#basalt writing

[basalting]

Bring out the coffin. Let the mourners come.

For the first time since he was eight years old, Bruce Wayne helps plan a funeral.

----

He pauses in the doorway, presses a hand to Alfred's shoulder, "Thank you," he says quietly, "for offering. You've always been willing to do the hard things for me." "Well Master Bruce," Alfred reaches up to squeeze his wrist gently, "that is what I'm here for." For a second they stand together, only touching at those two points. The wardens of loss and love and legacy.

-> LINK <-

[ndostairlyrium]

So

I'm reading Tevinter Nights and so far so good, super fun reading, but then I finish The Horror of Hormak and

[marlynnofmany]

Fantasyland plate tectonics, I love it.

Basalt Columns - 240403

[paingoes]

Aegean Seas

Destroyer AU

long awaited roleswap AU. featuring royal delta and (defective!) living weapon paris

delta still has some psychic ability in this AU, but only a moderate amount. its nothing to write home about.

paris doesn’t have any powers, just an incredible capacity for violence. 

(Content: living weapon whumpee, royal whumper, carewhumper vibes, institutionalized slavery, blood, biting, choking, electrocution, choking, suggestive language, background lady whump, clowns, hidden injury, past abuse, past trauma, PTSD triggers, emotional whump, scars, body image issues, war mention, alcohol, non-con touching (nonsexual), conditioning, magical exhaustion, seizure, kinda fluffy?)

“You don’t have to look so upset about it.” Delta twirling the pearl earring around within the pierced fin. The golden bangles of his wrist clicked together lightly at the motion — and all the silver and sea-glass ornaments he wore jingled in time with the movement of the airship. He hadn’t been looking at Paris when he said it, and they were not the only ones in the cabin, but he understood it was meant for him.

“I’m not upset,” Paris said. At least, not as much as he could’ve been. 

Far below, the cerulean sea reflected the sun so that the water itself was blinding. Foam was gathering along the coast — a sure sign of rough waters. On the horizon, the embassy building jutted out from the cape.

~

The ship lowered itself in a hover just by the surface of the beach. Paris slid the exterior door open. He hopped the remaining few feet onto the sand right before the craft finally landed. By way of reflex, he extended one hand back to Delta, who took it without thanks as he stepped down.

The other members of the court soon followed, a handful of advisors and scribes sent to keep the time. With a home advantage, all support had been reduced to a skeleton crew. Paris shifted carefully in between them, eventually settling a few steps behind Delta and a bit off to the right, which he knew was the best sightline he’d get without drawing too much attention to himself.

The path up to the embassy was lined with basalt — and a pretty long walk uphill, considering how many of its visitors were geriatric. At the peak, he again pulled the entrance doors open, taking a cautious look in through the entryway. He felt the familiar weight of the blade tucked up into his sleeve, though he had no real expectation of using it. He held the door open for Delta alone, but deigned to let the rest of the congregation pass through in the same way. He stole a last glance out at the countryside before he pulled the door shut tight.

At the front, Delta’s eyes flitted up in the same clouded concentration he always fell into before the meetings. He refused to take notes, so dedicated to committing absolutely everything to memory. He played all the information back like rolls of film. He waved vaguely at the prompting of his advisors, but it was clear he was somewhere else. 

He only came to when they reached the center. It was a large room, polished, and most everything in it was the soft color of sandalwood. The painted monarch sat perched within the straight-backed chair. His own court spread out in a half-moon around him, all their papers all ready to go. Paris only caught a glimpse of them through the doorway, but the glimpse alone was enough to make him spiteful.

“Watch the entrance,” Delta whispered to him just before they passed through the entryway. Paris nodded and stepped off to the side of the door. 

Soon he was alone in the large hallway. The building was old and its halls were echoing, though not quite as bad as the castle. He leaned back against the wall, wishing he’d brought the cigarettes with him. He passed the butterfly knife idly in between his hands, having no better way to occupy the time. He’d gotten good enough at it that he didn’t even need to look while he did. His eyes still scanned the corridors in the way they’d been trained, sizing up each impotent official or underpaid clerk whose heels tapped down the linoleum tiles. There was no real threat. Nothing ever happened.

The jingling bells warned of her approach before she came into view. He sighed, slipped the knife back into hiding. Jo popped out from the doorway. She was quicker than he would’ve thought, skipping out a few paces before she even turned to see him. When she did, her painted face contorted into an express of unadulterated mirth. She giggled — and the bells of her hat jingled again as she flipped over to stand on her head.

“I was wondering where they were keeping you this time.” Her voice was raised in faux cheeriness. 

Paris watched her carefully — he couldn’t not. The rapid movements set all his nerves on edge. He was sure she knew that. He was sure it was why she did it. He didn’t answer.

She rolled over into a backbend and let her hands guide her up. When she was upright, she was not more than a few inches from his face. She was shorter than him, the difference exaggerated by the heels of his boots and the flatness of her stupid pointy shoes. She rose up on tiptoes to meet his eyes. He could see the glitter against her sclera. 

“No dogs in the house of law, eh?” She stretched one leg up over her head. Her movements continued so fluid and so completely uninfluenced by anything she was saying, as if they were completely different hemispheres of her brain.

“I heard that when the neophytes drop out, they give ‘em a new name and put ‘em out on the street. Painted silver! They spend the rest of their days doing tricks for spare change. Is that true?”

No one ever dropped out. He didn’t answer. She did a back walkover, her speech uninterrupted.

“Or I heard what they’re really doing now is selling all the new grads to Crimson’s West Front,” she paused for dramatic effect, “There’s a famine there, you know. They need new meat!”

She cackled. He stiffened slightly, because that part was probably true. Even if they weren’t getting eaten, a lot of the kids did get bought out for the war effort, and were given no arms when they arrived. They were getting pushed into the meat grinder, literally or figuratively.

She seemed disappointed with his lack of outward reaction. As she rolled onto the floor again, she laid there on her stomach for a second, kicking her legs back and forth.

“You don’t have to worry about that though. I bet he’s nice to you,” She grinned impishly, pushing herself up into another handstand. “I hear he’s nice to everyone.”

She erupted into a laughing fit at that. His eye twitched. He felt the weight of the blade in his sleeve. She looked over to see his expression and her smile widened. She cartwheeled towards him, again landing only inches apart from him.

“People on High Street got a name for him. What was it again? The something wonder? You’ve heard it before, right? You had to. You spend enough time with that whore to-“

He threw her into the ground before she could finish, the last synapse snapping within him. 

The sudden violence got a forced, clipped laugh from her. She did a back roll before he could strike again, sitting up on her knees before she swept one of his legs out. He dropped, but it didn’t slow him down. Nothing could have. He still drove his fist full force into her jaw, once, twice, about as many times as it would take to break it off. 

She didn’t let him get that far. Jo was stronger than she looked and just as quick as he was. She was not downed easily. When he pinned her, she slipped. When her nails reached up to scratch out his eyes, he bit down upon her fingers hard enough to break them. Her blood gushed into his mouth. It was familiar. He didn’t even stop to spit it out.

She elbowed him in the face at the same time she drove her knee up into his stomach — all sharp angles. It was hard enough to knock him off of her and onto his side. Blood poured from his nose. It splattered on the floor right beside her own. She crawled forward on her bloodied fingers, trying to get even. He forced himself back upwards, lunging at her again. He became vaguely aware of a commotion behind him.

“Stop,” Delta said tiredly.

Paris did not stop. No fucking chance. Not now. She was still moving, still breathing, still fucking laughing. His hands closed around the undulations of her throat. 

“Stop,” Delta repeated.

Blood dripped thick and hot from the both of them. Johanna twisted beneath him, her eyes shining like stars. He wanted them barren. He wanted her to stop moving.

“Stop,” Delta said it with no more emphasis than the first two times, but he’d closed the distance between them now. The prongs of the choke collar dug into Paris’s neck, cutting off his oxygen. 

He backed up on his knees, leaning backwards into the touch, the only way he could loosen the chain. But for all the slack the proximity created, Delta only pulled it higher, tighter. No air reached him, even when he’d stopped, even when he had stilled. It kept going. The panic gripped him immediately, tempered only by experienced. Delta wouldn’t kill him. He wouldn’t, he wouldn’t, he wouldn’t, and as soon as he started to think that he would, the chain released. Paris gasped shakily, collapsed down onto his hands and knees. One hand pawed desperately at his throat. Small beads of blood had formed there in the collar’s outline.

He felt the pressure of the chain being picked up and winced, but it did not tighten again.

“Sorry about him.” Delta frowned. “And…sorry about your…clown.”

“Oh, don’t worry about her. She’s had worse.”

And sure enough, Jo sat up again, the wounds he’d given her already half-healed. Her stupid fucking hat jingled as she shook her head clear. The sound was enough to re-trigger the prey drive. He lunged.

Sharp and course electricity ran straight through his body, aborting the attack before it could even begin. All his muscles locked up. He’d built up a tolerance for the dryer sparks, but being tased was rare. It was a different story. He knew the shock only lasted a few seconds, but those seconds dragged out like years. Delta didn’t even say anything, the tips of his fingers retreating from the raw skin of his neck. 

“Here girl,” the monarch snapped their fingers. 

The clown stood up in her wet clothes, skipping happily back into the employ. Paris kept his eyes trained on the empty space in front of him, the blood spots on the floor. He heard their footsteps retreating. The hallway was silent. One of Delta’s fingers was still hooked around the circle of his collar.

“Clean it up,” he said. Paris nodded. The chain went slack and he was alone in the hall once again.

~

“She started it-“

“She is a jester,” Delta cut him off. “She was doing her job. If she didn’t have that healing factor, you would have killed her.”

His eye twitched. Killed her. Kill her. It flared up within him again, without any target. He dug his nails into his wrist to keep from something worse. The anger burning so hot inside of him he thought he might just be sick from it. She’d done it on purpose. She’d got him on purpose, but it shouldn’t have worked. 

“You weren’t there,” he said, the ache of defensiveness rising in his voice. “You don’t know what she was doing.”

“Did she draw on you?” Delta asked, sounding bored. He already knew the answer.

Paris’s face flushed anyway. He gave no reply.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought.” Some small satisfaction crept into his voice, then faded quickly into irritation. “You didn’t have any impetus. Nobody was in any danger until you snapped. And now they know that if they so much as wave a flag in front of you, you act like a rabid fucking animal.”

“I was defending you, you ungrateful fuck!” The words were out of his mouth before he could stop them. Delta looked up in shock.

“I’m sorry,” Paris amended quickly, retaining at least some sense of self-preservation. He covered his mouth with his hand in a a belated effort to silence himself. It wasn’t enough. He’d been on thin ice before, but that could not be tolerated. They both knew it.

“Why are you like this?” Delta asked. He didn’t say it as an insult. He asked like he really wanted to know.

That only made it worse.

~

The inner courtyard of the Aegean palace was dense with marble and wildflowers. He always thought the statues looked out of place among the foliage, the vines creeping up the legs of the gods as if they’d already been forgotten. The last of the day’s light was held up in the violet clouds. Beneath them, the walls were doused in the cool blue of dusk. The air was warm and wet.

Paris went without prompting, without needing to be forced. He pulled the shirt off of his back, shivering a bit as the scars that already laid there were exposed to the open air. He knelt down by the post. The guard shackled his wrists to the side of it. He rested his forehead against the wood, curling and uncurling his fingers. It made it more tolerable.

He heard the whip crack against the ground as the guard made practice shots. Delta sat off to the side, one elbow propped up against the aluminum garden table, watching without much interest. He’d never get his hands dirty doing it himself. He wouldn’t even know how. 

That idiot guard didn’t know much better. The first strike came down unpracticed, landing diagonally along his shoulder and against the old scars. He pressed his head further into the post, preferring the pressure he felt there to the hot pain that was forming along his back.

It only grew. It layered. It would’ve layered already, in just a single beating, but his body had years worth of them just waiting to be reignited. The whip dredged up the old pain easily. It didn’t split the skin, but he could remember when it had. The thought alone made him dizzy. The pain quickly became all he could focus on. It kept going.

“Please stop,” he said, beginning to get truly nervous now. It’d been going on too long and was pushing up against the bounds of what he could tolerate. His hands turned over anxiously in the solid iron of the manacles. He couldn’t have gotten out even if he tried.

Delta held a hand up. The whip temporarily ceased. He stood up from the table, electrifying the air as he got closer. 

He shouldn’t have said anything. 

“Hm?” Delta asked, leaning down a little, “Stop?”

He could tell that he was feeling vindictive. Delta’s voice took on that soft, too-patient tone it always had when he was furious. 

“Paris, when I told you to stop, what did you do?” he chided.

“…Kept doing it,” he muttered miserably into the post. He hated when he got like this.

“So you do understand.”

“It hurts.” He kept his voice soft, somewhat whiny. It was calculated, but he didn’t have to force it. It didhurt.

“It’s supposed to. I wouldn’t have to do this if you would just listen the first time. You don’t have anyone to blame for this but yourself.”

There was no making him understand. Delta had no concept of what hurt meant — of how much was too much. His own body was unblemished. He’d never bled for anything. 

For as long as he was standing there, the punishment couldn’t continue. They wouldn’t dare swing the whip when Delta was in line of it, god forbid. He took the break for what it was, a few needed seconds for him to catch his breath. Delta seemed to catch onto what he was doing, taking a few steps back. He turned back to the guard.

“Finish up. Gag him if he talks again. He knows better,” he instructed. 

He paced out of the courtyard, retreating back inside the castle walks. He never liked to see the aftermath, either.

~

Delta had been sixteen years old on the eve of his first and only assassination attempt. It had been a failure, in the sense that he had not died from it. It had also been a failure in the sense that the assailant had not even gotten close. 36,000 volts ran straight through his circulatory system before the knife could even fall.

Delta had been uninjured — and in the end, unshaken. The King and Queen were not. They had no other heir.

Paris came as a knee-jerk reaction, dredged up out of whatever trench they’d found him in. He could play nice, when he needed to. He knew exactly what was on the line.

He was passable. The King bought him alone and unannounced. He’d complain for years afterwards that he’d been ripped off.

Paris had glanced up when he was first made to kneel in the throne room. His first impression was that Delta looked awfully calm for someone who had just survived an assassination attempt.

Delta was unimpressed by it, and had been unimpressed by everything since.

~

Almost everything. Kitty glowed blue in the light of the lounge. It was Delta’s favorite room. in the palace. It had been even since he was little. The walls were all made of glass, with thousands of gallons of seawater lying just behind them. Whole shoals of fish reflected silver onto the dark floor. The sequins of Kitty’s slit dress had the same effect.

She was wearing a collar. He didn’t know why he found this so funny. He guessed it could be considered a choker, if he wanted to be generous, but with the ears and the tail, “collar” was the first word that came to mind.

Hers wouldn’t choke her. If he wanted her to, he’d have to do it himself.

She draped herself over the arm of his chair. Kitty was growing into herself so beautifully. Her eyes still lit up at the sight of the fish swimming, just the way they had when they were kids, and he knew she wanted nothing more than to break straight through the glass to get at them. But everything else about her now shone with such a honed sophistication. 

“You’re bleeding,” she said, her eyes widening with concern.

“What?” He blinked. He hadn’t meant to.

But sure enough, a thin stream of blood trickled from his nose just as soon as she got close to him. Delta blushed, a pale blue hue rising up beneath his freckles. It came as a betrayal.

“You’re so predictable.” She almost smiled, pressing a pink handkerchief to his face before the blood could drip onto the soft sheen of his clothes.

The air around him crackled so badly both their hair stood on end.

~

Apollo tread into the kitchen with the golden fringes of his clothing catching all the light. He dragged the kitchen chair out and fell lightly into the seat. He made a soft sound of surprise  as he found Paris leaning back against the edge of the counter. 

“You have to stay up as long as he does?” Apollo asked. He leaned forward against the marble table, rocking the chair from side to side.

“I’m not supposed to sleep at all,” Paris responded flatly, only half joking. It was a bad look for him to be sleeping while Delta was awake, in the same way it was a bad look for him to be sleeping in. That left a very small window for him to get any rest at all. 

Apollo grimaced in sympathy. He placed the empty glass down on the counter. Wordlessly, Paris took it to refill.

“Oh, I didn’t- Is that even your job?” Apollo asked, a blush rising to his face.

Paris shrugged, pouring the last of the bottle out into the glass. He slid it back across the table. 

“You should let me fix that for you,” Apollo offered.

Paris yanked his hand back as violently as if he’d been burned. He thought it was invisible. It hadn’t healed that wrong. It still worked. It wasn’t an impediment. He clutched it to his chest protectively, shielding his wrist with his other hand.

Apollo gave him a knowing look. He stirred the drink idly. The ice made a soft noise as it clattered against the edges of the glass.

“They didn’t splint that for you in training?” He tilted his head.

Paris looked down. He tentatively loosened the grip on his wrist. It’d just been a fall. He’d gotten knocked backwards and he’d needed to stop himself from cracking his skull onto the floor. He’d done it wrong. The wrist had taken the brunt of the impact. He kept it in a splint at night — and when he was alone — but he couldn’t ever wear it around the trainers. He made use with the bandages instead, prayed everyday that medical didn’t come see him. In time, the bones had stitched themselves back together. Not enough, apparently.

Apollo was still staring at him.

“…It’s disqualifying,” he said softly.

“Ah,” Apollo leaned his elbow on the counter. He pressed one finger up against his lips. “Don’t worry. Your secret’s safe with me.”

Paris looked at him gratefully. Apollo took another sip of the drink, seeming to study the swirling patterns of the table’s surface. After a while, he added:

“He wouldn’t mind, though.”

Paris frowned. He didn’t think so either. That wasn’t the point. He couldn’t have his wrist be unusable for a full six weeks. He could not stand to be any more unusable than he already was.

He couldn’t bring himself to say it. He never would. The silence endured. Apollo shrugged, taking the drink back with him as he ducked out of the bright kitchen. Paris drew the sleeve of his shirt all the way past his fingertips.

~

ponyboy: heyyyyy

headrooms: holy shit

headrooms: i thought you fucking died

ponyboy: nope :-)

ponyboy: just busy yk how it is

headrooms: fuck

headrooms: dont scare me like that

ponyboy: sorryyyyy

ponyboy: how have you been

headrooms: im chill

headrooms: i got beat up by a jester last week

ponyboy: lmfao

ponyboy: dude shut up your job is cushy as shit

ponyboy: you wanna know what they had me doing last week????

headrooms: uphill both ways in the snow

ponyboy: i was pushing whole barrels full of petroleum and poison uphill in the coldest day of winter. they didnt even give me gloves until my fingers were already falling off!!!

ponyboy: hey fuck you

headrooms: lol

headrooms: are you good though like actually 

ponyboy: ya i mean

ponyboy: its definitely heating up here but we’re still holding a good position 

ponyboy: they kinda treat me like shit but they also dont want to lose me so im not being sent for the real suicide missions yet <3

headrooms: thats good i guess

headrooms: is vi chill

ponyboy: omg no shes been on her fuckin period lately 

ponyboy: bitch mode

headrooms: lmfao mine too

headrooms: i swear its the full moon

ponyboy: IT LITERALLY IS IDK WHAT HER PROBLEM IS

ponyboy: ughhhhhh

headrooms: i miss you

headrooms: like

headrooms: all the time

ponyboy: i miss you too !

ponyboy: ill let you know if im ever in your corner of the galaxy! i want to see you again so badly <3

Paris winced. If her people ever ended up in his corner of the galaxy, that was a bad, bad sign. Selfishly, he wished for it anyway.

He heard footsteps approaching and quickly slid the phone back into his pocket. He was not quick enough to get rid of the cigarette. Delta paced out onto the balcony in a whirlwind. Little bouts of lighting lit up by his eyes.

He plucked the cigarette straight out of his mouth. His other hand smacked hard against the side of Paris’s skull. 

“Ow,” Paris winced, though it didn’t really hurt. Because he wanted Delta to feel bad. Or because he knew he wanted to hear it. Whichever it was that day. Whichever worked.

“Those are my fucking lungs,” he hissed. The guilt trip hadn’t worked. Paris shrugged.

“Sorry.”

The apology worked better. Delta’s body language relaxed some as he snubbed the cigarette out on the palace wall. He didn’t ask for the rest of the pack. Smoking was fair game, really. It was getting caught doing it that was the issue. 

“Who were you texting?” he asked mildly.

He hadn’t hid the phone quick enough. He tried to play it off.

“Just Lorry.” He looked down. 

“Oh.” Delta’s expression seemed to soften, almost imperceptibly. “Is she okay?”

“Yeah,” he answered automatically. His heart quickened right after. “…Why? Did you-“

“No,” Delta cut off that train of thought before it could really begin. “No news. I was just wondering.”

“She’s fine, then,” he confirmed. As much as she could be.

It was only then that Delta actually looked guilty. He didn’t have to. It wasn’t his fault. Lorelai had been purchased months before Paris had. It was a miracle he was even allowed to stay in touch with her. He knew most of the program’s graduates weren’t half as lucky.

He still wanted the cigarette. He leaned back against the wall, unsure what to do with his hands or his mouth when it was gone. Delta didn’t leave after that, the way he’d expected him to. He pulled himself up onto the railing with a kind of stupid abandon.

The air carried the scent of salt from over the ocean. Down on the beach, two kids flew a white kite right above the waves, blissfully unaware of the peacetime’s fragility.

~

“Keep?” Paris asked, holding up the alligator skin boots. They’d been dyed a shade of ruby red.

“Absolutely not.” Delta shook his head frantically, “Toss. Don’t even tell anyone I had those.”

“I thought they were nice,” Paris muttered. 

He tossed them into the trash pile anyway. He crossed back over the length of the massive closet, pulling another bag off the shelf. This was absolutely, definitely not his job. But it wasn’t like he had anything better to do. He liked anything that did not make him feel like a total waste of space.

His knees hit the ground before he really knew what he was doing. It was a better instinct, though, probably the least harmful out of all the ones he could not control. Delta looked up in surprise, only realizing what had just happened as the King stepped in through the doorway. Delta’s attention recentered on his father. They both acted as like he wasn’t even there.

“Don’t you have a dispatch to be filling out?” Ulysses leaned against the doorway, surprisingly casual in the company of his only son. It was a reprimand, but his tone was still playful.

“I’m fuckin’ working on it, jeez,” Delta snapped. 

“Doesn’t look like it,” the King glanced around the room. Paris flinched a bit as his gaze passed over him, but it didn’t linger long.

“Oh!” The queen Andromeda appeared in the entrance before Delta could even respond, looking excitedly at the gown Delta held in one hand. “I’ve always loved that dress! You never wear it!” 

“Oh my god,” Delta said, “Can you leave me alone.”

She rushed forward anyway, squishing his face with one hand as she kissed his cheek.

“Mom!” He blushed terribly.

She smiled, knowing exactly how much she was embarrassing him. He shoved her lightly back towards the door and shut it quickly before either of them could protest. He slammed his head against it once it was closed.

“You can get up,” Delta rolled his eyes. Paris did, rigidly so, in the same mechanical way as when he’d gone down. He blinked a few times, trying to bring himself back to the present.

“They’re so fucking annoying,” Delta muttered to no one in particular, wiping his face off.

“Your parents are nice,” Paris protested weakly in their defense.

“He beat you with a 2x4,” Delta reminded him.

Paris shrugged. The King could’ve done much worse. He’d snapped at Delta that time — not on purpose. Never on purpose. It was only the nerves firing wrong, the signals getting twisted. He couldn’t help it. But it’d been grounds for immediate termination. Paris got off easy, and had moved on from it fairly quickly. Delta still held a grudge against his father for it. 

“Keep?” Delta asked this time, desperate to change the subject. Paris guessed he was glad, too. Something in him ached awfully whenever they were around.

“Keep,” he affirmed.

~

It was awful. They had to hold court later, had to hold it in ten fucking minutes, and his heart felt like it was about to explode if he didn’t kill something. He paced uncontrollably, snapping at the air no matter how hard he tried to stop it. Delta watched idly from the throne. Not angry. Just visibly unpleased with it all.

“Come here,” he called finally. 

Paris flinched. It was not a request. He tried anyway.

“I don’t…want you to…” he protested weakly.

“I didn’t ask if you wanted it.”

Paris reluctantly approached, kneeling beside the throne. Delta tilted his head, the tiara slipping down a bit as he did so. A soft blush rose to Paris’s face. He pulled his shirt off, then lowered further onto the floor, laying down flat on his stomach. He rested his head against his arm, burying his face. He heard Delta rising up from the throne and settling cross-legged onto the floor beside him.

Delta made that same soft, dissatisfied noise he always did when he saw the old whip scars all along his back. Not his work. The lashes he gave didn’t leave a mark. He didn’t like it when they did. Paris winced.

They were ugly. Paris knew that if the King had caught a single look at the lattice, he’d have never been bought in the first place. Because it was defacement. Because they were ugly. The thought echoed in Paris’s brain every time he caught a glimpse. It was pure vanity. He was a weapon, he knew it didn’t matter, he shouldn’t have even cared about that kind of thing. But he did. He hated them. 

“So tense,” Delta murmured from above him. His hands kneaded into the ridges along Paris’s spine – that strange, analgesic touch. Paris could feel his muscles softening involuntarily, the tension in them forcefully removed.

The urchin spine slid into the center of his shoulder blades. He bit his arm to keep from gasping.

It wasn’t the toxin alone that did it. He knew that because he’d pricked himself with it once, just out of curiosity, and he had felt almost nothing at all. It was the way he used it. 

He didn’t always hate it; sometimes it was almost nice. It was nicer when they did it alone, when he wasn’t forced to take it, exposed on the floor of the throne room. It was viscerally unpleasant to experience against his will. He did not like Delta having that much control over his body. He didn’t want to calm down.

The spine entered again, and he calmed anyway.

It went on like that until all the rigid tension seeped out through his skin like poison, then a while afterwards too. It was gentle, despite everything. He could’ve cried.

“Better?” 

He nodded, though he really just felt hazy. He didn’t think he could even hold a sword anymore. The calm felt intrusive. He was sure he couldn’t move at all, almost limp in the aftermath. He didn’t need to, though. Delta pulled him up a little, trying to straighten him out. He found his position again, on his knees. 

He pulled the shirt back on, roughly. His arms had gone numb; it took so much more effort than it had to take off. He shifted, readjusting so that he was facing the rest of the room this time. It took so much effort just to sit upright then. He felt high.

“Good boy,” Delta said, about a half second before the doors opened. He was only saying it to be mean, but in the moment, Paris couldn’t bring himself to care.

~

Delta yanked his hand away from his face just before Paris could snap it off. Paris hissed in frustration, falling abruptly to the ground. He pounded his fists against the tile. It was all he could do to not fucking kill him. 

“Why the fuck would you do that?” He hissed out through gritted teeth. It was wrong. He was making it worse for himself. He had no fucking right to be talking to him like that. 

He couldn’t help it. He felt like he was going to scream.

Delta watched impassively.

“It’s getting worse,” Delta said. There was real concern in his voice. 

Paris pressed his forehead to the ground, curling up. Anything else. 

“I know it’s getting worse,” he growled.

Delta started to bend down, which was the worst thing he could’ve done.

“Get away,” Paris warned. For fucking once, Delta actually listened, taking a few cautious steps back.

It took ten whole minutes for him to get back to a state where the prey drive wasn’t waiting two inches beneath the surface. He sat up wearily. Exhausted. Fucking embarrassed.

Delta’s eyes were wide, but then, they always were. The rest of his expression revealed nothing at all.

“You need to figure that out,” he announced quietly.

“I’m not doing it on purpose.” Paris buried his face in his hands. “You know I’m not doing it on purpose.”

“That isn’t going to matter to them and you know it.” His voice was soft. Almost sympathetic. “And don’t talk to me like that,” he added, almost as an afterthought.

“Delta…” Paris whined into his hands. It was an undisguised plea. As if the way he was talking was what mattered right now.

“I’m serious. Don’t.” The plea went unanswered. If anything, his voice hardened. Paris watched with some small horror as all the patience seemed to bleed out of him. As if he could afford to lose a single ally.

“Sorry,” he muttered. 

“Figure it out,” Delta said with such sincere urgency that it seemed like now was his turn to beg. He stormed off, unwilling to let anyone else get the last word in.

Paris picked himself up off the ground and put his fist through the nearest wall.

~

No matter what happened that day, he still came crying in the night like a little kid. 

Paris flinched a bit as he was awoken, but not for very long. He guessed he should’ve been used to it by now. Delta stood over him, tugging at his sleeve impatiently, wordless. His eyes shone like beacons in the darkness of the bedroom. His hair was down. He looked so young when he was like this. His look was all pleading.

Paris sighed, letting himself be roused from the bed. He just barely had time to grab the sword before he was dragged out into the hallway. He followed Delta all the way up the stairs, all the way up to his bedroom. He could hear the water trickling well before he entered.

His parents really did spoil him. Delta’s room was probably the most expensive part of the entire palace. Water rushed down from the ceiling in an artificial waterfall, landing into the koi pond that took up a whole quarter of the room. All the rest of the room was crystalline, opalescent. Absolutely cluttered with anything that would shine.

Paris didn’t roll his eyes at the giant seashell that held Delta’s mattress. He’d seen it enough times that it had lost its novelty. He didn’t expect anything less.

“Watch the door,” he begged.

Paris nodded. He knew the drill. He sat down on the floor by Delta’s bed while the sheathed sword rested in his lap. He wouldn’t need it. He knew he wouldn’t need it. Delta was just scared.

Delta crawled up into the bed, arranging himself carefully for the meditation. The low drone of electricity began to fill the room. Channeling again. All the stars had aligned for it.

“παρακαλῶ,” Delta muttered beneath his breath. “παρακαλῶ, παρακαλῶ, παρακαλῶ…”

The incantation began shortly after that. The hair on the back of Paris’s neck stood up. He kept his eyes on the door. He didn’t like to watch.

He’d learned to tune out the rambling, for the most past. He knew Delta didn’t like it when people overheard — and he only let Paris do it out of necessity. It was fine. He didn’t understand any of the Greek. It was only the rapid, manic way he spoke that really scared him. Hushed and quick and ancient. It felt right to avert his eyes for it. It was something he had no business witnessing.

His eye twitched a little bit as he realized just how loud the incantation was growing behind him. The room was getting brighter. He got the awful feeling he always did when he felt lightning was about to strike. It was getting bad this time. It was getting worse than he could ever remember it being.

He turned around.

It was about as bad as he imagined. The light burned and radiated off of him, bright enough to be blinding. Delta was definitely seizing beneath it all. His eyes were shut tight like the power was painful. His hands clutched at the blanket. Paris realized with horror that the bedding was turning blue from all the blood that then dripped from his mouth and his eyes. 

“Fuck,” Paris muttered beneath his breath. 

He should have known better than to wake a sleepwalker.

He regretted it as soon as he touched him. For a minute, he thought he’d really gone blind. The pain exploded in his arm as he was thrown back against the wall. His own body seized with the residual electricity. He gasped, crumbling down into a heap onto the soft floor.

“What the fuck did you do?” Delta coughed up blood onto the floor. Blood or tears poured from his eyes. In all likelihood, it was both. He wiped at them idly, not seeming to be in any particular hurry. It wasn’t like he’d be able to get all of it off with his hands.

He stumbled up from the bed — and immediately fell onto the floor. He crawled the rest of the way over to the koi pond, scooping the water up with his hands to remove the rest of the blood. 

“Why the fuck did you do that?” he repeated, even angrier now.

“You were seizing.” Paris gasped. His arm hurt badly enough that he thought it might be broken. He couldn’t tell. He was still mostly blind.

“I told you not to interrupt,” Delta pressed his forehead onto the stone. He couldn’t even stand.

“You’re pushing it too far,” Paris said. It was all he said. It was all he needed to.

“Shut up,” Delta warned.

“You’re pushing it too far,” he repeated, sing-song.

“Shut the fuck up!” Delta stood up again. Paris knew he meant to hit him, meant to fight him, and suddenly that was what was happening. 

“Oh god damn it, you fucking moron.” Paris blocked his fists with his arms. It hurt a little bit, but not nearly enough to incapacitate. He pushed Delta off with zero effort, which only seemed to piss him off more.

Delta growled, stumbling to his feet. He marched over to the bedside table, pulled out what Paris recognized belatedly as a fucking muzzle.

“Wait.” He tensed up, still not having risen off the floor. “Wait, wait, wait, chill-“

Delta fell messily to his knees, trying to secure it onto him. This time, Paris actually did fight. He caught his wrists. He hated that thing so much. It was the middle of the fucking night, he’d never be able to sleep with it on. He didn’t deserve it. He’d been trying to help.

“Stop,” he pleaded while he still had the ability to. “Come on. Stop. Please.”

Delta sighed in defeat. He dropped the muzzle to the floor — and let himself fall to it a few seconds later. He mumbled something in Greek.

“I’m tired,” he muttered into the carpet. His mouth was still bleeding.

Paris stood up, with a lot of effort, but he was still in better shape that Delta was. He picked him up with his uninjured arm. It wasn’t difficult. Delta was light. He wouldn’t have won the fight he’d tried to start. Paris pushed him back onto the bed, letting him collapse there.

“On your side,” Paris reminded him. Delta readjusted onto his side so that the blood wouldn’t asphyxiate him.

“Fucking goodnight, I guess,” Paris muttered, picking his sword back up from the ground. He picked the muzzle up too, placing it back in the drawer. Should’ve just thrown the damn thing out.

“Stay?” Delta asked.

“Yeah, think I’m good on that.” Paris started to walk out the door. 

“Stay.” It was an entreaty, now. Paris groaned. He walked back, collapsing onto the other side of the bed.

“Not all night. You cry in your sleep. I don’t know if anyone’s ever told you this.”

“So do you,” Delta muttered in reply, already half-asleep.

Paris shrugged. The waterfall was quiet and reassuring. He could stay for that, if nothing else. 

~~~

@catnykit @snakebites-and-ink @scoundrelwithboba @whatwhump

@pumpkin-spice-whump @deluxewhump @fuckass1000 @fuckcapitalismasshole @defire

@micechomper @writereleaserepeat @aloafofbreadwithanxiety @floral-comet-whump @littlebookworm69

@lordcatwich @human-123-person @paperprinxe @whomeidontknowthem @chiswhumpcorner

@bacillusinfection @ichortwine @whump-queen @lumpywhump

@jumpywhumpywriter @sir-fenris @a-formless-whumper

[punderdome]

The Fine Print: Chapter 10

Summary: Tav tests an Archduke to find a nullification clause for her contract. Raphael begins his assault on Avernus.

[AO3]

Rating: 18+

Chapter 10: The Nullification Clause

With the Regalia of Karsus completed, Raphael had started his assault on Avernus in earnest.  In the evenings, he would regale her of the successes of his armies and the territory that he conquered, telling glamorous tales of how soon in the future he would take his armies to descend upon Zariel’s basalt citadel.

Tav listened aptly to Raphael describing the clashes of his army against Zariel’s amongst the background of the lingering Blood War.  Her husband was proud, having utilized the Regalia’s power to his advantage many times.  He took to wearing the Crown of Karsus significantly more often in the House of Hope in blatant displays of his power.

Tav was left safely at home to learn and study.  She found a comfortable rhythm between studying in the archive, bathing in the Boudoir, and sharing her husband’s bed whenever he sought relief from his work, which was most evenings when he was home.  Raphael had started missing dinner more often but took heartedly to Lanceboard matches and reading together.  He would hum affectionately as Tav studied her extra readings while curled up on his chest in his bed, correcting her language as needed.  His corrective comments were became rarer and rarer as they read together, before the Archdevil of Avernus would decide reading time was over and expect pleasure from his wife.

Atmos had rapidly become Tav’s favorite teacher.  For the past ten tendays, he had been instructing her on Infernal law and legal writing.  Her Devilish and Ancient Infernal were rapidly improving, enough so that Atmos had allowed her to write, though she was still limited to documenting vocabulary to study and not allowed full sentences yet, though Tav was confident she would be able to link words into phrases within a tenday.

Atmos had spent the morning on long, detailed discussions on how to determine whether an Infernal contract was valid.  Tav had been reading on precedents that were so sloppily written and nebulous to have been investigated by an Infernal court.

“What are the requirements for the dissolution of an existing contract?” Atmos challenged her.

“The existence of a superseding agreement or ineligibility of the contract due to default or the contract being taken under duress or coercion,” Tav answered easily, not needing to seek the reference text.

“And what of a Warlock pact?  What would make that ineligible?” Atmos sat back in his chair across from her.  He gently pushed his spectacles up his nose.

“A celestial agreement or divine clerical pact makes a mortal ineligible for an Infernal Warlock pact unless the mortal has been substantially corrupted in soul on at least three occasions each more than one day apart by duration defined by time on Prime Material,” Tav started, knowing she was missing a specific subset of Warlock ineligibilities and trying to remember what the last one was.

“And?” Atmos started again.

“And an existing agreement of any contractual type with any other agent of the Hells from Imps to Archdevils,” Tav finished quickly.

Atmos grinned.  “You have been spending quite a bit of time studying and ruminating on contractual invalidity,” the Infernal tutor mused.

“Since we had been studying contractual validity, it made sense to have been studying invalidity,” Tav insisted.  Atmos grinned at her.  “One cannot understand invalidity or validity without understanding the other - otherwise, it is like expecting Shar to exist without Selune.”  A devilish eyebrow was cocked at her analogy.

Tav quickly realized her celestial reference but figured it would be more embarrassing to bring it up any further.  The Infernal master chuckled.  “I can only expect that eventually you’ll be using more Hellish analogies instead of those commonly used by mortals.”

“I can be well read on any plane, Master Malrai.”  Tav had learned the appropriate level of levity to use with her tutor.

“Indeed you can, Lady Tavara.”

***

Raphael was not at dinner that evening after she finished her lessons.  Tav summoned the valet.

“Is Master Raphael in the House this evening?” she asked quickly.

“Not to my knowledge, my Lady,” the servant answered quickly.  Tav quickly finished her dinner before returning to her room.  She had stashed a stack of parchment with preliminary notes, and took them with her tucked under her arm as she hurried down the hall, not wanting to be seen.

Under her arm she carried a dangerous set of notes with some hypotheses to help end her marriage contract.  If she searched thoroughly enough, she was confident she could find a way to nullify their contract.

Tav entered Raphael’s study to search through his extensive law library.  He was absent, likely out on Prime Material conducting business or managing the assault on Avernus.  Tav went to the bookshelves containing large tomes of Faerunian law.  Most of the old tomes were in Common tongue, but a few had translations into Infernal.  The collection of Faerunian law was not nearly as extensive as Raphael’s collection of the Laws of the Hells.

A contract may be wholly or partly invalid if there is a binding agreement superseding relevant contractual clauses.

She removed the index tome and sat at Raphael’s desk to figure out which of the works would hold the information she was looking for.

Marriage Agreements.  Book XII.

Tav replaced the index and pulled out the volume that referenced Faerunian marriage laws.

There were sections upon sections noting the validity and binding of various races and regions with separate sections for the gods of the Faerunian pantheon with additional information posed for the Fae, dead gods, and other supernatural forces that weren’t previously described.  Where did Infernal assholes fall?

Tav searched for the section on the Sword Coast and what constituted a binding marriage agreement for each of the various gods.

There were sections depicting valid marriage ceremonies, usually involving a binding promise, temple, and cleric.  Druids had other options to make binding ties under Silvanus.  The Drow had non-marriage binding options for subservient Drow males under the matriarchy.  Each god had their own set of minor differences in the components required to make a marriage binding.  Page after page dictated various ceremonies and contract types.

When Astarion was a magistrate, did he really memorize all of these law tomes?

Tav found the section she was looking for, assuming that at the time, Gale would still fall under Mystra’s domain.  “A betrothal is considered a fully valid marriage for Mystra’s followers before a ceremony is held, provided the betrothal is consummated,” Tav read aloud.

This could be the way out.  Raphael couldn’t marry her if she was still married to another.

Gale had proposed marriage, and she had accepted.  They made love again that night as newly betrothed.  Bound in promise.  Consummated.

Tav searched through the laws for Mystra’s followers to find the laws and regulations concerning divorce or dissolution of a consummated betrothal.  Pre-ceremony, betrothals can be dissolved without additional requirements provided one of the parties wishes to end the agreement.  So, she wasn’t still married to Gale, but she was considered to be married to him in Faerun when she met Raphael in the Devil’s Den to sign the contract.

She absolutely could not ask for Atmos’s opinion on her argument.  He would definitely tell Raphael.   It was a solid start for her to draft an Infernal legal argument that nullified that part of their contract.

What exactly did Raphael know?   He clearly knew of the proposal, and that it was consummated, if not that night then every night until they had broken up their relationship.  

Tav ran her hands over her cheeks, thinking back to when she signed the contract.  She was, by Faerunian law, married to Gale at the time.  She was infected by a Mindflayer tadpole.  She was fighting an Elderbrain.  

Duress.  A contract could not be made under duress.   Would being infected with a mind flayer tadpole while being spied on constantly by a mind flayer count?  Would signing the contract under the watchful eye of an extremely impatient Githyanki matter?

Tav took detailed notes on nullification of marriage contracts due to intoxication or coercion.  If the coercion nullification also existed in Infernal law, she may be able to make a reasonable argument.  The days before she signed the contract, Lae’zel had been insistent she go to the Devil’s Den to sign.  Her Githyanki friend had asked or pleaded almost constantly that they go to sign, despite how many times Gale had spat at her to stop asking.

What was Raphael thinking about when he drafted her contract?

Tav knew that if she wanted the basis for a good counter argument, she would need to ask him herself.

***

Raphael returned the following evening, joining her for dinner after her lessons had completed.  Tav smiled at him, seeing him seated in the dining hall waiting for her.

“You’ve returned, husband,” she said with a smile.  She kissed him gently, and he grinned.

“So you’ve been waiting for me?”  Raphael purred.

“I wasn’t sure you would be home tonight.”  She took her place at Raphael’s side as they dined together.

“Were you managing the conquest of Avernus or on Prime Material?” Tav probed, trying to assess exactly what mood he was in.

“I was conducting additional deals in Faerun.  I have quite a valuable haul of souls soon to be delivered.  I made a deal with a prominent warlord to gift him a sword of great power.”  Raphael’s smile was smug as he refilled their wine glasses.

“Wouldn’t that only provide you one soul to be delivered after his lifespan is spent?” Tav inquired, slowly sipping from her goblet.

Raphael chuckled at her.  “Definitely not, my dearest, I take great care in my contracts in considering the entire context of the situation.  When I make a deal with a mortal, I pay close attention.  As they say, the devil is in the details.”   He leaned back in his chair and puffed out his chest with knowing pride.  “See, the blade I provided will automatically apply a soul brand that grants their soul to me upon death.  Every being he cuts down enriches me further.”

“And what if your warlord is slain?” Tav asked, waiting to hear the rest of the story.

“The sword retains its power after his death and he is returned to me.  Such a valuable and powerful sword will definitely be used again to slay more unsuspecting mortals.”  Raphael grinned.  “From your time as an adventurer, I’m sure you have used items taken from your slain foes.  A quarterstaff taken from the former Archmage of Ramazith’s tower, perhaps?”

Tav sighed and nodded in understanding.  “I did like that staff and my old robes,” she mused.

Raphael gave a hearty laugh before running the back of his hand over her cheek.  “Do not fear, my dearest, they are safely within one of my vaults.  I collected them for you when I picked you up on our wedding night.”

Tav smiled at the oddly kind gesture.  “Thank you.”  She leaned briefly into Raphael’s touch.  “Now, that can’t be the ending of the story with the warlord.”

“Correct you are, my dear.  See, the warlord is also being hunted by an expensive group of mercenaries that I, too, equipped with enchanted swords that apply soul brands.  Now, the dead from both sides will be delivered to me, and all I need to do is observe the bloodbath.”  

Tav smirked.  “Those must be expensive, so I’m sure you’re anticipating a large return, or I can imagine every devil would use them.”

“Not every devil has the Regalia of Karsus.  I can create such enchantments as I please.”

Tav could darkly imagine entire Infernal forges dedicated to weapons that would soul brand slain foes.  Entire armies cutting each other down only for all of them to be doomed to eternity in Raphael’s clutches.  His confidence in gaining power was beginning to crystallize for her.

Raphael invited her back to his bedchamber for the evening.  At his bedroom door, Tav excused herself quietly.

“Let me change into my nightclothes,” she protested falsely, waiting for Raphael to produce a counterargument.

“They are unnecessary,” Raphael argued back with a smirk, his hand reached up to grasp her chin.

Tav backed away from him with a greedy smile.  “Oh dear, husband, but they are.”  Raphael growled in response.

Tav returned to her room and quickly changed into a silk nightdress.  She laid down on her bed and started to stroke her clit until she could feel the heat and pooling wetness.  She grabbed one of her law tomes from the table at the window.  She clutched it tightly to her before returning to Raphael’s chambers.  He was waiting for her on the settee, dressed down into his silk robe and lounging pants.  He eyed the tome in her grasp in confusion.

“What are you up to, my dearest?” he asked quickly.

“I’m a very naughty student, dear husband.  I must finish my reading before I upset my tutor,” she answered in a voice that she tried to steep in bashfulness with just a hint of flirtation.  Raphael raised an eyebrow and grinned, taking the bait.

He motioned to his lap, and Tav sat down, curling herself around him.  She opened the tome to the section on contract validity, reading silently to herself as Raphael placed a hand around her waist.

“Malrai had told me you were in the midst of studying contract law validity.  I am glad you are such an eager student,” he chuckled to himself, his baritone laugh exuding pride.

Tav booped him playfully on the nose and responded with mock exasperation.  “I am very fortunate to be in the presence of such talented Infernal contract writers such as Master Malrai and yourself, but I do not wish to disappoint my tutor or my husband.”  Tav could feel the egotistical hitch in Raphael’s breath at her flattery.

She silently and patiently continued to read.  Raphael would break soon, and then it was time.

Raphael was a patient devil, but he had his limits in the bedroom.  He quickly started to kiss down the back of her neck and fondled her breasts through her nightdress.  Tav gently removed his hand and went back to the page.  She had already completed this reading and knew it by heart, but Raphael didn’t need to know that.

Raphael growled deeply, but Tav continued to read.  He resumed his assault of kisses on her neck before lapsing into gently sucking and biting.  Tav turned gently booped his nose a second time.  His eyes narrowed, but he paused.

Tav turned the page.  Raphael’s fingers were impatiently tapping on her waist.  She could feel his breath on her ear.

Without another word, Raphael slammed the book shut and snapped it away to her room.  “I think that’s enough for tonight.”  His hands immediately went to the laces on her nightdress, pulling the straps down over her shoulders to free her breasts.

“Raphael, I have more work to complete.”

“No, my dearest, you’re done for the night,” he whispered into her ear as he stroked each of her nipples, excited by the way they hardened instantly under his touch.  He kissed and gently bit at her neck as he fondled her.  One of his hands traced up between her thighs.

“You have been a naughty, naughty Little Mouse,” Raphael groaned, already breathless as he stroked the wetness.  He pressed a finger deep into her and relished in the gasp that followed.  As he moved his fingers in and out of her, Tav couldn’t stifle the moans that fell from her lips.  She wanted to writhe into his hands.  She had to maintain control.

Tav removed his fingers with a slight whine and climbed out of his lap.  Raphael was already hard.  Tav walked over to the bed, and Raphael wasted no time in following her.  She removed his robe and his lounging pants, leaving him bare in front of her.  She stroked his wings as he let the last of her nightdress fall to the floor.  His hands went to scoop her up to place her on the bed, but Tav stopped him.

“Lay down,” she whispered in his ear, and every part of him, including his cock, seemed to stiffen.  Raphael preferred to be on top or fucking into her from behind.  He never let her ride him.

“Mouse-” Raphael started to protest.

“I’m a naughty, naughty Little Mouse,” Tav reminded him.  Raphael’s jaw tensed.  “I didn’t even finish the reading my tutor gave me.”  Raphael’s eyes narrowed as if he wasn’t sure whether he should be irritated or incredibly turned on.  “Perhaps I’ll just keep breaking rules and need to be punished later.”

Her devilish husband reluctantly laid down on the bed, waiting to see what was about to unfold before making some sort of Infernal judgment.  Tav immediately straddled him and stroked her clit with the head of his cock.

“Maybe you can help me with my lessons, husband,” Tav suggested, breathing into Raphael’s ear as she leaned over him.  He groaned deeply as she used him to stroke herself.  His hands were gripping tightly at her hips and resisting pulling her down onto him at great effort.  She could feel each claw pressing into her skin.

“Contracts can’t be signed while under coercion,” Tav continued.  “Could you sign a contract for me, my dear?”

“Mouse-” Raphael started and groaned again.  His eyes were alight with lust.  Tav waited for him to answer, still stroking herself and spreading her wetness everywhere down his shaft as she tormented him.  “Yes-” he grunted below her.  “Coercion for Infernal contracts-” he moaned deeply.  “-requires imminent threats of danger.”

Coercion definitely wasn’t going to work as a way out of her contract, but Tav had already suspected that it was a long shot.

Tav needed as much information as she could.  This was by far some of the longest foreplay the two of them had had, and if she didn’t get Raphael any real satisfaction soon, he was unlikely to relinquish control to her again.

Tav sank down onto him, and Raphael let out a deep, heady groan.  His hands urged her to start thrusting, and his hips tried to buck into her.  Tav kissed him deeply and started to ride him.  Raphael’s eyes rolled in the back of his head and his tail wrapped around her thigh.  He felt good inside her, but tonight was not about her pleasure, she needed to pleasure information out of Raphael.  She watched his body language and listened closely to the sounds he was making.  He needed to last for her to get the information she was seeking.

Tav abruptly stopped thrusting but kept him deeply within her.  Raphael’s hands tried to force her hips to keep thrusting, but Tav locked her ankles under his legs.  His tail was pulsing.  “Contracts can’t be made under duress,” she whispered lustily in his ear.  “Could you sign a contract for me?”

Raphael was squirming underneath her, every body part desperate for her to continue.  He grunted, “Yes, duress is limited to curses-” he moaned as she indulged him in a single thrust.  “-or violence.”  She gave him another single thrust.  “My dearest, I am starting to think you are a curse.”

Duress as an argument wouldn’t work either.  The technical marriage to Gale may be her best shot.

Tav started to ride Raphael in earnest, finally letting her devilish husband chase his pleasure.  She listened closely to his breathing and could tell he was approaching orgasm.

“Raphael, are sections of a contract always nullified if you have a superseding agreement?” Tav questioned.

For once in his existence, Raphael appeared as if there was nothing going on in his head except for the pleasure of being thoroughly fucked by his wife.  He gave deep, ragged gasps and pawed roughly at her.

“Contracts-” he moaned.  “In Infernal-” another moan,  “operate under a hierarchy.”   Raphael was twitching beneath her and she could feel his cock pulsing inside her.  He was about to come.  “The highest ranked… Infernal… contracts… take… priority.”  Tav clenched around him, and Raphael gave a deep, unmistakable groan of pleasure as he came deep within her.  Tav dutifully rode out his orgasm.

Infernal seed was dripping down her thighs and Infernal law was dancing through her head.

Tav needed to determine whether her contact with Gale outranked her contract with Raphael.

[faun-the-hound]

I've decided today that I'm (eventually) gonna actually write a rewrite/AU of Minecraft Diaries, does not yet have a title. I have many thoughts about the Shadow Knights specifically, so here's the most basic form of the Lore I've made up for them so far:

Shadow Knights reside in the depths of The Nether in a highly fortified mountain-like structure known as the Empty Palace in the middle of a lava lake, made up of blackstone spires and basalt deltas, carved out into hallways, rooms and windows.

There are two variants: Soldiers, the most common, they form squadrons under the orders of a Commander, the other rank, of which there are few. There are a total of around two-three hundred Shadow Knights in the Nether still loyal to their King/Lord.

Soldiers have two forms- human, where they look human (obviously) and the Shadow Form, which is used when raiding villages, fighting, or just causing carnage in general.

Commanders have a third form, a Tyrant, which is far more monstrous and feral, hardly resembling a human at all.

Gene and Sasha are both Commanders. Gene's Tyrant is giant and resembles a kraken (it makes sense, trust me) and Sasha's is spider-like.

Four of the five season 1 Knights (Gene, Sasha, Zenix, Vylad and Laurance) died in the overworld, then were brought to the Nether. Vylad died and was reborn as a Knight in the overworld, and Laurance died and was reborn in the Nether, which affects the way they are as Knights.

Killing a Lord/Family member to gain immortality also kills the Shadow Knight's humanity/conscience. It's the breaking point that makes them truly mad, fully loyal to their master.

On that note, Shadow Knights can get their humanity back if it is given and desired. Vylad got hers back from the old woman who told him to give Irene's blessing to Phoenix Drop (who I'm saying is Hyria, don't know if that's canon), and Zenix got his from Aph herself after a whole thing, I'll get into it in a different post (maybe)

anyway, yeah, the Shadow Knights are funky creatures to me. I will continue to shake the jar.

[thesiltverses]

Hi Trawler crew!! I ofc had a question but want to start with saying that youre making such an amazing work!! Listened to silt verses right after finishing I am in Eskew and loved it immediatly and think your style really fits the work well. Really loving how the story develops and everyone is doing amazing from the sound to writing! As well as its a very good horror

Also was really entertaining considering i myself did find a river god and still am trying to find its ways to them(no humans sacrifices tho dw they dont like those) and appreciate their presence. Faulkner my boy.

But what i really came here for. English is not my first language and im truly learning it for four years tops(my lack of punctuation is like that in all languages i hardly get it) and i always enjoyed translating texts especually for friends who dont know english well. And i wondered if you could recommend some books/poems/whatevertexts that i could look into!! Besides i do trust your taste and would personally love to read them as well! Either way thanks for reading and hope everything goes well for everyone in the crew! Ur doing great

<3

Hi and thank you so much for listening! Work in English that you could translate - gosh, I don't know. I've been recommending Heaney a lot here recently and I'm happy to go back to that well for this, because the language is often simple and soft and yet every word falls heavy and careful with meaning and portent and so there'll be a lot to consider in how you choose to translate it.

If you want a real challenge, try one of my favourites, Riddley Walker, which is written in devolved post-apocalyptic English and so has endless puns and inversions of language that you'd have to grapple with.

The Grauballe Man

As if he had been poured

in tar, he lies

on a pillow of turf

and seems to weep

the black river of himself.

The grain of his wrists

is like bog oak,

the ball of his heel

like a basalt egg.

His instep has shrunk

cold as a swan's foot

or a wet swamp root.

His hips are the ridge

and purse of a mussel,

his spine an eel arrested

under a glisten of mud.

The head lifts,

the chin is a visor

raised above the vent

of his slashed throat

that has tanned and toughened.

The cured wound

opens inwards to a dark

elderberry place.

Who will say 'corpse'

to his vivid cast?

Who will say 'body'

to his opaque repose?

And his rusted hair,

a mat unlikely

as a foetus's.

I first saw his twisted face

in a photograph,

a head and shoulder

out of the peat,

bruised like a forceps baby,

but now he lies

perfected in my memory,

down to the red horn

of his nails,

hung in the scales

with beauty and atrocity:

with the Dying Gaul

too strictly compassed

on his shield,

with the actual weight

of each hooded victim,

slashed and dumped.

[bitethedevil]

Taming the Wolf (Raphael x Tav): Chapter 1

Tags and Warnings for this fic: Plus-Size!Tav, Druid!Tav, Tiefling!Tav, Dark!Raphael, Breeding Kink, Mind-control, Non-Con and Dub-Con Elements, Sex Pollen, Master/Pet Dynamic, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat.

A link to read this fic on AO3 (kudos or comments make the author very happy <3)

Next Chapter >>

Fic Summary: Tav tried to avoid fulfilling her contract to Raphael by leaving the Crown of Karsus on the bottom of the Chionthar, leaving her contract unfulfilled by a technicality. Although, no situation is so bad that the new Archdevil of the First can't find a way to profit off it. All the other archdevils of the Hells have their own lineages of tieflings on the Material Plane and Raphael is not going to feel left out...

AN: I'm working on learning how to write smut, so I made this. That's essentially what this fic is: depraved smut. I also noticed that there aren't a lot of plus-sized Tav fics when it comes to Raphael (please recommend them to me if you have found any), so Raph is into bigger girls in this one. There is no smut in this first chapter since I am setting the scene first, but remember to mind the tags in future chapters. There might be additions to them as we go along with this fic.

Tav was padding through the forest, sniffing the ground in her wolf form. She had gotten the scent of a rabbit. She was following its trail with her nose, and the scent was getting stronger. She was getting close. Her mouth started watering.

She slowed her pace and lowered her body closer to the ground when she saw it. Just a few feet ahead of her, she saw the fat little creature sitting on its hindlegs, sniffing the air. She moved closer with calculated steps. It turned its head towards her. She pounced on it…

…And missed it. Yet again. The little creature sped through the forest floor before she could even sink her teeth into it. Her hunting skills had needed training ever since she got rid of the tadpole. She felt like a novice again after having spent so much time in her real form during her adventure.

She huffed and lowered her nose to the ground yet again to see if she could find her next meal somewhere else. That is when she saw flames rise around her. She instinctively walked backwards to avoid them. They quickly lowered again, and she saw that she was somewhere entirely else.

The smell of sulfur reached her nose immediately and it made her blood run cold. So did her new surroundings. She was in a gigantic hall that seemed big enough for a small army to comfortably march through. The tall walls were made of dark basalt. She fixed her orange eyes at the shapes she saw on the walls. She looked at the charred bodies hanging from them.

She smelled him in the air before she heard him: sulfur, musk, palmarosa, and pepper.

“Yes, Zariel had a bit of a flair for dramatics.”

She turned back into her human form. Her white fur turned into her grey skin, her fluffy tail turned into her long spaded one, and she felt the familiar weight of her curved horns on her head again. She stumbled slightly as she turned around to face him. She had not walked on two legs for days.

“Raphael,” she greeted and coughed, trying to find her voice again.

His body was turned towards the wall she had been looking at. His head turned towards her. He was dressed fancier than she had ever seen him. His usual red and blue outfit had been exchanged for a black suit with red and gold accents.

He looked her up and down with the hint of an amused smile on his lips. She no doubt looked a mess. Her thick dark curls had not seen a brush for weeks. Her grey skin was caked with dirt and old blood from the few kills she had managed to make while she had been in Wildshape.

“You are no less feral than the last time I saw you, I see,” he said. “Perhaps a bath is in order before we speak. A certain degree of decorum is expected when one speaks to an Archdevil.”

That made her cough even worse as she choked on her own spit.

“A what?” she choked out and looked him up and down.

“An Archdevil,” he repeated. “Avernus is mine after you left the Crown of Karsus to me.”

They had promised the Crown of Karsus to Raphael, but they had left it at the bottom of the Chionthar instead. The pieces of the it were scattered across the bottom of the river, and they had naively hoped that was enough to keep it from doing more harm.

“Went for a swim, did you?” she asked. “Congratulations, I suppose. We had hoped that it would stay put.”

“Did you now?” he asked and turned to face her. “That would mean that our agreement was broken and that your soul is mine.”

“You interrupted my hunt,” she sighed. “Can we get to why I am here anytime soon?”

“Certainly…” he said with a dangerous smile. “Instead of skinning you and making you into a new fur rug for my throne room, and making your fine friends join the charred corpses on the wall for trying to snub me of what I was owed, I will graciously ignore this lazy little mistake. If, of course, you accept my terms.”

She sniffed and scowled at him.

“I don’t owe you anything, devil,” she said and crossed her arms over her chest. “You got your crown in the end, didn’t you?”

“Indeed, but not brought to me by you as agreed upon,” he said and smiled at her. “I find myself…unsatisfied and wanting more. Fortunately, I have use for you and I am legally in my full right to hold you accountable for this.”

“I couldn’t give less of a shit about devil laws.”

“Language,” he chided. “You will when I hurt you and the ones you hold dear. It is a simple deal, really. You will stay here with me in Avernus for an unspecified amount of time, and in return you will live a life of luxury while you do.”

She laughed and then gestured to the state she was in.

“Do I look like I care about living in luxury?” she asked. “What do you want me here for?”

His lips tugged up in a smirk and he glanced over her body.

“You’ll find out.”

She rolled her eyes.

“And if I refuse?” she asked.

“I can use the Crown to make you say yes, though I would prefer not to,” he said casually. “It would be more satisfying to avoid it.”

She narrowed her eyes at that.

“No, you can’t,” she said. “The contract stated that you could not use the Crown of Karsus to dominate mortals. I’m not immortal.”

Raphael chuckled at that.

“Had you taken the time to properly read it through, as I suggested you should, you would know that there are exceptions,” he explained. “Those who are of Infernal bloodlines are one of those exceptions. You are a tiefling, my dear.”

Fuck. She knew that he was not lying. She scowled at him. She would never have dreamed of signing if she knew that was in the contract. Tieflings somehow always got the short end of the stick. He smiled at her like the cat that got the cream, drinking up the furious expression on her face.

“So…” he said with a smile as he walked closer. “Will you be a good pup and roll over or must I tighten your leash?”

She sneered at him and her eyes darkened.

“I’m not a dog,” she said. “And should you for a second be under the false impression that you are the master of me, then I will tear you apart.”

He chuckled and ignored your threat.

“Oh, that’s right. You believe yourself a wolf, isn’t that so?” he said. “Where is your pack then, wolf? While you scour the forests for food all on your own, because you have run out of funds to feed yourself. It has only been months since you became the hero of Baldur’s Gate, and you are already right back where you started. Without possessions, without friends, without dignity, while you live like a beast rather than a person.”

“It’s a choice,” she grumbled. “And none of your business besides.”

It was, though it would be a lie to say that it had not also been a necessity. She never had much since she left her circle all those years ago. It was easier, cheaper, and freer to live in the woods.

It was also lonely. She knew she could have reached out to her old companions after their adventure, but she never did. She did not want to trouble them, and it felt safer to be alone. It had been so easy to fall into old habits.

“Here you can be so much more,” he purred. “I see potential for something great behind that beast you parade as.”

She did not answer. Raphael smiled widely and put a hand on her shoulder and squeezed.

“Do not force me to make you submit,” he said before completely changing into a lighter mood. “Now! I will have my servants prepare a bath for you. You reek. After, we will dine together. I suspect you must be hungry, since I interrupted your hunt for dinner.”

She was very uncomfortable as the servants insisted on washing her in the bath. She had tried to insist that she could wash herself, but the two tiefling women were not having it after they saw the state of her. The bath smelled of some sort of lavender oil mixed with something else. The smell was too strong and perfume-like for her liking.

When they brought out the shaving kit, it finally made her protest. She wrapped her arms around herself and stared at them as one of the servant ladies tried to pry her arm up.

“No,” Tav said stubbornly.

The woman pursed her lips and sighed.

“Please, my lady,” the woman said. “We have been ordered to.”

“No.”

The two women looked at each other as if trying to figure out what to do. They looked nervous as they did so. Tav figured that there might be consequences for them if they did not heed Raphael’s orders. She sighed in annoyance.

“Why does he want me shaved?” she asked.

“We do not know, my lady,” the other woman said. “Please. We will be careful not to nick you.”

Tav sneered and reluctantly let her arms be raised above her head so they could shave her armpits. She had grown quite hairy during her time in the woods. She preferred it that way and she could not guess why Raphael would care about it. She was not happy.

She was even less happy when there came a knock on the door. Both of the women paused their movements. One of them got up to place a screen in front of the tub. Tav looked at the both of them with a confused expression. The one of them that did not get up smiled sweetly at her.

“The physician,” she explained. “Come in!”

“The what?” Tav asked.

She heard someone enter the room.

“Good evening, my lady,” a male voice said from behind the screen. “Apologies for interrupting your bath. I need only ask you a few questions.”

Tav blinked and scrunched up her face.

“Why?” she asked. “I’m not sick or anything. What do I need to see a physician for?”

“His Grace has requested it, my lady.”

Her eyes were about to roll out of her skull when she heard Raphael be referred to as ‘His Grace’.

“Get on with it then,” she grumbled quietly.

“Do you have any allergies that you are aware of?” he asked.

“No.”

She heard a quill running over parchment as he was noting it down on the other side of the screen.

“How much do you weigh?”

“No idea. I’ve always been a bit on the heavy side.”

“Do you have any medical conditions that you know of?”

“No.”

“Has anyone in your family had any medical conditions that you know of?”

“Don’t think so.”

“Have you ever been pregnant?”

Tav raised an eyebrow at that question.

“No?” she answered.

“Have any of the women in your family had trouble conceiving?”

The questions were taking an odd turn.

“Not that I know of,” she said. “Why?”

“I am not allowed to tell you,” the physician explained and then continued his questions. “When did you last bleed?”

She huffed at that answer.

“Recently,” she said.

“How recently? Days? Weeks?”

“A bit over a week perhaps,” she answered. “Are you sure you can’t tell me? What is going on?”

“I cannot tell you,” he repeated while he was scribbling down something. “That will be all for now. I will visit you tomorrow to check your weight and height.”

She heard him get up from his chair to leave.

“Alright?” she said with a sigh and looked at the ladies on either side of her with confusion. The both of them avoided her questioning gaze.

The servants dried her off, and with some resistance from her, they got her in a dress. It was a dark blue silk dress that was supposed to ‘compliment the yellow of her eyes and the grey of her skin’. Tav thought she just looked stupid. The dress was too tight around her waist, making her hips look even wider than they already were.

When they were done with their little game of dress-up, she studied herself in the mirror with a scowl on her face. She looked ridiculous. Her body was on full display in the dress. It was not that she had ever had a problem with showing off her plumpness, but she just also had never felt the reason to pull attention to it like this. The form of her stomach was on display, and it made her feel naked.  

She was ushered through the fortress and into a large room with a table in the middle. Raphael sat at the end of it drinking wine. The table was filled with all kinds of food and drink. Raphael devoured her form with his eyes before gesturing for her to sit down beside him. She kept standing. She wanted answers first.

“What is the meaning of all of this?” she asked with narrowed eyes.

“I had imagined that you were hungry,” Raphael said and took a sip of his wine.

“You know what I mean…and I am,” she said. “But I am more starved for answers than food currently. Why am I here?”

“All will soon be revealed,” he said and gestured to the chair again. “Sit down.”

“No,” she said stubbornly.

“Sit,” Raphael said more harshly this time. “And eat. I have questions for you.”

“No,” she repeated.

Raphael waved his hand and she found herself sitting down against her will.

“Good girl,” he said as if to a dog and smiled even wider.

It pissed her off even more. A low groan of frustration escaped her, that would have been a growl if she had been in her preferred form. She thought about getting up again just to spite him but there would be no use in it. She decided to eat instead.

“Tell me about where you come from,” Raphael said and swirled the contents of his glass.

“North,” she said and pulled apart a piece of chicken with her hands.

“I had gathered,” Raphael said with a tight disgusted smile at the way she was eating. “I am more curious where your ancestry comes from.”

“North,” she repeated and shoved a piece of chicken in her mouth. “Are you asking about my tiefling ancestors?”

“Indeed,” he said.

“Don’t know,” she answered. “I just know that it’s far back and that we are Asmodeus tieflings. None of my parents are tieflings. It had skipped two generations before it appeared in me.”

“Fascinating,” he said. “One would not have guessed Asmodeus tiefling from your appearance. That grey skin of yours would have suggested Zariel.”

“My dad was a drow.”

“A bit of a mutt then,” he said with a chuckle. “That’s perfect for what I need you for.”

“A mutt? Your dog metaphors are hilarious, though they are already getting a bit old, don’t you think? Besides, it’s rich of you to call anyone a mutt when you are a cambion yourself,” she huffed. “What do you need me for?”

Her comment annoyed him, and she could see it in his eyes, though he apparently chose to ignore it.

“Oh, but the dog metaphors are so fitting for what I intend to use you for,” he said with a cruel smile. “Why else would one be keen to get their hands on a prized bitch with interesting bloodlines like yours? To breed pups, of course.”

She almost choked on the piece of chicken she was eating.

“Excuse me?”

“All the other notable archdevils have spread their lineages across your realm,” he explained. “We all have to start somewhere, of course. I cannot think of anything more poetic than the woman who helped me win my crown to be the start of my own lineage of tieflings. I am feeling rather generous so I will only demand five children out of you, and then you are free to go.”

She was dumbstruck for a moment as the information sunk in. Then she became furious.

“You would have me be a broodmare for your children?” she asked harshly. “And risk my life in the process? Are you insane?”

“If you refuse, I can have you killed for certain instead,” he said. “Or worse, I can force you.”

Her eyes glowed for a moment as she was about to lose control of her temper and transform. She dug her claws into the arms of the chair she was sitting in as she tried to calm herself before she did something stupid.

“Tieflings and cambions can produce more cambions,” she hissed. “In case you have never picked up a biology book. A swift death would be kinder than dying while trying to birth a cambion.”

“The chances are rather slim. Especially with a diluted Infernal bloodline like yours,” he explained. “Besides, I will have physicians and midwives to tend to your every need for the same reason. Does the child grow bigger than a tiefling would, we will kill it. You are too useful to me alive for me to let you die in childbirth.”

“I am not even considering this!” she yelled. “You are out of your mind.”

“Though you will consider it, because the consequences of refusing me will be much worse,” he said calmly. “I promise you, that if you simply come peacefully, no harm will come to you. I will be generous with you. I will only take you when the chances for conception are the highest. The rest of the time you will be left to yourself, free to do whatever you please.”

“Take me?” she growled. “Archdevil or not, I will tear you apart if you as much as touch me!”

Raphael sighed when he saw her eyes starting to glow in anger again, but continued explaining:

“You will have your own chambers, of course. You will be well taken care of, and the only thing you will have to worry about is your pregnancy and the birth. You will not even have to see the children after they are born either, if that is what you wish.”

She hammered her fist down onto the table and got up. She was looking at him like a woman with murder on her mind.

“Send me back,” she hissed at him. “Now.”

“No,” Raphael replied calmly with an unimpressed expression on his face.

“Send. Me. Back.”

“I wonder if you are hard of hearing or simply thick-headed,” he said and narrowed his eyes at her. “Have I not made it abundantly clear what your options are?”

“I won’t do it,” she said. “You can’t make me. Infernal law states that deals cannot be made if the other party is under duress or if the deal is signed because of death threats. That much I do know.”

Raphael chuckled.

“I am not asking you to sign a thing, my dear,” he said in a dark tone. “I already have a contract with your signature on it. Those laws are in place for those who have not yet signed. I already own you. I am in my full right to do whatever I please with you. Had you simply handed me the Crown then it would have been a different story, but you did not.”

Her realizing her predicament was the last straw. She lost her temper and in the blink of an eye she found herself in her wolf form. She had pushed away the table and the chair during her transformation. She snarled and locked her eyes on him. Then she remembers pouncing on him, though never landing before she heard a snap, and everything went black.

She woke up in a bed that she had hoped would be her own before she opened her eyes. When she did open them, she learned to her disappointment that it had not all been an odd fever dream. She was in a bedroom that was five times larger than the one she had at her home on the outskirts of Baldur’s Gate.

The bedchamber was lavishly decorated. There was a bathtub in the corner, a desk with a chair and some writing utensils on it, a large wardrobe, and a fireplace with two armchairs in front of it. She was not impressed. Lavish as it was, it did not fool her: this was a cell.

She sat up on the bed and when she moved, she felt something around her neck. Her hand went to it and found a collar around it. She touched all the way around it to find an opening or a clasp, but there were none. She pulled on it, but it did not give. She instinctively knew that it had some magical purpose, but she was not yet sure what it was.

She got off the bed to find a mirror. She found one on the desk and she saw that there was some kind of inscription on the collar. Her eyes narrowed at the Infernal letters that adorned the black collar in a golden script. Her Infernal was rusty but she did manage to put together what it said:

‘Property of the Archdevil of the First.’

She was fuming. She tugged at the collar in anger once again, still with no luck. Her eyes fell on a piece of parchment on the table. Her eyes scanned over the words, and it only managed to further stir the flames of her temper:

‘If you are to act like a beast, you will be treated as one. You are invited to dine with me tonight. I expect you to be on your best behavior or you may find yourself waking up in a cage the next time you bare your teeth at me, dog. - R”

Her breathing had quickened into furious puffs of air. Her hands clenched into fists. She would tear this room apart. She would tear him apart and paint the walls with his blood. She would devour him. She felt the familiar feeling of her druidic magic spreading through her veins.

Though something was different. The magic would not take as it usually did.

She stayed in that middle-stage of transformation. Her face fell at the realization. She tried again to turn into her wolf form, but the magic still would not take. It did not envelop her in its cold embrace of the earth clinging to her skin and changed her form like it usually did. The feeling stayed under her skin, going nowhere.

“No…” she whispered to herself. “No, no, no…”

That was the purpose of the collar. To keep her in her own form. She panicked. She paced around the room. She was missing something, but what? He had not taken her magic from her, or she would not be able to even enter transformation. The collar simply stopped the final step.

She tried turning into an owlbear instead. No luck. She tried panther, deep rothe, bear, sabre-toothed tiger, badger…No luck. Then she wondered if it could possibly have something to do with the size.

She finally tried something smaller: a cat. She finally felt the magic envelop her skin and change her form. She felt herself grow smaller and she was then standing in her furry little form on the floor. She felt some relief that it had worked and hoped for a second that she might be able to slip out of the collar, but the size of it had simply adjusted to her form. She let out a frustrated hiss.

It was something that not all of her forms had been taken from her, but she could hardly tear Raphael apart in the form of a cat. She tried the last couple of forms there were left. She could do a dire raven as well, but that was not particularly helpful either. She could not exactly fly away from the Hells. She hated feeling so helpless.

Later, the same servants from the day before came to dress her and usher her to where Raphael was. He was smiling widely at her when she entered, and his eyes went to admire the collar on her neck. She wanted nothing more than to throw an Ice Knife at his smug face, but she decided to keep the peace for now. She needed her powers back in full again.

She kept quiet as she sat down beside him, which only seemed to amuse him. She had nothing nice to say to him. She began eating with her hands as she always did.

“Ah-ah,” Raphael chided. “Fork and knife, dear.”

Her eye twitched but she kept quiet as she reluctantly dropped the food in her hands. She wiped her fingers in a napkin before grabbing the fork and knife. Her movements were clumsy when she tried to cut her meat. It had been a long time since she last had been forced to use utensils.

“Good girl,” Raphael praised in that degrading way of his. “You are quieter today. I take that you have figured out what that collar around your neck does?”

She continued ignoring him.

“I will take that as a yes then,” he said and then changed the subject. “The physician says that your fertility will be at its peak soon, so you can expect a visit from me in only a few days.”

“And you ask me to mind my table manners,” she said in a cold tone. “Don’t make me lose my appetite.”

“Oh, my apologies, dear,” he said. “I did not realize you were of such a delicate disposition. I simply mean to say that if you behave until then, I might be inclined to loosen my grip on your leash, so to speak.”

She gritted her teeth in annoyance and tried to reel back her temper.

“Will I be rid of this gods-awful collar?”

“No,” he answered. “I like it on you. It suits you. Though, I can allow you to change into whatever form you would like as long as you are on your best behavior.”

“’Allow me’…” she repeated and laughed bitterly under her breath. “Is this it then? I’m your little puppet now that you can do whatever you want to? I think I’d rather choose death if that offer is still on the table, actually.”

“Essentially, yes, you are,” he answered coldly. “And do not continue to make me repeat myself, Tav. It will not just be your death if you decide to go against me and even if it was, whatever I will put you through here will be nothing compared to the torments I will put you through after you are dead, and I get my hands on your soul. For your soul is still on the line, since you by technicality did not fulfill your contract. A technicality that I will only overlook if you do as I tell you.”

She shook her head and went quiet. She felt so hopeless. She wanted to laugh and cry and scream at the same time. She leaned back in her chair. She had barely eaten anything, but her appetite was gone.

“Can I go now?” she asked. “I am not hungry after all, it seems.”

“As you wish,” he said. “But first…”

He snapped his fingers and a vial of dark liquid appeared on the table. He took it and held it out to her.

“I will watch you drink this before you do,” he said while his orange eyes bore into hers. “A servant will bring it to you tomorrow and every day after that. They are under orders to force it down your throat if you refuse.”

She looked from him to the vial with disdain.

“Am I allowed to ask His Grace what this is?” she asked.

Raphael smiled slightly and his eyes narrowed at her.

“That cheek will get you nowhere,” he warned. “It’s a vial containing numerous things to ready your body for its purpose. I am not trying to poison you. I am trying to help you. Spare you even.”

“Spare me?” she asked bitterly.

“If I disgust you as much as you pretend, would you not find it helpful that we only have to attempt to get you with child a handful of times before we see results, instead of waiting for months?”

She looked at him and then at the vial. She sighed softly and took it from his hands. She took off the cork and smelled its contents. It had a smell that was all too sweet like fruit that was just past its ripeness. She looked at him again.

“There would be little sense in poisoning you,” he reassured her. “Now drink.”

She looked at the vial once more before downing its contents.

[elsewhereuniversity]

Are there any pens that need a home that no one wants?

Yes! There are! The good and the terrible both move on quickly, but there are a handful of oddities too mysterious or narrow in scope to be helpful. If you were to take it upon yourself to find them purpose, I would be grateful:

The pen that is perfectly non-conductive, which might have more use in certain tech-adjacent fields than in writing

The pen which writes in zero-gravity, and also when the writer is hanging upside down - both situations uncommon-to-rare on campus.

The crayon in this drawer for lack of somewhere else to put it, which is shaped like a waxen teddy bear and whose scent brings about a nostalgia so intense it makes tears spring to your eyes unbidden.

Three seems the right number; take them with my gratitude. And with that gratitude let me offer you this charm as well, something useful to balance out the rest: a smooth stone, perhaps basalt, which radiates the perpetual chill of the Winter Court. Combined with the thermal bag it was presented to me in, it makes for a little cooler which never thaws or grows mildew, a very practical application for something so unusual.

[justanotherbirdbrain-blog]

Writing about Mines in your Fictional Universe: A Geology Introduction

Hello! I'm Bird, and I am here to guide you on a journey about different mines that exist, what materials are being mined, what those materials might be mined for, and what rocks/what processes might make these areas mineable. I will also touch briefly on the idea of gem quality, the commonness of the material, and what these things might look like fresh out of the dirt!

First things first, lets talk about the what types of things we might want to mine for in a fictional universe! There are a lot of things that are used daily that require mining, but there are a few that I see written about the most: Gold, Gemstones, Iron, and Coal. I personally would love to see this idea expanded on a bit, so lets talk about some mines that would definitely be necessary but overlooked! First one is pretty easy, glass! those beautiful stained glass windows are useless if no one is mining quartz to be made to glass, and I imagine it would be quite a profitable business seeing as glass, in general, was a luxury in ye olden times. The next thing we need to address is Abrasives! want to sand and polish stone and metal? Want to sharpen your blades for battle? May I introduce you to abrasive minerals! garnet, corundum (Ruby and Sapphire), and yes, diamond! Why are we using such beautiful gemstones to polish other things? Simple, even if you are to find a deposit of these gemstones (garnet being one of the more common ones) most of the time they are inclusion rich, ridiculously small, an undesirable color, or all three of these.

Finding gemstones that are good quality is hard, your character will not stumble upon it, pick up the rock and immediately know if the location is good enough to mine gemstones. If you are determined to make it a gemstone mine, have your character hold the mineral up to the sun/a light source and let them be able to see light coming through, though it is considerably thick.

Moving into metal mining! Metal mining is both easier and more complicated to write! Why is it complicated? Because unless it is gold or silver you are unlikely to see the desired metal itself. Why is it easy? welllll, I am going to try to make it easy. First things first, a lot of metals are chromaphores, this means that when the element is present, it will influence the color! Copper is an excellent example of this, old pennies oxidize and turn blue/teal/green, so do most rocks bearing copper! Looking for iron? It will probably stain the rocks dingy and brownish red. Things to note: copper and iron can be found in mineable amounts together! If you do this, iron will be present in the form of pyrite, or fool's gold, this has a nice cubic shape and can be described as such, the copper will typically leave a teal residue or veining across the rock, which in this case will almost exclusively be black to dark gray (Its basalt) but it can be found as the mineral chalcopyrite also (looks like fool's gold but it doesn't make cute crystals). Malachite is also a copper ore, in my experience I have never seen malachite from a mine that has looked like some of the stuff I have seen in gem shops, azurite (A darker blue mineral) can be present also, but again, these are usually very fine grained and would not be able to be used as jewelry, but obviously, in some places it must happen, just much less frequently.

Another thing I will briefly mention is that, if you are writing about metals remember that these metals will require a smelting process to extract a pure metal, this usually requires some other material (For iron, it is charcoal). Also remember alloys! Most useable metals are a mix of different metals to make them harder. This even includes gold jewelry. Last comment about metals, a very interesting plot for a fictional universe would be the use of lead. Lead ore was a hot commodity before we knew it was toxic, the side effects (Being nuts) could really create some tension.

Lastly in terms of mined material, I will briefly mention coal and stone in general just to say, coal is a sedimentary rock, distinctly different from the typical environments necessary to form most gemstones and heavy metal deposits (Yes, there are exceptions). Coal is dark black/gray, which is quite uncommon for sedimentary rocks which tend to range from reds/tans/browns/grays. When coal is lifted it will feel much lighter than you anticipate, which is the polar opposite of what happens when you lift a metal rich rock, which will feel immensely heavy. Finally, Coal will not turn into diamonds in nature, diamonds need mantle pressures and temperatures to form, there will be no diamonds under a coal mine unless there was a mantle derived eruption that got covered in a swamp, that became coal and as they dug they exposed the kimberlite pipe (I mention this because I just read this in a story and it hurt my feelings). Finally, If you want to write about a mine that is definitely necessary but want the content to be pretty low-maintenance, but profitable for whoever owns it, owning a granite/marble/ or really any desirable stone quarry would be perfect.

Now I will move onto what kind of mining exists today, I will not talk about every exclusive mine, but I will talk about ones that are common that are on my radar. First up, the one everyone talks about in books, underground mining. Underground mining is used when you are getting the material from the 'primary'/original source. The rock is rich in copper? Lets mine said rock. However, mining underground is the most dangerous form of mining, there can easily be a lack of oxygen because of insufficient ventilation (That's why people will carry something with an open flame when going into abandoned mines; if the flame goes out there is not enough oxygen and you have to turn back). There can also be lots of collapses due to overhead rocks, enough said. Cave mining is primarily done when the amount of rock above the deposit is too great to strip mine.

Now lets talk about strip mining! Strip mining is when you just mine on the surface, and dig deeper and deeper into the ground to obtain your desired resource whether it be stone, coal, gemstones, or anything else. It truly is less glamorous, but it is safer than digging a tunnel. That said it has its own issues, sure the oxygen is good, and you don't have to worry about the rocks collapsing over your head, but oh wait, the rocks can collapse over your head. Landslides can occur due to the over steepening of sides, excessive rainfall, and most importantly, old faults or planes of weakness that happen to be facing towards the mine (the diagram will help this make sense). Both of these types of mines can also create ecological damage, which can be mitigated nowadays, but then maybe not so much. Namely acid mine drainage, I will not talk much on the effects but a quick google search will give you plenty of information that might be useful for writing.

Now both of these are trying to mine a targeted rock, but sometimes its best to let nature do the work so we can do less. Diamonds, gold, corundum (rubies/sapphires), and garnets all have one thing in common. They are dense! So when erosion happens, and that sediment makes its way into a river, everything will separate based on its density. This is just because faster moving water can hold heavier sediments, and slower moving water will drop those heavy sediments leaving only the lighter sediments within the water. Lots of places that mine the things listed above will pan/sieve in active rivers and streams, or they can surface mine where rivers and streams used to be! These are called placer deposits. There is one setback though, the gemstones will not be perfect crystal shaped, they will be rounded due to being thrown around in a river (like beach glass). These are sapphires, but they have been rounded over time in the river.

Final thoughts, writing about a mine can seem nerve-racking, intimidating, or just something that you want to briefly mention and move on from, but truly I think going into the weeds could really add something to a story! Even if stories are slightly inaccurate about information, I am still 100x more excited to see it mentioned in more detail than to see it as a sentence. Besides it is fantasy, it doesn't always have to be exactly like earth.

[tsalmu]

Statue of Aramean King Hadad-Adyisi of Gozana Sikan (Tell Fakhariyeh, Syria) c. 850 CE Current location: National Museum of Damascus Source: Syrie. Mémoire et Civilisation. Institut du Monde Arabe, Paris, Flammarion, 1993, p. 260, n o 225. "In northeastern Syria in 1979, a farmer discovered a life-size basalt statue while he was plowing his field near Tell Fakhariyeh, ancient Sikan, on the shores of the Habur River. It was identified as a statue of the governor of Gozan named Had-Yith’i. There is a bilingual inscription in Akkadian and Aramaic. On the front of his skirt are 38 lines of Assyrian cuneiform, and on his back are 23 lines of alphabetic Aramaic. The Aramaic script has a surprisingly archaic appearance, but the artistic style and the appearance of the cuneiform signs, date to about mid-ninth century BCE. The writing presents the oldest known Aramaic inscription of substantial length. It also shows the Assyrian domination of the Habur Valley in this period. The text commemorates the installation of the statue of Had-Yith’i in the temple of the god Hadad of Sikan.

The dedication is presented twice, in both the Akkadian and Aramaic versions. In the Aramaic text, the first dedication reads:

The statue which Had-Yith’i set up before Hadad of Sikan, the canal-supervisor of heaven and earth, who showers abundance, and who gives pasture and watering places to all the lands, and who gives portions and offerings ‘to all the gods, his brothers; the supervisor of all the rivers, who provides for all the lands; the compassionate god whose prayer is good, [and] who dwells in Sikan, the great lord, the lord of Had-Yith’i, king of Gozan of Sassnuri, king of Gozan for the preservation of his life, for the lengthening of his days, for the abundance of his years, for the well-being of his house, for the well being of his offspring, for the well-being of his people, and for removing sickness from him, hearing his prayer and accepting of the utterance of his mouth, [Had-of Sikan]." - Source

[passionfruitswirl]

Okay so I have been working on my ideas for the different nether biomes in my MCD re-write and I’m honestly so proud of myself because I have both the Basalt delta, and the Warped forest writing done which is great cause I usually procrastinate on things like these so I’m happy I’ve finally written some stuff down so yeah a lil update on that and some sneak peak shitty doodles done on sticky notes lol

[bloodboonfic]

Im very interested on worldbuilding at the moment, do you have an idea of a structure you used to plan out the nether in Bloodboon?

This is probably a disappointing answer, but I don't really have a system for world building. It's mostly just, "hey, wouldn't it be cool if-" and then doing what you want. I just enjoy logicing stuff out, and with writing fanfic that takes place in an already established fantastical world, it's easy to get inspired. For example, the game dictates that magma cubes spawn in basalt deltas. Why would they? What are features of magma cubes and basalt deltas? Well, magma cubes split, and basalt deltas have a ton of pointy stuff. Therefore, wouldn't it be cool if magma cubes split themselves by throwing themselves onto the pointy bits of basalt for reproduction?

It helps a ton to have a friend to toss ideas back and forth with. What finer way to create than the yes-and?

-Anchestor

[fuckyeahdwarffortress]

I had exactly one person ask about my inane fantasy writing ramblings when it comes to dwarf currency, so I'm going to pen it. See more below!

In the novel I am penning (slowly, surely), coinage in the dwarven kingdom are dubbed Hands.

Theyr'e called this for the four-fingered, one-thumbed hand that is displayed. Each section of a Finger is worth 1 (totalling 3 for each fully-extended Finger), and each section of a Thumb is worth 4 (totalling 8 for a fully extended thumb).

In total, a fully-opened palm on a Hand is worth 20, meaning 5 Hands are worth 100.

Hands are made of stone, as metals are considered too precious to waste on a common occurrence such as currency. Any coins received from, say, Humans or Elves, are melted back into metals for reforging, though are received with equivalent metal value (meaning elven chips are worth less due to being made primarily of lacquered wood, and human coinage is worth more due to being made primarily of metals).

Each "tier" of stone makes the currency double in value:

Shale Open Hand = 20

Basalt Open Hand = 40

Gneiss Open Hand = 80

Granite Open Hand = 160

Marble Open Hand = 320

As these stones can be hard to identify, masons and stoneworkers oft double as accountants or bookkeepers. To ensure a healthy economy, there is a 10% tax on all income brackets; taxed Hands usually returning into public works or provided to aiding those who either cannot perform labour (whether unskilled or injured), or to public projects (bunkers for those without homes, farming initiatives, funding military strength, etc).

The current system of governance falls under what would be described as a technocracy, where the major dwarven heads of mining, agriculture, military, magic, economy, crafting, safety, and transit meet biweekly to balance affairs between each circle of dwarven society, though typically, the economic hold is the one with the final say, and previous heads have been happy to throw Hands around to get their way.

I hope you all enjoy this little snippet. It's not my best writing, persay, but it's something that's been in the back of my head for a while.

[ainyan]

FFXIV Write - Day 19: Taken

“Hey Xari, come on! I got something to show you!”

Seated atop a fence post at the edge of the Dotharl encampment, Xarise Waters was busy inspecting her daggers, carefully searching for any scratches or nicks in the blade. As she heard her name called out, she looked up to spy her cousin Tseren dashing towards her, his hand raised in greeting. “What?”

He skidded to a halt before her and bent down, resting his hands on his thighs as he caught his breath. Grinning up at her, he jerked a thumb. “On the Steppe, out by the herds. C’mon, you gotta see it.”

Torn between playing with her (!) daggers and following her cousin, Xari hesitated. “Did you tell Soleil and Min?”

Tseren shot his cousin a look. “Like I want to get close enough to watch my brother stick his tongue down your sister’s throat,” he retorted, and Xari made a face of disgust. “Come on,” he urged again. “You’re not scared to go out on the Steppe, are you?”

“Of course not!” Xari replied, stung. “I even have my daggers!” She flashed them briefly at Tseren before jamming them home in the sheathes at her waist and hopping down. “My da’s been teaching me, and there’s no one better.”

Tseren looked satisfied. “Even all the moms say your dad’s one of the best,” he agreed. “I’m hoping he’ll agree to teach me daggers one of these days.”

Xari grinned mischievously at her cousin. “Might be I could put in a good word for you,” she said cheerfully. “Now, whatcha got to show me?”

“C’mon!” Tseren broke into a run, darting towards the rolling plains beyond the enclosure. Still shy of puberty, he hadn’t hit the growth spurt that would send him skyrocketing upwards, so he and Xari were fairly evenly matched as they raced towards the stand of rocks where the tribe’s shepherds watched over their flocks.

Technically, neither of them was supposed to go onto the Steppe without an adult - or at least their older siblings - for protection. Although the Dotharl kept the region immediately around their encampment relatively critter-free, there were plenty of creatures - both of the animal and the Xaela variety - who ignored the clan’s claim and hunted among the rocks and ruins.

But Tseren knew that the shepherds were out with the flocks, and it was reasonable enough to believe that as long as the watchful Xaela kept a close eye on the karakuls scattered across the sere plains, grazing mindlessly on the buff-colored grasses, the children would be safe. The sharp-eyed Dotharl were certain to spy any intruders on their demesnes, and reply swiftly and with no mercy.

The stone outcropping that Tseren led Xari to sat near the edge of the acknowledged Dotharl territory, a scattering of basalt and granite spearing up from the ground. The children slowed as they neared, all-too-aware that the ground near the tor was treacherous, holding many hazards for the unwary ankle. As they came to the edge of the rock, Tseren held up a hand. “Shhh. Don’t startle them.”

Insanely curious now, Xari all but stepped on her cousin’s heels as she followed him around the rock. They climbed over a tumble of stone and slid down into a hollow between two clumps of silvery granite. Xari gasped, then let out a low croon of excitement and Tseren grinned at her response. Tucked away beneath two stones that had fallen together to create a sheltered hollow, a karakul lay, nuzzling and licking at her newborn lamb. “Oh! Oh, it’s so tiny!”

“Don’t get too close,” he warned, aware that his cousin wasn’t as familiar with the creatures of the Steppe; he lived most of the time with his mother Sadu, but Xari only visited every few months.

She shot him a look. “I know that, dummy. I remember when Mom was breeding Miraeyath to get chocobos for Min and me.” Her head swiveled back towards the sheep. “But it’s so cute.”

It was a novelty to see Xari act, well… like a girl. In many ways, his cousin was even more of a boy than he was. But those wide gold-rimmed eyes of hers were moony, and she had a dopey smile on her lips. Tseren leaned against the rock and grinned at her, then glanced towards the sheep.

Time passed; later, Tseren couldn’t have told you how long they stood there, staring at the mother and her baby. He could, however, pinpoint the moment he knew they weren’t alone, though it was too late to do them any good.

Xari let out a surprised grunt, but before Tseren could turn to see what was wrong, he felt something grab him by the scruff of his neck, strong fingers curling into the back of his harness and hauling him up into the air. He struggled in that rock-hard grip, fists and tail flailing, but a bone-jarring shake had him hanging limp, stunned. “A wild one,” said a satisfied voice. “Daidukul will be pleased.”

“What of the girl?” asked a second voice, and Tseren turned his head to see Xari struggling against the hold of another man, his arm pressed against her throat as he held her flush against him. Her fingers scrabbled at that restraining arm, her tail thrashing against his legs, but he held firm. “Do we dispose of her? She’s got fighting blood.”

The man holding Tseren paused thoughtfully. “Scrappy,” he said. “Bring her with. If Brother Magnai has no use for her, perhaps we can trade her to the Borlaaq.”

Brother Magnai!

Xari and Tseren had only a split second to meet eyes, but the cousins knew each other well enough to read thought and intent in that one hurried glance. These Oronir lapdogs thought to raid the Dotharl? Xarise smirked, Tseren sneered, then both children went blank-faced.

Abruptly, Xari slouched in her captor’s arm and he grunted, satisfied, while Tseren dangled placidly mid-air, the fight gone out of him. They could feel the eyes of the Buduga raiding party on them, but gave no sign of anything other than exhausted compliance.

“Come,” the leader said. “Let us return to the Dawn Throne. This will be a most profitable day.”

Indeed it will, Tseren thought as he found himself tossed over his captor’s shoulder and the party began to make their stealthy way from the tor, seeking to escape the Dotharl lands unseen, but not for you.

FFXIV Write 2024 (Daily Prompt List)

Day 19 - Taken

OCs: Xarise Waters, Tseren Shinespark

NPCs: Various idiot Buduga and one adorable lamb

AU: Woven Souls

[stone-stars]

songs in c3e58: giant egos (timestamps from the ad-free version. does not include the generic combat music. “a wizard’s tournament” is the recap song.)

The Scrappers - 9:49

Spearmint & Tea Leaves - 27:26 and 29:32

Left is Left and Right is Center - 33:14

The Bronze Bastard - 34:42

Snake Skirmish - 35:17

Sea Elves - 35:33

All I Need is One Thread to Spin a Web - 35:49

A Fairy Remembers - 43:00

All I Need is One Thread to Spin a Web - 45:39

A Haven Away from Home - 49:22

Left is Left and Right is Center - 51:11

A Memory - 53:31

A Fairy Remembers - 55:43

Secret Basement - 1:00:16

All I Need is One Thread to Spin a Web - 1:02:42

Shadowfell - 1:06:27

Illsed's Secret - 1:11:18

The Purge - 1:14:34

context for each song + notes under the cut!

The Scrappers - 9:49 - Giant's war map / the giants defrosting

Spearmint & Tea Leaves - 27:26 and 29:32 - Callie addresses the giants while playing a fey lullaby / convinces them to talk

Left is Left and Right is Center - 33:14 - Giants argue about who should rule

The Bronze Bastard - 34:42 - High Ember Lord Charbin's intro (Fire Giant)

Snake Skirmish - 35:17 - Stone Commander Basalt Von Shale's intro (Stone Giant)

Sea Elves - 35:33 - Wavemother Akoralil's intro (Water/Fish Giant)

All I Need is One Thread to Spin a Web - 35:49 - Garrosh, Master of Whispers, introduces himself (Cloud Giant)

A Fairy Remembers - 43:00 - Callie tells the giants about the serpents and Oberon's prophecy

All I Need is One Thread to Spin a Web - 45:39 - Garrosh suggests that Raedak's election could've been influenced magically by him

A Haven Away from Home - 49:22 - Akoralil takes the giants to the Feywild

Left is Left and Right is Center - 51:11 - Garrosh admits to seeing Aryox's divination room

A Memory - 53:31 - Garrosh tells them about the Archfey in the Feywild during his time

A Fairy Remembers - 55:43 - Garrosh bows to Oberon/Foster

Secret Basement - 1:00:16 - Garrosh talks about Raedak's bloodlust and Havoc

All I Need is One Thread to Spin a Web - 1:02:42 - Telling Garrosh about their encounters with Havoc and Gowan's presence

Shadowfell - 1:06:27 - Looking for the source of Havoc's smoke

Illsed's Secret - 1:11:18 - Moving deeper in to the hallway with the mist, moving towards Havoc's source

The Purge - 1:14:34 - Scrawled writing / Gowan in the carvings

Note: Berelain (the hill giant) just gets a generic combat song as her intro.