have offered his hand to assist his wife as well, but he knew she would refuse it. 

“State your business,” the royal commanded, still breathing heavily. He had removed his helmet by then, shaking his hair out. 

“Prince Samuel, please, make haste,” the servant girl urged, a look of extreme distress in her eyes. 

“What does this concern?” He would be lying if he stated that her distress was not a cause for worry for him. 

The serving girl glanced around nervously, swallowing anxiously before speaking. Her hands were trembling, her face drained of all its color. “It is your father-” 

No

“-he is gravely injured.” 

+++

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[dredshirtroberts]

not all of the test results on my blood are in, and the doctor hasn't even looked at them yet, but...

the *known* things about my family history (slightly more distant than the forms generally prefer), the stuff i've read up on and just the fact that someone's looking at these things just...

there might be an answer out there guys. there might be like. a reason my body is not usable anymore, and it isn't just wear-and-tear, and why i've been so staminaless my whole life (shhh pretend it's a word, idk how else to say it rn, brain is made of Mush and Crying and i made a noise earlier that i think was only audible to dogs and some bats so like. we're just. it's a lot).

I still feel like shit, those vaccines sure can vaccinate huh. my whole left arm (where my Best Vein is for blood draws, and also where i told them to stick me with the jabs because it's my non-dominant side) aches, and i can't hold a thought to save my life except the anxiety that despite everything the doctors still won't believe i've got something wrong - or worse, that the tests come back Normal Enough that they just write me off as histrionic. There is no signs that this will happen but i can't help it.

I've been fucking traumatized by not being listened to or believed about my own experiences in my fucking body.

in 2 weeks i get a heart monitor to see what exactly is happening with my Rather Low Resting Heart Rate (natural, expected) when i stand up and/or hold a cat in my arms (at *minimum* it works harder than it has to in order to do the same job as sitting, plus also sometimes i get worked up and it just... i can *feel* it's doing something different during those times, and i thought it was anxiety the whole time and i'm starting to think it's probably not that and hopefully the heart monitor can help). I only have to wear it for 24 hours which is good because it sounds like a lot of things i'm going to have to keep track of (which is probably going to make my heart do Things and Stuff).

...also not having any sort of familiarity with how to be the patient setting in for a long haul of attempting to diagnose me is causing some Concerns because i feel like my lack of knowledge is what stopped me from getting the care i needed last time i tried to do this, and not *just* because that doctor's office and whole medical system in the area i used to be in sucked. but... i'm better about alerting people to when Something Is Different (negative) about my experience, and i'm more confident in the medical systems up here, and i'm better in general about just... checking to see what is and is not standard.

The realization that I have no idea what "normal" is and need to double check because i cannot trust my experiences to be indicative of that...is a lot. i don't like it. but i'm working on it. and i'm finally established with the doctor and i'm finally getting these steps taken care of and i'm *going* to get answers this time. I'm *going* to figure out what's wrong with me. With this doctor or with someone else. I'm going to fix myself.

The family curse ends with me. Because what we've gone through (both singular we and we-the-family) is not normal and my family needs to stop thinking it is because that could be dangerous.

no. it *is* dangerous.

[sororalice]

Purification, Consecration, And Opening Of The Temple By The Elements (With Commentary)

Ritual written 6-9-24.

Purpose: To purify (see commentary) and consecrate (see commentary) the mage and the ritual space in preparation for magick. This ritual would be done first, before other opening rituals (see commentary) and serves as a general “Opening Of The Temple”.

Required:

1. An altar facing East

2. A small cup of water (preferably the magickal tool of Water: the Cup)

3. A small container of salt (and ideally the magickal tool of Earth: the Pentacle)

4. An incense brazier with appropriate incense for the magickal operation at hand (and ideally the magickal tool of Air: the Dagger).

a. Note: I like a mix of 1 part frankincense, 1 part myrrh, and 2 parts hyssop for a basic temple blend.

5. A lighter (and ideally the magickal tool of fire: the Wand).

6. A magickal tool representing Spirit. Some traditions use another dagger (sometimes called the “athame”), others use an oil lamp. I use a prayer rope that I wrap around my right wrist and then use my right hand/fingers to trace pentagrams, draw circles, etc.

Preparation:

1. Arrange tools of the elements on the altar according to their associated directions in your tradition, with your tool of Spirit in the center.

2. Prepare incense and brazier in an appropriate way so that you can light the incense in it at the appropriate time. This may require a charcoal if your incense requires this.

Ritual:

1. Stand before the altar facing East.

2. Take a moment and ground and center according to your tradition.

3. If it is your will and in accordance with your values, do a land acknowledgment (please see this link for more information https://americanindian.si.edu/nk360/informational/land-acknowledgment ).

4. Invoke Water:

a. Raise your Cup and hold it in both hands reverently before you and above the altar.

b. Visualize or otherwise internally represent elemental Water as blue, cool energy flowing through you, coming into you from the universe around you, focusing into the Cup, circulating through you, and then coming out again into through the Cup and back out into the universe, as if you were a conduit in a giant system of waterworks.

c. Verbally enunciate the properties of elemental Water as best you know them, ending with the phrase “Water is sacred.”

i. EXAMPLE: “Water. Water flows. Water is cool and water is moist. Water purifies. Water cleanses. Water cools. Water is the water in our oceans, our rivers, our lakes, our ponds. Water is the water in our homes, in our pipes, in our water bottles. Water is the blood within our veins. Water is our emotions, ever flowing. And Water is sacred.”

ii. Place tool of Water back down in the appropriate location on altar.

5. Invoke Earth:

a. Raise your dish of salt and Pentacle and hold them in both hands reverently before you and above the altar.

b. Visualize or otherwise internally represent elemental Earth flowing through you as green, heavy energy coming into you from the universe around you via the dish of salt and tool of Earth, circulating through you, and then coming out again back into the universe via the dish of salt and tool of Earth, as if you were a conduit in a giant system of circulating stone, moss, and soil.

c. Verbally enunciate the properties of elemental Earth as best you know them, ending with the phrase “Earth is sacred.”

i. EXAMPLE: “Earth. Earth is a disk and the disk is a wheel, ever-turning, ever-changing. Earth is cool and Earth is dry. Earth solidifies. Earth manifests. Earth supports. Earth grounds. Earth is the ground beneath our feet, upon which we walk and live. Earth is the rich soil that brings forth life. Earth is the physical plane. Earth is our bodies. And Earth is sacred.”

ii. Place the dish of salt and tool of Earth back in the appropriate place on altar.

6. Mix Earth and Water, both within yourself and within the Cup, by mixing three pinches of salt into the water in the Cup while saying:

a. “Let the salt of Earth admonish the Water to bear the virtue of the great sea”.

7. Hold up the Cup with mixed water and salt in your left hand and hold your right hand cupped over it facing down and say:

a. “Water and Earth, be thou adored!”

8. Anoint yourself with the mixed Water and Earth according to your tradition (such as a Rosy Cross/Celtic Cross on the forehead, a pentagram on the forehead, etc) and say softly to yourself:

a. “So therefore first the priest/exx/ess who governeth the works of Fire must sprinkle with the Water of the loud-resounding sea.”

9. Circumambulate clockwise starting in the East and sprinkle the mixed salt and water in a circle as you go (or dip your index finger in the mixed salt and water and trace crosses or Rosy Crosses/Celtic Crosses at the cardinal points) while saying authoritatively:

a. “So therefore first the priest/exx/ess who governeth the works of Fire, must sprinkle with the Water of the loud-resounding sea.”

b. Note: Make sure to say this so that you are finishing it as you finish the circle at the altar in the East.

10. Returning to the altar facing East, hold the Cup with the mixed salt and water in both hands reverently in front of you and above the altar and say:

a. “Thus purified, thou mayest approach the temple of the wise”.

11. Return the Cup to its place on the altar.

12. Invoke Fire:

a. Raise the lighter and Wand and hold them in both hands reverently before you and above the altar.

b. Visualize or otherwise internally represent elemental Fire as red, warm energy flowing through you, coming into you from the universe around you, focusing into the lighter and Wand, circulating through you, and then coming out again into through the lighter and Wand and back out into the universe, as if you were a conduit in a giant system of circulating flame.

c. Verbally enunciate the properties of elemental Fire as best you know them, ending with the phrase “Fire is sacred.”

i. EXAMPLE: “Fire. Fire burns. Fire is warm and Fire is dry. Fire sparks. Fire smolders. Fire spreads. Fire warms. Fire comforts. Fire destroys. Fire is the fire in our homes, in our hearths, in the electricity in our wires. Fire is the fire in our factories, in our forges, in our foundries. Fire is the fire in the core of the Earth, boiling and churning. Fire is the fire in the cores of the stars, burning forth to give us light. Fire is our will, our passion, our drive. And Fire is sacred.”

d. Place lighter and Wand back down in the appropriate location on altar.

13. Invoke Air:

a. Raise your incense brazier and Dagger and hold them in both hands reverently before you and above the altar.

b. Visualize or otherwise internally represent elemental Air as yellow, buoyant energy flowing through you, coming into you from the universe around you, focusing into the brazier and Dagger, circulating through you, and then coming out again into through the brazier and Dagger and back out into the universe, as if you were a conduit in a giant system of circulating, expansive wind.

c. Verbally enunciate the properties of elemental Air as best you know them, ending with the phrase “Air is sacred.”

i. EXAMPLE: “Air. Air is a blade, and the blade is a bridge. Air is warm and Air is moist. Air surrounds us. Air connects us. Air separates us. Air allows for sound to travel, allowing us to hear and be heard. Air gives us breath and life. Air is the the stick and the rope, dividing and connecting. Air is our speech, our communication, our thought. And Air is sacred.”

ii. Place brazier and Dagger back down in appropriate place on altar.

14. Mix Fire and Air, both within yourself and within the brazier, by lighting the incense (or the charcoal and then putting the incense on it) with the lighter while saying:

a. “Let the Fire and Air make sweet the world!”

15. Hold up brazier with incense burning in left hand and hold right hand cupped over it facing down (be careful not to burn yourself!) and say:

a. “Fire and Air, be thou adored!”

16. Cense yourself with the smoke from the burning incense in the brazier according to your tradition (such as a Rosy Cross/Celtic Cross across the body, a pentagram across the body, etc) and say softly to yourself:

a. “And when, after all the Phantoms are banished, thou shalt see that holy and formless Fire, that Fire which darts and flashes through the hidden depths of the Universe; hear thou the Voice of Fire.”

17. Circumambulate clockwise starting in the East and cense the circle as you go, saying authoritatively:

a. “And when, after all the Phantoms are banished, thou shalt see that Holy and Formless Fire, that Fire which darts and flashes through the hidden depths of the Universe, hear thou the Voice of Fire.”

b. Note: Make sure to say this so that you are finishing it as you finish the circle at the Altar in the East.

18. Returning to the altar facing East, hold the brazier with the burning incense in both hands reverently in front of you and above the altar and say: “Thus consecrated, thou mayest approach the temple of the wise”.

19. Return brazier to proper location on the Altar.

20. Invoke Spirit:

a. Raise your tool of Spirit and hold it in both hands reverently before you and above the altar. Visualize or otherwise internally represent elemental Spirit as an oscillating mixture of white and black, scintillating, and tingling energy flowing through you, coming into you from the universe around you, focusing into the tool of Spirit, circulating through you, and then coming out again into through the tool of Spirit and back out into the universe, as if you were a conduit in a giant system of light and shadow.

b. Verbally enunciate the properties of elemental Spirit as best you know them, ending with the phrase “Spirit is sacred.”

i. EXAMPLE: “Spirit. Spirit is above and Spirit is below. Spirit is light and Spirit is dark. Spirit is within and Spirit is without. Spirit is projective and Spirit is receptive. Spirit is ouranic and Spirit is cthonic. Spirit is beyond and between all of these things, transcending all dualities. And Spirit is sacred.”

21. Taking the tool of Spirit in your right hand, symbolically attune yourself with the tool and with Spirit as a whole in whatever way best suits you and your tradition (such as crossing yourself with a Rosy Cross, making a pentagram across your body, etc) while saying:

a. “Holy art Thou, Sovereign of the Universe! Holy art Thou, who nature hath not formed! Holy art Thou, the vast and mighty One! Sovereign of the Light and of the Darkness!”

22. Raising the tool of Spirit above your head with your right hand, circumambulate the circle clockwise saying authoritatively:

a. “Holy art Thou, Sovereign of the Universe! Holy art Thou, who nature hath not formed! Holy art Thou, the vast and mighty One! Sovereign of the Light and of the Darkness!”

b. Note: Make sure to say this so that you are finishing it as you finish the circle at the altar in the East.

23. Returning to the altar facing East, hold the tool of Spirit in both hands reverently in front of you and above the altar and say: “Thus led by Spirit, thou mayest approach the temple of the wise”.

24. Return the tool of Spirit to the center of the Altar.

25. Raise hands grandly and say:

a. “Thus purified, thus consecrated, and thus led by Spirit, the temple is opened!”

b. Ring bell, stomp foot, or knock the appropriate number of times in an appropriate pattern for the working at hand according to your tradition. Common patterns are 3-3-3 for lunar workings, 2-2-2 for solar workings, and 3-5-3 for general magick.

26. Proceed to the rest of your opening rituals as appropriate to your tradition.

27. Do your magick.

28. When done with closing rituals, return to the altar facing East, raise your hands grandly, and say:

a. “These rites being duly concluded, the temple is closed.”

b. Ring bell, stomp foot, or knock the same number of times in the same pattern that you used when opening the temple.

COMMENTARY:

1. Some readers will recognize various elements of this ritual from the “Watchtower Ritual” of the Hermetic Order of the Golden Dawn (which in turn quotes liberally from “The Chaldaean Oracles of Zoroaster”) and “Liber XV” (The Gnostic Mass) by Aleister Crowley, which in turn quotes from “Liber AL vel Legis”. Other elements, such as the ritual affirmation of “[element] is sacred”, are taken from rituals common among the Reclaiming Tradition of witchcraft. I make no apologies and ask no forgiveness. In the words of Sir Isaac Newton: “If I have seen further it is by standing on the shoulders of giants.”

2. All quotes from other texts have been amended for sexism and gender essentialism. Gendered words for the Divine have been rendered gender-neutral and terms for the mage performing the ritual have been amended to include inclusive terms for other genders.

3. I have chosen to modify and simplify certain aspects of this ritual for accessibility.

4. Purification is defined as “removal of elements extraneous to the working at hand”, and is not in any sense related to any moral or religious code. That said, feeling guilty because you have done wrong by your own value system is definitely an extraneous element to just about any working. Similarly, consecration is defined as “dedication to the purpose or purposes of the working at hand”. As “Liber AL 1:44” says: “For pure will, unassuaged of purpose, delivered from the lust of result, is every way perfect.”

5. All Enochian elements present in material taken from the “Watchtower Ritual” have been removed for the sake of both simplicity and accessibility. I believe Enochian magick and the Enochian language (which are inseparable) are best worked with on their own terms and that mixing them into other systems without proper training in the Enochian system and language proper can invite unfortunate errors with unfortunate consequences.

6. I have moved this ritual to the beginning of my opening rituals, before my other opening rituals such as the Lesser Pentagram and Hexagram rituals. This is contrary to the order practiced by many of my contemporaries. My reasons for this are as follows:

a. It is my opinion that someone who has not been properly purified and consecrated probably shouldn’t be creating sacred space or calling in external spiritual forces such as the archangels in the LRP or the various ally spirits in other traditions. At best, one is diluting and diverting one’s energies and attention at a time when one should be most focused. At worst, the rest of the opening rituals will lack effect entirely or misfire because the mage is so distracted and disturbed. Neither case is desirable.

b. It is my further opinion that a space that has not been properly purified and consecrated probably shouldn’t be used for any other magick. While rituals like the LRP, LRH, and other rituals that create sacred space define a sacred space, situate that sacred space through directionality, and connect that sacred space to the Divine through asserting relations, they do not explicitly purify and consecrate the mage or the space. While I am sure that some mages will assume that purification and consecration of the mage are automatically accomplished during grounding and centering and that purification and consecration of the space are automatically accomplished by the creation of sacred space, I must regretfully disagree. These are different magickal acts, and I think it is wise to differentiate them.

7. The “temple” mentioned in the ritual is conceptual and astral as much as (or more than) the physical space wherein which the mage does their magick. The temple one is approaching to more and more closely until the temple is declared open is an ideal temple, a conceptual space the mage is approaching by stages over the course of the ritual until the mage can finally declare truly that “the temple is opened” because the physical space has taken on the necessary magickal characteristics of the conceptual and astral space.

Art: Jan Brueghel the Elder, “Abundance And The Four Elements”, (~1615)

[madamestephanie]

🪷Masterlist

Stephanie's list of works, so you find them easier! 💕

First, my pride and joy,

1.🌺Punish me, Professor, I dare you.

🌺lovely art commissioned from @i-n-e-a🌺

✨Reader is a student at Hogwarts, and a super rebel with Snape. She gives him hell in every way she can to break his stern behavior, she teases him until he can't take it anymore, and makes him break out of his character, all the while leaving no open spots for Snape to discipline her. However, soon enough Snape will realize that you catch more flies with honey than with vinegar... The reader has a secret power she keeps under a veil, even from Snape, but a certain attack leaves the both of them vulnerable which triggers a whole new set of changes. This fic is a Power Struggle, rebellion mixed with spicy romance and lots of steamy scenarios.✨

You can read the story on AO3. Or on Wattpad. 💜

2. 🪶Nude Ink

[image not mine]

✨Reader has an extremely good talent at painting. She can make any image come to life with her attention to detail. But this is all she has. She's not standing out in anything, just barely getting by with her grades. Raised by a widowed father, the days are difficult for the young witch in her last year in Hogwarts. When she can't control her desire for the potions professor anymore, the girl handles her emotions the way she knows best: pouring them out onto paper. This is all fine and dandy, until she draws a nude picture of the man during his class, thus, life becomes even harder for her...✨

Story on AO3. Or Wattpad.🧡

3.����The Joker

A lovely little poem, my first attempt at rhyming in English.

✨Melian, a girl who moved in Cokeworth recently, takes a liking to young Severus, and this little infatuation will go a long way, until they reach the First Wizarding War, where Melian can't help, but confess her feelings...✨

Poem here. 💚

4. 🔮Three Wishes

✨Flora Etrielle, a 20-year-old homeschooled witch is taken to Hogwarts after her parents are brutally murdered by Death Eaters. Voldemort is on the hunt after her, the Dark Lord is desperate for her power. With an ancient clairvoyant blood in her veins, Flora is able to see the future of whoever touches her skin during full moon. Snape must protect her at all cost, and this is where things get complicated...

Shackled to the potion master's side, how will the young girl handle her days? Moreover, how will she gain control over her powers when a sudden crush is developed on the mysterious dark man?✨

Story on AO3 or Wattpad. 🩵