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the-guilty-writer · 2 years ago

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Figuring Out The Family Business

Agent Rossi-Reid

Anthology Masterlist

David Rossi x daughter!reader, Spencer Reid x reader, Criminal minds x BAU!reader

Summary: With Rossi on the team the dynamics and typical pairings are bound to change. The story of the first time Rossi was paired with Reid, Rossi was paired with Rossi-Reid, and the first time Rossi watched his daughter and his son-in-law get paired in the field.

A/N: This is a long one folks! It took me a while to write, but hopefully it was worth the wait! I love this series so much. It truly brings me joy.

CW: fluff. Lots and lots of fluff.

---

The first time Rossi and Reid were paired on a case:

Spencer and Rossi had an interesting relationship as in-laws.

It wasn’t bad, but it wasn’t what Spencer would describe as “ideal.” He honestly blamed it on his own lack of self control. The first time they met, Spencer had question after question lined up for your dad about the history of the BAU, the development of the first profile standards, and his most famous cases. Rossi was happy to answer them on a surface level, but Spencer needed to know more, just as he always did. When he started using page numbers of Rossi’s book, Rossi had looked over at you and given you the universal look for “who is this freak and where did you find him?” Of course, you had rolled your eyes at your father and answered Spencer’s question yourself (you had done your 10th grade psych paper on that case). It was a warning to your dad to back the hell off, but since then Spencer didn’t have the courage to be with Rossi without you there.

“JJ, I’ll need you to talk to the families. Morgan and Prentiss go to the latest crime scene and see what you can find. (Y/N), you’ll come with me to the bank where all the victims worked. Dave and Reid, you go to the station and analyze the papers that the unsub has been leaving at the scenes,” Hotch assigned the tasks.

Spencer looked at you from across the table, but as soon as his gaze met yours, you bit your lip and looked back down at your files. Spencer did the same, desperately hoping it wouldn’t be as awkward as Christmas dinner last year when you’d had to answer an emergency consult call and he had panicked, spewing out endless facts about the history of pasta until you got back.

Spencer let Rossi take the lead once they got to the station- going off and sitting at a quiet table by himself. It wasn’t long before Spencer recognized a pattern, but he needed help deciphering what the pattern meant. He gathered up his papers and walked over to the table your dad was sitting at.

“Um… Agent Rossi.” Spencer approached cautiously.

“Yes?” Rossi didn’t bother looking up from his work.

“Can you look at these?” Spencer put the papers down in front of Rossi. He scanned through them quickly.

Rossi looked up at Spencer and raised his eyebrows. Spencer froze.

“What about it? Aren’t you putting this in the psycholinguistic profile?”

“Y-yes,” Spencer stuttered. “But you can see that the letters contain references to three specific books- One Flew Over The Cuckoo's Nest, Blood Meridian, and American Psycho.”

“And?” Rossi sounded impatient. Then again, Rossi almost always sounded impatient.

“They’re the same books that the scarsdale skinner kept taking out of the library, except for American Psycho. That wasn’t published until 1991 and the scarsdale skinner was caught in 1990. And with every victim he moves from referencing the older books to the newer ones. The only book referenced in the most recent letter is American Psycho.”

Rossi blinked.

“I mean, it could be nothing but-”

“Call Aaron,” Rossi said.

“What?”

“Hotch. Call Hotch,” Rossi clarified.

Spencer quickly pulled out his phone and dialed Hotch’s number.

“Reid, what is it?” Hotch picked up the call. Spencer looked at Rossi- he’d never said what he needed to tell Hotch so desperately. He put his phone on speaker and put it down on the table.

“Aaron,” Rossi started. “The unsub is at work. He isn’t going to be a mid-level worker. He’s higher up on the chain and he’s going to devolve quickly.”

“That narrows it down,” Hotch said. There was a pause.

“Aaron?”

“I’ve gotta go,” he said and hung up the phone.

Turns out the unsub was in the building. You were talking to him when Hotch got the phone call. The guy was suspicious- your dad always said he could feel it when an unsub was in the room, and you seemed to have gotten his supernatural-psychopath-and-sociopath-sensing abilities because you were smart enough to make an excuse not to join the guy in his office. Still, the unsub was so much larger than you and snapped so quickly that he left you with one hell of a bruised hip after shoving you into a desk.

You limped up the stairs towards the jet. Spencer offered you his hand at the top. You sighed and took it. He helped you through the doorway. You let go of him after that.

“(Y/N), are you sure-”

“Spence, I’m fine, really. It’s just a bruise,” you insisted and made your way to your normal seat. It wasn’t strange for you to pretend like everything was fine, even when it wasn’t. After a while, Spencer had learned that it wasn’t worth it to keep asking you if you needed help. Eventually you’d crack and ask for it yourself, but not before all your pain and feelings were harbored inside making you want to explode.

“Stop asking her. Just do it.” A voice came from behind Spencer. It was Rossi.

“What do you mean?” Spencer asked.

“Stop asking her if she needs help and just help her,” Rossi said. “She wants help, but she isn’t going to admit it until it’s too late.”

Spencer nodded. He walked to the back of the jet and put some ice in a bag before going to you. He offered you the bag of ice.

You looked at it and sighed. “Spencer, I told you, I’m-”

“You’re not,” he argued. Your husband sat down next to you, pressing the make-shift ice pack gently to your hip.

You winced at the initial sensation of the chill, but relief was written all over your face when the cold began to numb the area, giving you temporary relief.

“Thank you,” you whispered to him.

“Of course,” he said.

Spencer looked over at your dad, sitting far enough away from the two of you that he couldn’t hear what was going on, but he could clearly see it. He gave Spencer a small smile and a wink before going back to his reading.

Spencer tried and failed to supress the grin on his face.

---

The first time Rossi and Rossi-Reid were paired on a case:

You’d known Hotch long enough to know that he was putting off pairing you with your dad- then again anyone who had heard the story about the Rossi family laser tag game would be. He saw the little ways your dad still treated you like a kid, and he probably always would. You were his daughter. So Hotch put it off until he had no choice.

Actually he put it off until Morgan pretty much forced him to.

They leaned over a tactical plan, looking at a map of the property which included the tunnel that ran nearly a quarter of a mile away from the house. That meant there were three entrances that needed to be covered. “I think we should put You and Reid up front, the Rossis out back, and Emily and I will take a handful of SWAT agents to the tunnel exit.”

“Did you just refer to Dave and (Y/N) collectively as ‘the Rossis’?” Hotch asked.

Morgan shrugged.

Hotch looked back at the plans. Morgan and Emily had the most specialized tactical training other than himself, but he had to stay out front on the main site as unit chief. Spencer’s tactical skills were the poorest out of everyone so it would be risky to send him to the back with you, even though you could handle just about anything. Hotch knew you’d be safest with Dave, who wasn’t quite as fast as he used to be but made up for it with precision.

“Okay,” he said. He called the rest of the team in to go over the plan and get geared up. “If you have to go in the back, Dave take lead and (Y/N) take point.” Hotch was the only one who hadn’t yet fallen into the habit of calling you by your last names- that’s what happened when you knew people for almost two decades.

The team set out on their drive- Hotch and Reid in one vehicle, you and your dad in another, and Morgan and Prentiss in the van with SWAT. You were quiet most of the way there, Morgan running over the plan again and again on speaker phone so none of you would forget it. Just as planned, your dad parked on the side of the road so the two of you could reach the back entrance of the house without being seen.

You exited the car and looked out at the terrain- you’d have to walk through about 75 yards of woods to get to the house. You hated to admit it, but you were rather glad that you hadn’t been paired with Spencer for this- he didn’t do great with hiking, but your dad was a hobby hunter. The woods were no problem for him.

The two of you started through the woods, listening to the chatter of agents through your ear pieces when-

“Oof-” You bumped into your dad from behind. He had stopped abruptly in the middle of the woods. “What? Did I miss something?” You peered around your dad to see the path you were following turned rather muddy.

“Mio Passerotta, let’s go this way,” he said and began to walk around the muddy section.

You made a face. “It’ll take an extra five minutes to go around,” you argued. “It’s not that bad.”

“It’s muddy,” Rossi said. “These are new shoes.”

You rolled your eyes. “Papa,” you said. “You can buy new shoes. You cannot buy Morgan’s forgiveness if we’re late.”

Without waiting for a response you turned around and walked easily through the mud. The sounds behind you told you that your dad had reluctantly followed. Once you were across you stomped some of the mud off your boots. Your dad just trudged along in front of you, a rather grumpy expression on his face.

After the unsubs were in handcuffs the team began looking around the house- with groups like this you always check for evidence to make sure every one of them got put away. You had just finished checking the basement when you found your dad by the tattered welcome mat, using an old cloth to wipe off his shoes. Morgan came up to stand beside you.

“New shoes?” he asked.

“Not very new anymore,” Rossi replied.

Morgan smirked. “I don’t know much about fancy leather, but if my nice tennis shoes got dirty like that I think I’d lose it.”

“Oh really?” Your dad drew out the words, giving you hard eye contact. “Would it be worth being five minutes late to something like a take down?”

Morgan shook his head. “Rossi, unless we're on a serious time crunch take five minutes not to ruin your shoes next time. I’d respect it.” Morgan walked off.

“Oops?” You smiled sideways at your dad, raising your shoulder to your ears to make yourself look as innocent as possible.

Rossi couldn’t help but shake his head a bit and smile back. “You’re lucky these ones are waterproof, signorina.” He hadn’t called you that in years- while most parents used it as a sign of affection for their children, Rossi only ever used it when you were nei problemi.

You laughed. “Next time don’t wear your nice shoes, Papa.” Your dad watched you walk away, continuing to scour the house.

Hotch walked up beside Rossi. “She gets it from you, you know.”

Rossi sighed. “Don’t remind me.”

---

The first time Reid and Rossi-Reid were paired on a case when Rossi was present:

You and Spencer had boundaries. The boundaries could flex every once in a while, but never to the point that it interrupted your work or your marital life. The team knew that well, and so did everyone else you worked with. Most of them hadn’t even known you and Spencer got married until your new nameplate had been made and paperwork started coming in with you listed as “Rossi-Reid” instead of just “Rossi.” It was important to the both of you to maintain a level of professionalism, not just for the team, but for yourselves.

The team was coordinating a stake-out; an unsub was luring women from bars and the geographical profile had narrowed his hunting grounds to a five block radius. The only problem was that there were two bars in the five block radius.

“One of the bars seems to have a slightly younger demographic,” Spencer said as he studied the map on the board. “Their customers average between the legal drinking age and late twenties. The other bar still has a large influx of people in their late twenties but around 40% of their customers are in their early or mid thirties.”

You giggled internally at how innocent Spencer could be… you highly doubted that the youngest kid in the first bar was actually 21, especially considering one of the victims was only 19 and had been seen at that bar before she turned up dead. The oldest victim had been nearly 34.

“We’re going to have to cover both locations,” Hotch said. “Reid and (Y/N) will cover the first bar. Morgan and Prentiss will cover the second one. Dave and I can run communications from one vehicle since the range is small. Remember, this unsub is smart so don’t give him any reason to make him think you’re watching him. Let’s prepare.”

You, Spencer, Emily, and Derek all went to get changed into something more night-life worthy than your business casual attire, leaving Hotch and Rossi alone.

“Why not send (Y/N) with JJ?” Rossi asked. “Two young girls in their twenties are bound to draw the unsub out if he’s there.”

“With all the press conferences, we run the risk of JJ being recognized,” Hotch said. Then he paused. “You’re not worried about (Y/N) and Spencer being alone in the field now Dave, are you?” Hotch couldn’t help but take on a bit of a playful tone and smile ever so slightly.

Rossi sighed, regretting for a second that he had taught Aaron so well. “It’s a bar on a Saturday night with music and dancing and they might get distracted,” Rossi explained.

Hotch shook his head. “She may be your daughter, Dave, but she’s part of my team. So is Reid. They’ve been married for over two years and not once have they ever given me a reason to keep them working apart. They’re professional and they always have been.”

“Aaron,” Rossi’s tone became exaggerated. “It’s a bar. They could get carried away.”

“What?” Hotch smirked. “Like you did that one time at the office party in 1995-”

“Oh-kay,” Rossi cut him off. “Let’s not talk about this anymore.”

Hotch chuckled. “Trust me. You might be the reason we have all the regulations about fraternization with other bureau employees, but (Y/N) is the half of the reason that she and Reid were given an exception.” He patted Rossi on the back and left the room to get ready for the stake-out, leaving the older profiler to worry on his own.

You and Spencer had been sitting at the bar for only an hour when the unsub made an appearance. It was easy enough for you and Spencer to keep the team updates on his whereabouts so when he tried to leave with another victim, he ended up being surrounded instead. Rossi had spent most of his time worrying about you and Spencer losing yourselves in the wonder of the night-life, but the two of you stayed focused on your task the whole time- there was no sneaking off, no kissing, not even hand holding.

“I hope you two are more affectionate with one another on your personal time,” your dad said as he sat down next to you on the jet. There was no one else around to hear your conversation- Hotch and JJ were on the other side of the jet doing paperwork, Prentiss was asleep on the couch, Morgan had his headphones on, and Spencer was sound asleep by your side.

“What do you mean?” You made a face at your dad- confused and a bit concerned.

“You two didn’t touch all night,” Rossi said. “I hope you aren’t like that at home.”

You rolled your eyes. “It’s called keeping your work life and your personal life separate, Papa,” your voice dripped with sarcasm. “Not that you would know what that’s like.”

Then it was Rossi’s turn to scowl. “What do you mean ‘not that you would know what that’s like’? I think I do a very good job keeping my work life and personal life separate.”

You gave him a questioning look. “You know, I remember back in 1995 after an office party when you-”

Rossi held up his hand to stop you. “Let’s not bring that up.”

You grinned and looked back down at your files. “We are though,” you said quietly. “More affectionate at home.”

“Good,” Rossi said. “Don’t make the same mistakes I made.”

“We won’t,” Spencer said drowsily.

All your dad could do in response to that was smile. He got up to join Hotch and JJ, leaving you and Spencer alone.

With his eyes still closed, Spencer leaned his body ever so slightly so that his shoulder was just brushing yours. The simple contact made you relax, the need for sleep finally hitting you. You closed your eyes, telling yourself that soon enough you’d be home, where you and Spencer could be as close as you wanted.

“So,” he whispered. “The office party of 1995 is a true story? I thought you and Hotch were just making that up.”

You smiled sleepily. “Nope,” you whispered back. “No way we could make that up.”

#criminal minds fanfiction #spencer reid fanfiction #criminal minds #david rossi #rossi x daughter!reader #david rossi x daughter!reader #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x y/n #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds x y/n #criminal minds x platonic!reader #criminal minds x daughter!reader #the rossi reid

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headachecat · 5 days ago

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The Hours Found - Chapter II

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An anthology of hours in Lucanis and Rook’s relationship unseen in the game, but very much needed.

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Timing: After 'A Murder of Crows' quest.

———

There were moments when Treviso seemed frozen in time.

On evenings like these, the streets swelled with vendors and passersby alike, their voices intertwining into a constant background hum that hovered beneath the warm glow of lanterns. The canals whispered in their gentle flow, weaving through the stone bridges and wrapping around the city like a comforting shield from the outside world. It was a place that could lull even the most restless souls into stillness.

Lucanis could feel his heart growing full again after so much time away. He had dreamt of this—the simple act of returning, of retracing his steps through Treviso's narrow, cobbled streets. He remembered the scent of incense drawing him past the gondolas near the casino, over rooftops, and down to the heart of the city, where life buzzed unceasingly. In his dreams, he never quite reached his destination, but the memory was enough. It kept him alive for longer than he should have been.

With the blood mage dead and his cousin having paid a deserved price, Spite had grown unexpectedly quiet. Their contract had been fulfilled, and yet they were still bound together, unable to part ways as Lucanis had with his other contractors. The demon’s lingering presence was a lasting tether he couldn’t simply sever. But then again, maybe this was something he had to get used to from now on. Forever.

He spent his time in Treviso wisely, putting affairs in order for the Crows. To tell the truth, Caterina’s grip on the faction was still strong, a fact Lucanis accepted with a quiet gratitude; her strength would steady them for what lay ahead. There were things coming their way that none of them has faced before. The time for change would come later. And he had plenty in mind.

The Lighthouse seemed so far away now, as though it were a distant memory, waiting to be looked back on fondly. But his contract wasn’t finished. Each day, he found himself glancing back toward the Casino rooftop, where they placed the Eluvian. It was as if he expected it to pull him back, or perhaps he was simply longing for the feeling it brought. The slight tingle of magic running through his veins when he passed through it, the ethereal Fade opening before him and consuming him.

Spite’s voice echoed in his mind, grating with impatience the longer they stayed in Antiva, craving something more than the lacklustre tasks that had come to fill his days. The demon wanted action, thrill, some spark beyond the monotony of wandering the town and completing what could, for lack of a better word, only be called chores. The simplicity of it all left him restless, his hands itching for something with a bit more consequence.

‘Are we really here to play errand boy?’

There were no great battles to fight here for now, no powerful figures to contend with as of yet. But in a strange way, he found it refreshing. It was a time to breathe, to consider where he’d been, and perhaps where he was meant to go. The future outside Treviso seemed like impending doom. But for now, here, within the market walls, it was the same old familiar tune.

The Lighthouse companions visited him once, their arrival unannounced but deeply welcome. Harding, reliable as ever, brought in crates of supplies packed with dried meats, bread, and preserved herbs. She had also taken the time to collect the armour prepared by the Crows and the townsfolk of Treviso, a careful balance of the necessities the Shadow Dragons relied upon to endure their hardships. Her companion, Taash, shadowed her movements with a quiet vigilance, as inseparable from the Scout as ever. They had, it seemed, become a ‘packaged deal’ – one rarely seen without the other nowadays. They both knew the journey through the Crossroads held dangers, and Taash made sure Harding was well-protected against them. The closeness between them was palpable, and Lucanis couldn’t help but smile as he observed their exchanges, like a bickering of an old couple.

They carried news of their work in the Arlathan Forest, where every day had been a battle against the Venatori’s advance. Harding’s expression grew grim as she recounted the latest encounters.

‘They brought in these massive machines,’ she said, gesturing with her fork. ‘They remind me of golems I’ve seen in the Deep Roads, but… different. Burning, metal, run by blood magic. Nasty.’ She shook her head, her face twisting with disgust before she returned to her plate, finishing off the last bites of her meat pie with a sense of completion, as if the taste could somehow wash away the unpleasant memory.

Taash let out a low groan, more resigned than frustrated, partially focused on sharpening their axe; the blade balanced on one knee.

‘And fucking difficult to kill, too,’ they muttered, the rhythm of the whetstone pausing as they considered the recent fight. ‘Rook took a nasty hit yesterday.’ They froze, recalling the brutal impact. ‘If it hadn’t been for Neve…’ A glint of admiration flickered across their face. ‘She froze that pile of junk solid. If she hadn’t? Who knows what it would’ve turned into.’

Lucanis shifted at that mention, leaning closer to the table with a sudden intensity. Spite awoke in his mind, an annoying presence, slipping into place on the left side of the table. The demon’s gaze sharpened as he watched his host. His brows knit together, and his head tilted in a way that hinted at curiosity, inquiry, and something else Lucanis couldn’t quite put together.

'Mierda,' the Crow cursed. 'Is Rook safe?'

Taash shrugged nonchalantly, still focused on the edge of their axe.

‘Dunno. Haven’t seen her since Emmrich took over the healing. Let’s hope he won’t turn her into a zombie,’ they added with a slight smirk, their eyes never leaving the blade.

Lucanis’ gaze drifted to Harding, whose lips were twitching as she tried to suppress a chuckle. She rolled her eyes at Taash’s remark, but the soft laugh didn’t escape her entirely. Without missing a beat, she placed a hand on Taash’s arm, her tone turning firm but affectionate.

‘Taash!' she blurted out, her voice breaking the tension like a sudden breeze through still air. She then glanced at Lucanis, offering him a reassuring smile. ‘Rook’s just fine. A broken rib and a few bruises, but it’s nothing we can’t fix. She’ll be back on her feet in no time.’

Lucanis nodded in gratitude, though his thoughts were distant. He looked down at his cup and began to spin it in his hands, fingers tracing the rim in a way that suggested the motion was more anxious than idle. Harding watched him for a moment, noting the slight tension in his posture, the subtle tightness in his jaw. She let out a quiet breath and gave a gentle nudge toward Taash.

‘I believe we must go. Walk us back?’ Harding got to her feet. Lucanis nodded in agreement, standing up as well. He gave a quick glance toward the demon still seated at the table, his presence like an dead weight in the room. He was careful not to address Spite unless it was absolutely necessary, but there was no ignoring the way the demon seemed to be waiting for something—its gaze fixed on him with a certain knowing glint.

‘You care about the elf,’ Spite hissed, his voice low and dripping with malice. It gestured toward Taash’s axe with a lazy motion of its head, as though the weapon itself could speak for the bond between them. ‘Enough to come back to the Fade now?’

He cast a hook, waiting for Lucanis to bite.

They made their way down the busy streets, through the Treviso market. Taash looked around with a careful amusement, stalling by the weapon merchant’s tables to catch a glimpse of the more expensive gear. Harding kept her usual soft smile, encouraging her partner to explore the goods they came across. The steel gleamed under the lanterns, as they traced fingers over the hilt of a finely crafted sword, eyes narrowed in appreciation. Lucanis kept behind the pair, observing them in peaceful wonder, his footsteps light, as though he was trying not to disturb them.

Harding’s voice was gentle, filled with quiet encouragement, and it drew Taash further into the merchant’s quarter. Every now and then, Scout’s hand drifted toward the Qunari without a thought, the mere proximity of their touch enough to convey something unspoken. Even when she didn’t make contact, the closeness between them felt constant, natural, as though they were tethered by an invisible thread. The Crow couldn’t help but watch, feeling like he was intruding, like he wasn’t meant to notice the fine details of their connection—the way Harding’s hand lingered near Taash’s, the subtle affection that passed between them unspoken, yet certainly recognised. It felt oddly inviting. There was something easy about the way they moved together, like the world outside them had faded, leaving just the two of them in their own unspoken rhythm. To witness their emotions, how there was no question about what would come next between them. Like a welcomed anticipation of a kiss.

‘Can’t believe they still have it!’ Harding exclaimed with excitement, her voice cutting through the noise of the market as she disappeared behind a stall toward a blacksmith Lucanis was far too familiar with. The sound of her voice snapped him back to reality, and he followed her, nodding in a greeting to the craftsman, who was wiping his hands on a rag.

‘Dellamorte,’ the blacksmith said with a grunt, his weathered face lighting up slightly at the sight of the pair. Harding, already scanning the wares with gleeful intent, pointed behind the seller to a glass display case.

‘The one to the right,’ she said, turning to look at Taash, her eyes bright with excitement. ‘Slim one with the greenstone handle? Rook showed it to me weeks ago.’

Lucanis stepped forward, his curiosity piqued. The blade was displayed under the scarce light, its dark green handle gleaming faintly with shimmering stone dust. Nevarran, he thought as he observed it. The blade itself was narrow, razor-sharp, and veins of shimmering blue light crawled up the steel like tendrils of magic. His fingers itched to hold it, but he remained still, observing the craftsmanship.

Spite, who had quietly moved to stand next to them, pressed his face through the glass to get a better look. His eyes widened as he took in the intricate design.

‘Lyrium,’ he said with a knowing nod, his voice low and almost reverent.

Lucanis raised an eyebrow, turning toward the blacksmith, intrigued but skeptical.

‘You carry a Nevarran lyrium-infused blade?’ he asked, his tone careful as he watched the merchant open the box and lay the blade out in front of them, the blue veins of light still faintly glowing.

‘You ever heard of a spell blade?’ the blacksmith’s voice was low, almost conspiratorial, as he tapped the steel gently with his finger, sending a soft ring through the air.

Lucanis tilted his head, his interest growing. It was a concept he’d heard rumours of, but it had never been quite so clearly explained. Before he could respond, Harding, always eager to share her knowledge, jumped in.

‘It’s like a staff, for mages,’ she said, her voice enthusiastic. ‘But with a blade, for close, magic channeling combat! Much more useful than standing vulnerable on the sidelines, if you ask me!’

She gave Lucanis a quick, but knowing Look, and he couldn’t help but chuckle under his breath. He studied the shimmering lyrium veins, wondering how it would feel to wield such a weapon in battle.

‘Your little elf friend seemed particularly interested last time I’ve seen her,’ the merchant picked up the dagger, showing it off from both sides, before placing it back in the display case. Taash murmured under their breath in approval.

‘Good eye, Rook.’

The pair turned back, thanking the blacksmith quietly for his time, and made their way towards the casino. Harding’s voice, light with satisfaction, drifted back to him as she and Taash continued ahead, but Lucanis was still preoccupied with the blade. He took a few steps behind them, lost in thought, before Spite suddenly blocked his path.

Lucanis sighed. He wasn’t in the mood for this, but Spite was persistent. He pushed through the demon’s ethereal form as though it were nothing more than mist, but to his frustration, the wraith simply reappeared in front of him again.

‘That blade,’ Spite hissed, his voice close enough to make Lucanis flinch. It was so sharp, so venomous, that for a moment, he almost expected the demon to physically spit in his face. ‘Maybe if Rook had it, she wouldn’t have gotten hurt.’

Lucanis stopped dead in his tracks. The words hit harder than he expected, and he furrowed his brow as his gaze turned dark. The reminder stung.

‘Why do you care?’ he asked, his tone cool, though beneath it, a hint of hesitation peaked through. Spite hovered, his form flickering like a mirage in the heat. His eyes gleamed, an amusement dancing behind them.

‘These are your thoughts. Your mind. I am just reading it,’ Spite replied, the words dripping with mockery.

Lucanis clenched his jaw, his patience wearing thin.

‘What do you get out of it?’

The demon smirked, and circled around him, enjoying the way the tension built.

‘I’m out of this boring, chore-ridden city and get some action again,’ he replied, his voice full of twisted glee.

Lucanis couldn’t suppress a bitter laugh.

‘Just here for the chaos, as usual.’

His eyes narrowed, but the demon's words lingered in his mind like an itch he couldn’t scratch. He couldn’t shake the image of Rook, her figure standing strong on the battlefield, her movements swift and calculated, each motion lit by the sparks of green energy beaming from her hands. The power of her magic, wrapping around her staff with such precision and force. She had always amazed him. It was as if every strike, every wave of her fingers, was an extension of her will, a force of nature unleashed in an elegant, unstoppable flow. She moved with such purpose, a beautiful, violent rhythm that seemed to draw the battlefield itself into its tempo. It resembled a dance—graceful yet fierce, controlled yet wild.

An intoxicating thought flickered through his mind then.

I want to dance with her.

The idea settled into him before he could fully grasp it, the impulse almost as vivid as the image of her there, spinning through the chaos of battle. A dance of their own making—a partnership forged in battle, where every step and every turn was made together, in perfect understanding and expectation. A connection that was more than just combat, more than strategy. As simple as what he’s seen today at the market between his friends. As natural as breathing.

But then, that image twisted. Rook's focus wavered, and the protective barrier around her faltered—just for a moment. He saw the pain in her face, the bruise forming around her bloodied eye, the blue of her iris disappearing behind the damaged nerves. The blight spreading across her skin like a disease, eating away at her strength.

Lucanis closed his eyes for a moment, forcing himself to shake off the haunting image. He should have been there. He should have been the one by her side, fighting with her, watching her back as she always had for him. There’s nothing more important now than defeating the Elven gods, than fighting alongside Rook. Than fighting for her.

He reminded himself of that, the weight of the connection grounding him as he stood under the familiar, old stars. He started to miss the Fade spirits' strikes above his head. The fog of doubt was clearing, and the path ahead was becoming clearer.

He allowed himself to be embraced by the familiarity of Treviso for too long, its routine and distractions pulling him away from what mattered. The usual Crow business, the endless schemes and whispers, had clouded his judgment. The responsibility he'd taken on – whether it was the weight of being the First Talon or a punisher to his oppressors – had blurred his focus. But not anymore.

He returned to the merchant, throwing a sack of gold onto the table with a soft thud. The coins inside clinked together.

‘I trust this will cover it?’ he said.

The blacksmith, eyes the sack with interest, his hands already reaching for the Nevarran blade.

‘It’s always a pleasure, Dellamorte,’

Lucanis nodded in agreement, accepting the weapon with a silent gratitude. The blade felt strangely familiar in his grip as he hid it in the lining of his jacket. As the lyrium on the blade brushed his fingertips, a tingling sensation ran up his arm. It was a powerful weapon indeed.

Turning towards the Casino, Lucanis spotted Harding peeking around the corner, her face lighting up when their eyes met. She observed him with that same curiosity she always had, her lips curling into a soft, kind smile that made him feel like everything was just a little bit lighter.

She reached out, urging him forward with a quick wave of her hand. Lucanis waved back in acknowledgment and half-jogged towards her.

‘Harding! I just had a thought!’ he called out, his voice laced with a certain eagerness he couldn’t quite suppress.

She waved him off with a soft laugh.

‘I already asked the Crows to pack your bag when we arrived,’ she teased, ’Now, supplies won’t carry themselves!’

Lucanis grinned, the weight in his chest easing just a little bit as he reached her side. In fact, the smile stayed with him through the entire walk back to the Fade. A strange feeling appearing within him, as if he was coming home.

To this strange place in-between the planes, full of spirits and things he will never truly understand.

To Rook.

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brokehorrorfan · 8 months ago

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Bound in Blood will be published in hardcover and e-book on September 10 via Titan Books. The 357-page anthology of cursed stories is edited by Johnny Mains.

It features stories by Adam Cesare, Eric LaRocca, Zin Rocklyn, Nadia Bulkin, Isy Suttie, Charlie Higson, Angeline Morrison, A.G. Slatter, Priya Sharma, A.K. Benedict, Guy Adams, Lucie McKnight Hardy, Ramsey Campbell, Alison Moore, Laura Mauro, Reggie Oliver, Anna Taborska, and Kim Newman.

A terrifying and chilling anthology of over 20 original stories by award-winning writers exploring cursed and haunted books; featuring malevolent second-hand books, cursed novelizations, unsettling journals and the end of the world. You find it hidden in the dark corner of the bookstore; tucked away in a box in the attic, desperate to be read; lurking on your bookshelf, never seen before. Crack the spine, feel the ancient pages. Read it aloud, if you dare. This anthology brings together horror’s best and brightest to delve into the pages of cursed books, Eldtritch tomes and haunted bookstores.

Pre-order Bound in Blood.

#adam cesare #kim newman #eric larocca #priya sharma #charlie higson #ramsey campbell #horror #horror books #horror anthology #titan books #book #gift #johnny mains #isy suttie

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aleisters · 3 days ago

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Do you have links to any of your publications? I've read some of your fanfic and it was really good so I'd love to look at your other work

thanks anon! all my work is queer horror to varying degrees. i haven’t published anything this year because i had a mental breakdown towards the end of last year (you know, it happens).

i have a self-published story on itch.io: https://cadavertrial.itch.io/tohauntandtohold

and these are my published stories. SCAB magazine is free:

“Looking For The Big Death” in Bound In Flesh: An Anthology of Trans Body Horror (Ghoulish Books) (April 2023)

“A Void, Suspended With That Which Cannot Be Stars” in Salt, Sand, Blood (Sliced Up Press) (July 2023)

“pond scum” in SCAB Issue 13 (SCAB Magazine) (September 2023)

“The Face Of The Waters” in The Book of Queer Saints Volume II (October 2023)

#ask box #anonymous

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wiltking · 11 months ago

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attempting to rank all my 2023 reads, because i dont really give ratings anymore, but still want to try to make sense of everything i read this year. there were a lot of great books, and this was really hard! this order doesn't speak to the objective quality of the books, but rather my personal enjoyment of them.

(5 stars) 1. Ariah by B.R. Sanders 2. A Book of Tongues by Gemma Files (reread) 3. Leech by Hiron Ennes 4. Point of Dreams by Melissa Scott 5. Point of Hopes by Melissa Scott 6. Ocean's Blood by Thelma Mantey (~4 stars) 7. Point of Sighs by Melissa Scott 8. The Stone Prince by Fiona Patton 9. The First Stone by Mark Anthony 10. Kissing Carrion by Gemma Files 11. Point of Knives by Melissa Scott 12. Fair's Point by Melissa Scott 13. Silent Reading by Priest 14. The Door into Shadow by Diane Duane 15. Aleksey's Kingdom by John Wiltshire 16. Obsidian Island by Arden Powell 17. Bound in Flesh: An Anthology of Trans Body Horror edited by Lor Gislason 18. Spring in Siberia by Artem Mozgovoy (~3 stars) 19. The Freeze-Frame Revolution by Peter Watts 20. Revenant Gun by Yoon Ha Lee 21. The Master of Samar by Melissa Scott 22. Master of One by Dani Bennett and Jaida Jones 23. The Painter Knight by Fiona Patton 24. Chasing Cold by Stephen Graham King 25. Resistance by B.R. Sanders (~2 stars) 26. A Million Quiet Revolutions by Robin Gow 27. The Trans Space Octopus Congregation by Bogi Takács 28. Luck in the Shadows by Lynn Flewelling 29. Dreamer by Steven Harper 30. The Stark Divide by J. Scott Coatsworth 31. Steal the Sky by Megan E. O'Keefe 32. Fiorenzo by Sebastian Nothwell

DNFs: Seven Blades in Black by Sam Sykes The Darkness Outside Us by Eliot Schrefer

#coughs up blood #this was violent #book thoughts

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bakuliwrites · 7 months ago

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Mirror, Story Three: Adrenaline

Disclaimer: Post-Game Spoilers!!!!!!

Previous Story, Next Story

Rating: 18+ (MINORS DNI)

Fandom: Baldur's Gate 3

Relationship: Astarion x Tav (OC)

Chapter Summary: Orlando and Astarion decide to break in their new bed, which brings up some complicated memories for them both.

An anthology of short, post-game stories featuring Astarion and my Tav, Orlando.

Chapter Tags: BG3 SPOILERS, ACT 3 SPOILERS, Smut, fluff, angst, cock-warming, vaginal sex, blood drinking (Astarion feeding), discussions of past trauma, discussions of intimacy/intimacy issues, cuddling, telepathic connections, memory sharing

Read here in this post or over on my AO3.

Her adrenaline courses through him, fizzling in his veins, lightning sparking every nerve ending in Astarion’s body. She is inside him, her blood threading into the very makeup of him, weaving into his sinew and lacing his marrow with everything she is made of. Scales, teeth, and talons make their bittersweet marks on his pale skin. Mother-of-pearl, brine, and the stars encompass his vision. Safety, love, and devotion bury themselves in his unbeating heart.

Astarion’s teeth, sunk into Orlando’s neck, draw her warmth into his mouth, flooding his tongue with iron and ecstasy. Meanwhile, he is sheathed within her, cock kept warm by her cunt. Orlando inhales sharply before releasing a breathy, satisfied sigh. They are bound together, sticky sweat sealing skin to skin, fangs latching to flesh, her heat enveloping him.

Orlando’s hips roll against Astarion’s one more time before she rests, allowing him to settle inside her while he has his fill of her blood. Too much movement and he’ll undoubtedly rip the Tiefling’s neck open, and that is the last thing he wants. Orlando’s nails drag softly through his snowy curls as she lays feathery kiss after feathery kiss to Astarion’s cheekbones. He listens to her slow, even breaths, the gentle pump of her heart, a pulse now beating inside him. Astarion can taste Orlando’s exhilaration, sparkling like champagne on his tongue. It’s the same elation, the same anticipation he tasted the very first time he drank from her, in what feels like ages ago now. It’s the same elation that flutters in his core every time he’s close to his beloved. There is a feeling of home in Orlando’s blood, of safety in the crook of her neck.

Sometimes, when he drinks from Orlando, Astarion’s mind wanders back to when they first met. His first taste of the blood of a thinking creature: drawn to Orlando’s scent like a moth to flame, Astarion had crept through the camp hoping the Tiefling might let him taste of her. Just once. She had seemed the easiest to drink from because she was the most amenable of the group. The friendliest. He had been correct in his assumption, finding himself lucky that she didn’t drive a stake through his heart. Orlando even went so far as to offer up her blood on a nightly basis.

Astarion’s thoughts then turn to the first time he and Orlando snuck off together and how much of a disaster that had been. Perhaps part of him felt like he owed her for giving up such a vital part of herself every night. That, and he had desperately been searching for safety with no real understanding of how to gain it. Regret slinks into his heart and he finds himself distracted by the memories of every time he felt like he had to trick Orlando into being close to him. Into keeping him safe.

Leave whatever distresses you in the past, dear heart, Orlando’s gentle voice whispers in Astarion’s mind. She senses his upset, though she would never read his mind without his permission. Astarion releases her neck for a moment, letting Orlando draw him back to the present with her lips, soft lips that taste of promise and home.

Astarion settles his thoughts, losing himself once again in the metal on his tongue and the warmth of being buried inside his beloved. His elegant fingers ghost down Orlando’s abdomen, leaving goosebumps in their wake as he trails down to her heat. Her moans, stifled and breathy, flood his mind with a covetous desire that starts to overpower his sanguine hunger. His thumb circles the sensitive bud of her clit, two fingers dipping into her slick entrance and pumping rhythmic and slow. Arousal, heavy and perfumed in Orlando’s blood, blooms on Astarion’s tongue. Gently, her hips grind back into him, the movement against his sensitive cock making him gasp into her.

Carefully, Astarion releases Orlando’s neck, hunger satiated for the moment. But his ache for her, for her taste, is not yet satisfied. Gently, his tongue grazes the two little wounds he’s left behind on the Tiefling’s neck before slowly rocking his hips in tandem with hers. He luxuriates in the soft moans, the teeny keens that escape Orlando’s lips when he presses into her. The bed beneath them creaks ever so slightly but holds together well when Astarion picks up his pace.

“I suppose your construction skills have improved,” he somewhat breathlessly manages, the corners of his lips curling up into a smirk. Orlando merely gives a strained chuckle, though her rosy face brightens, and she flashes a smile that rivals the light of the sun. Sun be damned, Astarion thinks. He has all the brightness he needs right here, in his arms.

Astarion’s legs begin to quiver as Orlando wraps hers tighter around his hips, pulling him into her as if trying to merge their bodies into one. He is close, so very close, his core tight and aching. When he looks down, Orlando has her eyes squeezed shut, face flushed and skin hot to the touch. She must sense him staring, for the Tiefling cracks an eye open and smiles softly.

“Tell me what you need, love,” she whispers, reaching a hand up to caress Astarion’s cheek.

“Just this,” he returns, leaning down to capture her lips. Orlando smashes her lips against his, swallowing his hungry groans as he releases. Her walls pulse around him, drawing from him everything he has, everything she needs.

“Astarion,” she breathes as she comes undone beneath him, his name an incantation. And hers an invocation on his lips as he fills her. As they settle, weary and joyously foggy-brained, Astarion sears kiss after kiss to Orlando’s lips.

“I love you, my darling star,” she whispers to him.

“And I, you,” he returns, folding into her embrace, holding one another tight and near. Close is not close enough, but for now, it will have to do. Outside, night envelopes their little cottage, cradling it safe in shadow and starlight. With the distant sounds of the city competing with the rush of the nearby ocean, Astarion could believe that their new home exists in a world all its own. It still feels so terribly strange to call this cottage their home. His home. His first real home in gods-know how long.

Astarion mulls over this evening of firsts. First days spent in this cottage. First time breaking in their new bed. The first bed they’ve ever owned together. And the first whispers of promise, of tomorrow, of the future.

With Orlando’s velvet lips feathering gentle kisses along his neck, Astarion’s mind wanders back to that fateful night they snuck away together. It still lingers in his thoughts, an anxious, somewhat mortifying memory.

Orlando’s rejection of him that night had stung. Astarion was rarely rejected. It had happened a couple times when he’d been on the hunt for his master. Nothing his ego couldn’t recover from. However, any rejection he received would send fear shooting through his veins. Rejection meant punishment. Crawling back to Cazador empty handed meant days spent in isolation. Or worse… Astarion would then have to scramble to find someone a little less discerning (and usually a fair bit more inebriated). Orlando’s rejection felt different, though. More personal, at first; until he learned why she had rejected him.

Orlando, in the present, senses Astarion’s thoughts turn to darkness again. She pauses her ministrations, pulling back to meet his distant gaze.

“Dear love,” she whispers, smoothing her thumb along the angle of his cheekbone, hazel irises suffused with affection, “What brings distress to your heart?”

Astarion gazes up at her, small strands of dark hair plastered to her forehead and eyes glimmering in the warm glow of the fire in the hearth. He smooths back her hair, hand lingering for a moment on her cheek. Orlando looks at him the same way she’s always looked at him: without an ounce of hostility. With no expectation or silent deception. Only with deep adoration, curiosity, and endless patience.

“Do you remember our first time together?” Astarion utters, cupping Orlando’s face.

“Yes,” she whispers, pressing a gentle kiss into his palm, eyelids fluttering shut for a moment, “It’s kind of hard to forget.”

Astarion chuckles, recalling the first time they actually slept together, after a night spent drinking cheap wine and reveling with the Tiefling refugees. That had been a heady, passionate, and altogether lovely night, but that’s not what he had been referring to.

“No, our first-first time together. In the clearing before we reached the goblins. Not after the Tiefling party,” Astarion clarifies. Orlando smiles knowingly at him.

“That’s what I meant,” she returns, a sheepish blush dusting her cheeks, “What about it?”

Astarion opens his mind to her, feeling her gentle presence glide into his thoughts. He shows Orlando as he remembers her: shivering in the middle of that clearing, body bathed in silver moonlight. An unknown threat. Someone he thought might betray him at her first opportunity. How wrong he had been.

***

Astarion had been skulking in the shadows, rehearsing how he would utterly beguile and woo this stranger. This Tiefling who had sprung from waves and brine.

He had emerged from the darkness, smirking devilishly, a charming simulacrum of the man he thought Orlando would want. He could smell her adrenaline, the thrill of excitement coursing through her veins. He was starving. One taste of her blood was all he had needed to crave it like the drug it was. Not just her blood, but the blood of beings higher up on the food chain than rats and bears and things of that ilk.

Her smile had been tender, a softness reaching her eyes that Astarion had been convinced was a ruse, not realizing how genuine it truly was. But there had also been something akin to fear in her gaze when he finally closed the distance between them. Something that hadn’t been there when he’d sunk his teeth into her neck, just days before. To comfort her, he had whispered honeyed promises, things he knew people liked to hear before they made love. Although, he wouldn’t have called what they had been about to do “making love.” It would have been sex for the sake of lust, for the sake of fulfilling a basic need. Fucking because they could have died any day then, and who could have known when that day might’ve come?

Orlando had kissed him, hard and deep, her breath becoming his, and his, hers. In the starlight, she had looked at him with curious eyes, with wonderment. She was always searching, learning, and trying to read people. It had infuriated him at the time, knowing that she was trying to figure him out. As if he were some sort of puzzle or curious artifact. His irritation was broken mere seconds later.

“Is your neck an okay place for me to touch?” he remembers her questioning after a silent moment. Astarion had been taken aback, not sure he’d ever been asked that before. Orlando’s recognition of the sensitivity that area might hold for a victim of the bite took him by surprise. Granted, she had also been one of the few of his bedmates coming in already knowing of his affliction. Still, Astarion had found himself lost for words for once.

“Y-yes,” he had managed to sputter after what felt like an eternity. Orlando had merely nodded at him, beaming softly, before laying tender kiss after tender kiss up his neck, taking special care when she reached the two little pinpoint scars on his right side. Astarion had found himself enjoying her tenderness. Something inside him threatened to shatter, but he had kept himself composed on the surface. Inside, he had been reeling.

That had been the first time that night Astarion started to question what he was doing. He had only planned to seduce the Tiefling as nothing more than a guarantee of his safety. She would fall for him, he wouldn’t fall for her, but he would solidify a place of trust in Orlando’s life. But a number of things would go awry that night and soon his plan would be cast to the wayside.

Things had gone well for a little while after that. Orlando eased into the moment, the opportunity. She had even playfully offered her neck, knowing Astarion must have needed to feed. But as the night drew on, Astarion started to feel her slipping away from him, her spirit hanging somewhere in the ether around them, no longer inhabiting the limbs that had been entangled with his.

Orlando’s heart had been hammering against his chest, hands trembling and breath catching in her throat. Her skin had been cold, goosebumps prickling along her arms, and Astarion could do nothing to warm her, having no body heat of his own. Her reaction had been familiar, familiar because it was the same way he felt with most of his bedmates. At the time, he had felt something in him recoil, this kindred sensation stirring up a quagmire of guilt in his heart. When Astarion pulled back from her neck, Orlando had tears in her eyes. Reflected in her shimmering gaze, he saw his own spirit, broken and weary, just as hers was.

“I’m sorry,” she had whispered, tears streaking down her cheeks. When he reached to wipe them away, he found himself hesitating, as if in fear of scalding himself with starlight.

“I’m not ready for this,” she had sobbed, burying her face in her hands.

“I-“ he tried, but found his words gumming up his throat. All he could do was stare as Orlando wept, tremors of sorrow descending through her body, reverberating through Astarion’s.

Ashamed, the vampire spawn had cast his gaze to the ground, kneeling before the Tiefling at enough of a distance to hopefully make her feel secure, but not alone.

“Here,” he had offered a handkerchief to her, helping her come to a seated position. Orlando dabbed at her eyes with the kerchief, wiped her nose, and took a deep breath. Her face had been puffy from crying and her eyes bloodshot.

“I’ve ruined your evening,” she had whimpered, dark brows furrowed. Astarion frowned, a surge of something protective fueling his annoyance at this apology.

“Don’t apologize,” he had spit, not wanting her to see the recognition, the familiarity he had with how she was feeling. He couldn’t have begun to guess as to why she had reacted in such a way. Later, he would find out about Orlando’s lack of experience. The pressure Orlando had to “remain pure” for some hideous, eldritch ritual that would bind her to the Fathomless that helped create her. How she was constantly pushed to the limit to achieve some twisted prophecy. How her body was going to be used as a conduit, a puppet for a being that didn’t care what she wanted or how she felt. How the guilt and shame of living a life for herself grew and grew over the years.

“I wasn’t allowed pleasure until I found success,” she had said to him several days later, when the awkwardness began to dissipate and they found a private moment to chat, “My body was never meant to be my own. It was always a tool for catapulting my family into the favor of a being that would dispose of us as soon as is no longer had use of us.”

As she had explained this to Astarion, her eyes seemed to gaze into a past that was swiftly catching up with her.

“I was a dowry, a sacrifice made to appease the Abyss,” she went on, “The Abyss was to be my only embrace. Well, I ruined that with Gortash.” She chuckles ruefully at this, “Felt a bit like stealing a piece of myself back. Enver was always really good at making me feel- like me. Like I belonged to me, and not anyone else. Still doesn’t make intimacy any easier, though.”

She had squeezed Astarion’s hand gently, a tiny grin tugging at the corners of her lips, “If you’re still interested, maybe we can try again.”

And when they finally did, it was glorious. Orlando’s brightness was unmatched, with the exception of Astarion’s in that moment. With her, he experienced a tenderness, a softness so deeply unfamiliar to him over these last two centuries. Every subsequent time they slept together, he expected the rug to be pulled from underneath him. For the other shoe to drop and for Orlando to suddenly flip on him, a secret violence unleashing itself on Astarion. But it never did, and this almost terrified him even more. Instead, Orlando was sweet, she was kind, she was patient. She understood him, and he, her. After that, the rest was history.

***

In the present, Orlando closes her eyes, lips still pressed to Astarion’s open hand. Tears flood the lines in his palm, but still, Orlando smiles.

“You are more than deserving of gentility, of softness, my love,” she whispers to him, hazel irises suffusing with affection, “Always and forever.”

It’s taken a long time for Astarion to accept this, to really believe that he is deserving of what Orlando, Karlach, Wyll, and all their friends say he is deserving of. Slowly, but surely, he is realizing that he is allowed to want, to need, to be gentle with himself. Others are allowed to be gentle with him.

“I never meant to hurt you that night,” Astarion admits, drawing Orlando down to pepper kisses against the corners of her lips, “I was a selfish fool.” He chuckles sardonically, glancing away as he is once again filled with guilt.

“Don’t take all the credit,” Orlando scoffs with a slight raise of a dark brow, “I made my own choices that night. Had my own motivations.”

She pauses, gaze searching.

“Here,” she murmurs, intertwining their fingers, “Let me show you. It might be easier.”

Now, it’s Astarion’s turn to see this same night from her eyes. He lets Orlando guide his mind, slipping into her head, nestling in the folds of her brain. Slowly, a scene unfolds before Astarion’s eyes and it’s as if he has been transported back to the early days of their adventuring. The visions Orlando gives him are so much more visceral than any he is able to show her. They feel less like memories and more like Astarion is actually inhabiting Orlando’s body for a moment. He braces himself for the overwhelming flood.

***

Orlando’s vision starts a little before meeting Astarion in the clearing. The Tiefling navigates through tangles of bramble and thick curtains of willow branches. There is an electric thrill in her veins, one Astarion has tasted countless times before. There is also an innocent excitement fluttering in her heart. Their flirtations over these last several weeks have finally culminated into something, and not just a passing fancy. Witticisms slung back and forth, teasing comments, and playful snark have not just been for, well- naught. There is an attraction there, on both sides, and it is not just some illusion or wistful hope on Orlando’s part. Her delight at this realization fills this vision with a rosy glee.

And then that joy is lost. Snuffed out by a slinking anxiety that slithers through Orlando’s thoughts. Astarion is everything she thinks he is: handsome, suave, mysterious, witty, biting (in every sense of the word), and-

A stranger, a halting fear whispers. Orlando’s heart skips a beat, and she pauses in the shade of a towering tree. Her hand reaches out towards the trunk, bark rough under her fingertips as she steadies herself.

Astarion is a stranger. A beautiful, interesting stranger. A growing confusion trickles into the Tiefling’s heart. Orlando would be lying to herself if she said she hadn’t been attracted to the Elf from the moment she set eyes on him. But she would also be lying to herself if she didn’t admit she was unsettled by Astarion, by his unknown motivations. What were his intentions for her? Will he sleep with her and then cast her to the wayside afterwards? Does he want something from her? Is this a tactic? Astarion strikes her as someone who is quite calculating about the relationships he forms. If there is something he can get from someone, then he is likely to cozy up to them.

Much like someone else you know, a thought interjects. Orlando sighs, the reminder of Enver sparking a little pinpoint of pain behind her eye. Not that Enver ever did anything like that to her, but she’s watched him throughout the years build relationships with others purely to gain and never for anything beyond that. If that is what Astarion is doing to her, well-

Orlando pushes the thought away, turning her attention back to the vampire spawn waiting for her. She’s going to be late if she dilly-dallies any further; but she can’t shake the feeling that perhaps she is being used somehow. Maybe this is a bad idea. Maybe she should just turn around and go back to her tent and forget she ever entertained the idea of meeting a vampire spawn in an isolated clearing well past midnight. She really doesn’t know Astarion very well and this seems like a good way to end up dead.

But you could die any day now, anyway, Orlando reminds herself as she is about to turn around and head back, This thing in your brain could consume you entirely. And then you would die alone. Lonely and isolated. Pure, just like they want.

Contempt rises in Orlando, hatred burning with an incandescent radiance in her chest. It seems to fill her lungs with smoke, and for a moment, she is lost in the anger. But Orlando recenters herself, snuffs out her fury towards her real father, towards the devil that called himself her father, and towards her stolen youth with a deep breath. The past is long gone now. Astarion is waiting for her. Some other future that she can make her own is waiting for her. There is an odd sort of freedom that comes with the insertion of the tadpole: a realization that Orlando is free of the ties that bound her to the iron-handed patriarchs of her childhood and to the Fathomless that has claimed her from the moment she was conceived. She can do what she wants for the remainder of the time she has left, until she becomes an Illithid. And why waste it worrying about tyrants that have no hold over her anymore? Why not spend it in the embrace of a handsome, curious Elf with hair like starlight and eyes the color of polished garnets?

A swell of confidence, a new resolve surges through Orlando. By the gods, she’s going to enjoy her night with Astarion. His intentions be damned. Her own fear be damned. Who knows how much longer they have left? Might as well make the most of it. With a boldness Orlando didn’t even realize she was capable of, she traipses through the brush and finds herself standing in the middle of a clearing lit by blue moonlight.

Orlando’s eyes are drawn to the opposite side of the clearing, at a figure cloaked in darkness. There is something slightly ominous about Astarion revealing himself to her, skulking in the shadows, emerging from the foliage. Orlando’s tremors of excitement, of hesitation, shiver through her body and make her limbs feel cold. He is an unknown threat to her, someone who could betray her at the drop of a hat. But she is also terribly curious about Astarion, watching with fascination as starlight casts strange shadows in his crimson gaze.

The vampire spawn advances, he whispers his saccharine promises to her, and Orlando knows they are false. Orlando knows in her heart-of-hearts that the Elf is merely saying everything he thinks she wants to hear. And still, she finds herself drawn to him, desperate for his touch, desperate to feel like she is alive. Like she is not a ticking time bomb for some dark, eldritch power. Like she is not on death’s door, transformation into an Illithid imminent. Orlando pours her will to live, powerful and bright, into every searing kiss, every gentle caress that night.

Even if Astarion is using her, she is going to enjoy this time and make sure he enjoys it, too. With her clothes scattered on the forest floor, Orlando lets Astarion lift her into his arms. She wraps her legs around his waist and curls her tail around his leg. His lips taste of iron and he smells of bergamot and brandy. There is a faint scent of undeath lingering underneath, but it is hardly noticeable. With her back pressed against the trunk of a tree and her fingers tangled in Astarion’s snowy curls, Orlando allows herself to get lost in the vampire spawn.

When she pulls back for air, her gaze darts down to the two little scars on his neck. They look ravaged, the edges feathered and rough. Cazador was not gentle with him, there was no ceremony to Astarion’s turning. Orlando feels her heart sink at the thought. She has avoided touching his neck up until this point and wonders if this is an off-limits zone for him.

“Is your neck an okay place for me to touch?” she inquires, meeting Astarion’s gaze. She registers the shock in his eyes, though his face remains as cool as ever.

“Y-yes,” he almost sputters and Orlando realizes she has hit a nerve. She wonders if anyone has ever asked him that. If consent has ever been something Astarion has been asked about. Soon, Orlando will learn why she senses a kindred spirit in Astarion (though their reasons are vastly different), but for now, she only has a growing sense that they are each just as unfamiliar with intimacy as the other.

Orlando lays gentle kisses against Astarion’s neck, taking special care over his scars. His tiny huffs of approval and satisfied groans indicate to Orlando that he is enjoying her motions. There is a brief moment where Orlando feels the veil lift, where it feels like she and Astarion are raw and exposed to one another, and not just two strangers having a tryst out of fear they’ll both be dead in a few days. Astarion’s elegant fingers drag softly down the ridges and scales along Orlando’s spine, and he lets out a sigh that sounds very close to one of relief. Orlando buries herself in Astarion’s scent, his embrace, and lets the world fall away for a while.

Both in the name of equality and because she knows the vampire must be hungry, Orlando eventually offers her neck to him when she is done attending to his. Playfully, she pushes Astarion onto the leaf-dappled earth, garnering a smirk from the Elf.

“Cheeky thing,” he purrs, which draws heat to Orlando’s cheeks. Not so secretly, she enjoys Astarion’s teasing. Deftly, he flips her over, laying her against the grass and brushing aside her dark hair to expose her neck. A shiver of excitement runs through her body as she anticipates his bite.

Sharp canines sink into Orlando’s neck, pinpricks of ice flooding the Tiefling with an odd, chilly warmth. She tenses, relaxes, looks up at the stars streaking across the night sky in coruscating kaleidoscopes of light and shadow. Heat and exhilaration build and build in Orlando, almost haloing in her vision. She is practically delirious with pleasure. Astarion’s hand is at her hip and suddenly- Suddenly-

Suddenly, Orlando feels terribly naïve. Like she is play-acting. Like she and Astarion are both doing what they think the other one wants without taking a moment to ask themselves what it is they themselves want. The stars above seem to dull in luster and the moon dims. What the hell is she doing? Ruining everything. Ruining everything like she always does. How could she be enjoying herself when there’s so much at stake? How could she be allowing herself this kind of pleasure when she has so much she should be doing? She’s lost her connection with her patron, lost her connection with her family. There’s a tadpole swimming around in her brain and she hasn’t the foggiest what to do about it. She wilts in Astarion’s embrace, excitement deflating as she realizes she has no idea what she’s doing.

What about Enver? a thought ricochets through her mind. She knows the answer to this already. Enver has never been bothered in the past. They have each led separate lives at various times. And always, they come back to one another. She knows she is grasping at something to be anxious about. Something she can control in a terrible situation that is completely out of her control. Enver is not really what concerns her.

“You are meant for greater things, Orlando,” someone’s voice echoes in her mind, and she can’t tell if it’s her father’s or Raphael’s. Get back to your studies. Get back to your work. Get back to becoming everything you are supposed to be. Don’t waste time on pointless things. Pleasure and love are things you can have when you achieve your greatness. They will come easy to you then. Work harder. Be stronger.

Stop it, Orlando’s thoughts whimper, Stop please! Just let me- Let me enjoy this, please.

But her pleas to her own mind go unheard, as they always have. She loses herself in reprimands of the past, reprimands of others that scream at her in her own voice. You are to remain pure. You are to remain unsullied. You are wasting time and energy and potential. Guilt, putrid and acidic, drips down her ribs and seems to coat her insides with a viscous vitriol that threatens to dissolve her from the inside out. Orlando wants to scream as her mind is eclipsed with anxiety.

Embarrassment releases in hot tears that stream down Orlando’s face. She hadn’t meant to ruin Astarion’s evening. As a child, it had been drilled into her head that she must remain pure. She must remain pure for the Abyss, for the Abyss will be her only embrace. She has already ruined this purity with Enver, who has loved her since her youth. Already ruined it with the few other small but meaningful relationships she’s had over the years. How can she now sully it again with a stranger? How can she be wasting her time, her energy, on frivolity when she should be working to remedy her infection? When she should be working her way back to the Abyss?

These thoughts are intrusions, intrusions she wishes would silence themselves forever. She had been having a wonderful time. A lovely time, in fact; until, as usual, she overthought the moment to death. She is horribly, horribly mortified. But Astarion is surprisingly gentle with her, giving her space, offering her a handkerchief, letting her cry. She’ll explain everything to him in a few days, but for now, they sit silently in one another’s company and watch the stars blink in and out of existence until the sun starts to creep over the horizon.

***

In the present, Orlando pulls Astarion and herself out of this painful vision. They are both breathless, room swimming into view and steadying once they get their bearings again. The sky outside is beginning to lighten with dawn. Soon, the curtains will need to be drawn, but for now, Orlando lays her head on Astarion’s chest and lets her eyelids flutter shut.

“Thank you for being gentle with my heart,” she whispers with the last of her tears. Astarion feels tears of his own spring to his eyes, burning and long-awaited.

“You make it surprisingly easy,” he laughs, though his voice is trembling. With their fingers still intertwined, Orlando gives his hand a tight squeeze. Astarion softly lays a kiss to the top of her head, breathing in the scent of her honey and orange blossom soap.

“Thank you for being gentle with mine,” he murmurs. They lay in silence for a long while, listening to the world around them waking with the dawn. After a bit, Orlando draws the curtains shut before joining Astarion at the dining table for tea. As the kettle comes to a boil, Astarion watches fondly as Orlando moves about the kitchen. If you had asked Astarion a year and a half ago where he thought he would be, a little cottage on the outskirts of Baldur’s Gate with the love of his life would not have even been a thought in his head. But here they are, guiding one another on a long journey of self-discovery. Of self-acceptance. Hand-in-hand, Orlando and Astarion are slowly teaching each other to live. Life is just beginning for them, and he is grateful for this.

A/N: Oh boy, this chapter sort of got away from me. I didn't set out with the intention of writing a ton of backstory for Orlando, but that's what this ended up being. It was also a little cathartic for me. As someone who constantly feels the need to be perfect, to always be achieving something, who pushes enjoyment to the backburner often, I apparently really needed to write this. But enough about me! Thank you for reading!

I want to explore this flashback significantly more when I actually manage to sit down and write the prequel to this fic, Dark Star. I didn’t really intend to write Mirror before I wrote Dark Star, but it’s oddly helping me develop what I actually want to write in Dark Star. Which I know is kind of wonky and will mean there’s a lot of things that won’t make sense in this right now, but that’s apparently how my brain wants to do things right now. Once I finish this, I think I’ll have a better idea of how to approach Dark Star. Thanks for bearing with me :)

Sorry for the delay in responding to comments on this fic (and in others)! I promise I will get to them soon. Life has been a bit hectic and it's only been recently that I've been able to sit down and write. I hope you are all doing well! Lots of love <3

#bg3 #baldurs gate 3 #bg3 spoilers #astarion #astarion x tav #astarion ancunin #spicy #astarion x oc #orlando moonwater #tw: blood #my writing #my tav #dani writes #lemon #postgame spoilers #bg3 act 3 spoilers #my fanfiction #past trauma

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morganwriteblr · 2 years ago

Text

About the author:

My name is Morgan Faire, and I'm a (recently realised/out) trans person living in England. My pronouns are He/They and They/Them. I've been writing for about as long as I can remember, and I focus primarily on fantasy, but some stories also include elements of crime/psychological thriller and sci-fi. I also write fanfiction and post it over on Ao3

My ask box is always open and I love being tagged in all the various writeblr tag games! I might not get around to posting my own answers to them, but I will always try to read through your excerpts!

With that in mind, if you're working on a story that you think I might like (one or more of the genres mentioned above), please alert me to its existence with a direct message or an ask with a link to any post you've made about it so far, OR just tag me! I promise I won't ever find that annoying.

Current projects

This is by no means an extensive list; I have probably close to twenty different stories in my head at any given time, and I flit between all of them like a moth trying to decide which light source is The Most Appealing. Sometimes my ideas get together and make new baby ideas without telling me.

(this got way too long so it's all under the cut!)

If you're interested in learning more about anything listed below, please let me know and I'll get you on a taglist!

THIS NOBLE LIGHT (TNL)

Set in the sole city of the frigid northernmost island of Ersse, Pholis is a city with a strict religious doctrine and a rotting heart.

Kadyric Alart, a lightbringer captain, must navigate the politics of the organisation he's dedicated his life to when his child is arrested on suspicion of heresy.

Help comes in the form of an unexpected ally; a nightstalker named Kalassar Vion who was once his best subordinate.

An urban fantasy story with queer characters and elements of found family and enemies to lovers.

LEGENDS OF ERSSE (LoE)

A collection of short stories exploring the myths and legends of the world of Ersse, including:

The Legend of Corroneau's Landing

A new landmass is created for Etrios when one of the Great Beasts drops one of Its many horns into the ocean. The people celebrate and flock to shrines to honour the Horned One.

However, another of the Beasts--a dragon named Corroneau--knows that the Horned One had ulterior motives behind creating the peninsula and seeks to undo It's work.

Other titles in the collection:

The Long Dark & The First Dawn: A story of two parts set on the island that will one day become the sprawling city of Pholis.

The Endless Garden: The vast home of the Great Ones is too big and too lonely; this is what happens when one of the immortal beings invites a mortal to the garden.

The Spine of Remhul

The Blood Marshes of Tresyt

The Sunken Crypts of Baanzi

Modern Tales of Ersse (MToE)

Another anthology of short stories created to further explore the vast world; all with ample world building and interesting characters with intriguing stories to share.

Included titles:

Always a Thief: The Metropolis of Moate's most notorious thief falls in love rather unexpectedly.

The Last Librarian of Kinnoden: The University of Kinnoden recently announced that their vast archive will be opened to the public, and the owner of the very last independant book repository wonders if they should shut up shop. The person who may well be their final guest helps them to decide.

Time of Descent: In order to survive The Heat, a small community in the south of Rotesh retreat each year to a cave system under the surface of the lake their village was built around. For the first time in recent history, they will have a guest.

Bound to Remain: An expedition through the Forest of Grevia leads the group to a mysterious cave; the Scholar they were accompanying insists on entering alone, and asks that they remain outside. A strange magic descends over the area.

#writeblr #writing community #author introduction #writeblr introduction #writers on tumblr #wip intro #tumblr writers #writer community #writing tumblr #authors on tumblr #writers of tumblr #writers #writblr #writerblr

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by-glass-and-waves · 10 months ago

Note

do you have a playlist or like a mixtape for inspiration or setting the mood when writing your stories?

Oh boy I hope you're ready because YEAH I DO

Associating songs with themes/scenes/locations have been my thing for like years and I would totally listen to a song over and over to figure out what happens during each part as well as what themes/ideas fit with a song. I made a few playlists on my oc worldbuilding shit a long while back in this manner heh

My playlist is divided into each AU, complete with weird titles to remind me what is what in each song

It is a work in progress though, a lot of them on the bottom haven't been organized yet and may not even be used actually there's a lot to organize omg

Link is for my YouTube playlist (and if you're on YouTube Music I recommend using the video for the first song because if you select the audio only version it will not give you the remix)

I go by vibes more than lyrics, and I thought that most of these should be more soundtracks though there are some exceptions

Song list/associations under the cut, it'll be in the playlist description as well (it's really long sorry)

Emil Ultimatum - Narinder (Courtship/Depression Quest/Restart) - use the video vers since the song vers only plays Emil (Despair)

Depression Quest

Courtship of the God of Death

Master of Time - Narinder

Dark World - Anupet

Epilogue - The Gilded Cage

Wretched Weaponry (short vers) - The Chained One

Widespread Illness - Prison of the Mind

[Tower of Sunz] - The Wrong Side of Love

Midcentury Motion - Escape

Danger in the Forest - Darkwood

Terra -

ZETA, la chanson - The Wanderer

Esto Gaza - The Heart Shaped Pond

Bran Bal - Eye of the Storm

Currents - Respite

Yoru Vln - The Stars Above

Somnus - Grief in Darkwood

Restart

Freya's Theme - Narinder

Malchut's Song - Shapash

The Kingdom of Noigllado - The Bishops

Kagachi - The First Resurrection

Ristaccia - Chaining the One Below

Trisagion -The Temple (Shapash)

Pandemonium - The Temple (The One Who Waits)

Memoria - Recollection

Once in a Lullaby - The Crystal Temple

Wretched Weaponry (long vers) - The Crystal Temple/Regret

Candy Shoppe - The Blacksmith's Final Gift

Innocent Wish - Yearning

Palliative - Distance

Water from the Same Source - The Admirer/Understanding

Unrequited Love -

Eidolon Wall - The Gateway/The Lands Below

Shadowlord's Castle/Memory - The Temple, Defeated

Eidolons on Parade - Slow Descent into Despair

Sarabande - Understanding/Contentment

When We Finally Fall Asleep, Pt. 3 - Mutual Understanding

Amusement Park - Arms Full of Offerings/Growing Jealousy

Dark Colossus (Kaiju) - The One Who Waits

Copied City - The Gateway

Possessed by Disease - Unraveling

Mourning - The Bishops

19th Century AU

The 13th Anthology - Narinder

Snow in Summer - The Lands of the New Faith

Turii ~Panta Rhei~ - The Dying World

Turii ~Panta rhei~ (Orchestra) - The New World

Main Theme of Final Fantasy V -

Zephyr Memories ~Legend of the Eternal Wind~ -

Saving Words for Making Sense - A Tender Moment

The Disney Afternoon - Town Theme/Respite

Blinded by Light - Crusade

Silver Dragon - Boss Battle

Gods Bound by Rules - Frivolous Masquerade

Blind Justice, le concerto - Blood of Chaos/"What… has become of us?"

Grandma (Destruction) - Guardian of the True Word

…con lentitud poderosa - Threshold of His Temple

Bipolar Nightmare - Betrayal

Black Song White Scales - The Sacrificial Beast

The Sound of the End - The Point of the Sharpened Blade

Raison d'etre - The Final Battle

God Shattering Star - The Final Battle

The Ultimate Weapon - A Heart for a Heart/Sacrifice

North - The Red Crown

Dispossession/Piano Ver. - Aftermath

Dust to Dust - Crossing the River

His Dream - Within the Circle

Theme of Love - No Illusion

Terra's Theme -

Shadowlord - Shamura

Shadowlord's Castle/Roar - Silk Cradle

Sustained by Hate - Revelation/Disappointment

March of the Dreadnoughts -

Atonement - A Heart for a Heart

VS. Star Dream - Kallamar

Midnight Moonlight -

The Final Battle (Magolor's Theme) -

Three in the Morning (Aftermath) - Abandoned/Regret

Destati - Imprisonment

Village of Dali - Respite

Kaine/Salvation - Relief

Alien Manifestation - Bitu

Dwelling of the Ancient Gods - The One Who Waits/The Gateway

Lord of a Dead Empire - The One Who Waits

Between Heaven and Earth - The One Who Waits

Birth of a Wish - The Red Crown/The Deal

A Beautiful Song - vs Heket and Miniboss

Crumbling Lies (Front) - vs Shamura and Miniboss

Song of the Ancients (Atonement) - Baal and Aym

Pascal - Ratau

The Spirit Dais - Bitu

Tango Appassionata - Allani and Narinder

Phantom Forest - Lost in the Gardens of the Ball/Shamura

Aerith's Theme -

Nautilus - The Capital

Yoru Vo - Halycon Harbor (Night)

Moonsetter - Baal and Aym

Requited - Across the Room/The Dance

War & War - Shamura

A Funeral of Flowers (Rain) - Prince Narinder (Unfettered)

A Funeral of Flowers (Thunder) - Prince Narinder (Amenthes)

#ask box #cult of the lamb #cotl #cotl au #fanfic notes #cotl courtship #cotl depression quest #cotl 19th century au #concept playlist #character playlist #i am definitely not a weirdo for this #i have memories of listening to a song over and over while i was on the bus in high school #just to figure out the nitty gritty details of a scene ugh #cotl restart #cotl restart au

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neopronouns · 11 months ago

Note

colorgenders inspired by the results of a “What is your Aura” quiz ((https://)uquiz(.)com/quiz/pxTx2D/what-color-is-your-aura):

Sky: short poems, teacups, clear skies, diaries, dripping icicles, tears, tennis shoes.

Honeysuckle: succulents, key lime, glow-in-the-dark stars, blown glass, honeydew, garter snakes, notes in bottles.

Seafoam: clear water, milkshakes, crystals, agave, candy dishes, converse, seashells.

Yellow: daisies, road signs, bumblebees, lemon meringue, bicycles, polaroids, awnings.

Hickory: felled oak, brass, sunken ships, olive pits, graphic shirts, splinters, dark room.

Orange: guitars, fanta bottles, sunglasses, orange peels, butterflies, popsicles, paper lanterns.

Sage: herb clippings, matcha, bullet journals, mini backpacks, needle felts, pistachio, laptop stickers.

Teal: dyed hair, scales, doc martens, aurora borealis, stormy seas, kingfishers, agate.

Royal (blue): crown jewels, portraits, satin chairs, masquerades, nebulas, betta fish, secrets.

Gold: lion statues, coins, gold leafing, bound books, goldfinches, crowns, heart lockets.

Crimson: rose vines, blood, apples, velvet, sharp nails, galaxies, dripping jewellery.

Navy: brush strokes, suit jackets, midnight, comforters, star gazing, arctic waters, starlings.

Forest: fern leaves, greenhouses, cloaks, bookstores, pine trees, chokers, snake scales.

honey: friendship bracelets, beehives, school buses, children's books, flower petals, honeyed toast, polaroids.

Ashen: old newspapers, smoke, quiet cities, pale cheeks, pebbles, chalk, the clouded moon.

Garnet: Brooches, anthologies, stained glass, leaves, dining chairs, long robes, curtains.

Chiffon: stone walls, sweaters, moths, dusty lace, animal tracks, incense, throw pillows.

Red: leather jackets, cherries, bruised knuckles, roses, lipstick, fast cars, rose petals.

Magenta: splattered paint, glitter, childhood friends, neon, pleather, dance floors, crystals.

Amaranth: bundled flowers, ribbon, merlot, overcoats, gemstones, lipstick prints, red velvet.

Periwinkle: knit hats, candies, tiny flowers, beads, teacups, washi tape, clouds.

Jade: islands, sketchbooks, rainy windows, pendants, puzzle pieces, tree frogs, sea glass.

Pink: cupcakes, sunglasses, pink sands, starbursts, pinky promises, flower crowns, ice cream.

Rose: lace, blown kisses, milk tea, paper fans, pillows, ballet slippers, fairy wings.

Amethyst: earrings, violet corts, parades, gemstones, insect wings, grape bushels, outer space.

Noir: drops of ink, eyeliner, crows, spiders, charcoal, painted nails, the night.

Cream: dandelions, marble, bottled coffee, hair ties, banana cream, bedsheets, sketches.

Beige: lattes, dry fields, footprints, easels, cat fur, pottery, fresh-baked cookies.

Pearl: abalone, perfume bottles, chandeliers, tulle, ball jointed dolls, satin, paint palettes.

Bronze: leather books, cowboy hats, foxes, candle jars, sword hilts, cobblestone streets, hourglasses

Amber: autumn days, freckles, torches, cabins, fossils, unbrushed hair, enamel pins.

Fire: sunrises, woven blankets, campfires, tigers, whiskey, monarchs, road trips.

Purple: geodes, club lights, ferris wheels, sunglasses, hummingbirds, eyeshadow, outer space.

Blush: lollipops, warm cheeks, lip gloss, flowers, flamingo feathers, painted nails, heart glasses.

finally done with all of these — they're queued!

#long post

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redcandle17 · 2 years ago

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Cora Reilly mafia romance universe (part 1)

Cora Reilly’s Born In Blood series, its Camorra Chronicles sequel, and the next generation sequel series Sins of the Father are so damn good. The romances between most of the couples are wonderful and most of the sibling relationships are awesome too.

Born In Blood Mafia Chronicles

- #1 Bound by Honor - first two months of Luca Vitiello’s and Aria Scuderi’s arranged marriage. Luca is the heir to and eventual leader of the mafia in New York.

- #0 Luca Vitiello - Luca’s POV of Bound by Honor, written a couple of years after the start of the series.

- #2 Bound by Duty - first year of Dante Cavallaro’s marriage to his second wife Valentina Aresco. Dante is the head of the mafia in Chicago. He’s 35 when he marries 23 year old Val.

- #3 Bound by Hatred - Gianna Scuderi, Aria’s sister, runs away before her arranged marriage to Matteo Vitiello, Luca’s brother, despite the fact that they like each other and made out at Aria’s and Luca’s wedding. He chases after her for months, catches her, and they marry.

- #4 Bound by Temptation - Lily, Aria’s youngest sister, and Aria’s bodyguard Romero Cancio fall in love and have to overcome the marriage her father arranged for her to a man his age.

- #5 Bound by Vengeance - If this series was a TV show, this novel would be the episode that’s really a pilot for a spin-off series. Cara’s father, a high-ranking mobster, betrayed and stole from the head of the Las Vegas mafia. Cara is given to their enforcer Growl, as a deterrent to other mafia men.

- #6 Bound by Love - Aria’s and Luca’s story continues from after their first novel to the next 10 years of their lives together.

- #7 Bound by the Past - Dante’s past and his and Valentina’s experiences after the first year of their marriage.

- Bound By Blood Anthology - contains a novella about Matteo & Gianna, and short stories about Aria & Luca, Lily & Romero, and Growl & Cara.

Camorra Chronicles

- #1 Twisted Loyalties - Fabiano Scuderi (younger brother of Aria, Gianna, and Lily, and who is now the enforcer for the mafia in Las Vegas) meets and falls in love with Leona, a nice but destitute girl who knows nothing about the mob.

- #2 Twisted Emotions - Nino Falcone (second in command to his brother Remo) considers himself a sociopath and does not feel. He’s cold and clinical and speaks and thinks like a robot. Until his arranged marriage to Luca’s cousin Kiara Vitiello. Kiara is severely traumatized from being raped by an uncle at age 13 and being emotionally neglected by her family before and after. Nino is super gentle and kind to her, and they fall in love with each other, with Nino eventually admitting that he’s *feeling emotions* for the first time since his childhood.

- #3 Twisted Pride - Remo Falcone (head of the Las Vegas mafia and aged 24 at the time) kidnaps Serafina (aged 19 and niece of Dante, the head of the Chicago mafia) on her way to her wedding for an arranged marriage. He keeps her captive for two months, psychologically torturing Dante and his family with phone calls, photos, and letters that make them believe Serafina is being raped and tortured. In reality, Remo thinks rape is too easy and likes a challenge, so he sets out to seduce Serafina into willingly having sex with him.

- #4 Twisted Bonds - Kiara wants kids but she and Nino have trouble conceiving. It covers everything after Twisted Emotions, during Twisted Pride, and a couple of years afterwards from their POVs.

-#5 Twisted Hearts - Savio Falcone’s life is devoted to fighting and fucking. Gemma, his best friend’s younger sister, has been infatuated with him since the day they met when she was 10 and he was 14. She’s had a very religious conservative upbringing and she’s not only saving sex for marriage, she expects her first kiss to happen on her wedding day after saying ‘I do’ while Savio is in his own words a “man whore” who has sex with any girl who’ll have him.

-#6 Twisted Cravings - Adamo is the youngest of the four Falcone brothers. He’s not as “dark” as his brothers and wants to be a nice guy. He’s wanted love and monogamy since was a kid. He loves car racing and devotes himself to illegal street racing, avoiding mafia activities he finds distasteful. Dinara, daughter of the head of the Russian mafia in Chicago, saunters into his world as a fellow street racer and Adamo quickly falls in love.

TO BE CONTINUED...

#cora reily #born in blood #camorra chronicles #dark romance

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briankeene · 2 years ago

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2023 Splatterpunk Awards Final Ballot

For Immediate Release Wrath James White and Brian Keene are pleased to announce the final ballot for the 2023 Splatterpunk Awards, honoring superior achievement in the literary subgenres of Splatterpunk and Extreme Horror fiction published in 2022, as well as the sixth recipient of the J.F. Gonzalez Lifetime Achievement Award, and the recommendation process for the coming year.

The nominees are as follows:

BEST NOVEL*

-- Playground by Aron Beauregard (Independently Published)

-- The Television by Edward Lee (Madness Heart Press)

-- Faces of Beth by Carver Pike (Independently Published)

-- Last of the Ravagers by Bryan Smith (Thunderstorm Books / Death’s Head Press)

-- Mastodon by Steve Stred (Black Void Publishing)

-- Ex-Boogeyman (Slasher vs The Remake) by Kristopher Triana (Bad Dream Books / Thunderstorm Books)

BEST NOVELLA

-- Charcoal by Garrett Cook (Clash Books)

-- Grandpappy by Patrick C. Harrison III (Independently Published)

-- Mr. Tilling’s Basement by Edward Lee (Deadite Press)

-- #thighgap by Chandler Morrison (Cemetery Gates Media)

-- Plastic Monsters by Daniel J. Volpe (Independently Published)

BEST SHORT STORY

-- “Just Another Bloodbath at Camp Woe-Be-Gone” by R.J. Benetti (Independently Published)

-- “Of The Worm” by Ryan Harding (from Splatterpunk Zine issue 13)

-- “My Chopping List” by Stephen Kozeniewski (from Counting Bodies Like Sheep, The Evil Cookie Publishing)

-- “Gutted” by Bracken MacLeod (from Splatterpunk Zine issue 13)

-- “Jinx” by Bridgett Nelson (from A Bouquet of Viscera)

BEST COLLECTION

-- Always Listen To Her Hurt: Collected Works by Kenzie Jennings (Blistered Siren Press)

-- Mr. Tilling’s Basement and Other Stories by Edward Lee (Deadite Press)

-- Horrorsmut by Christine Morgan (The Evil Cookie Publishing)

-- A Bouquet of Viscera by Bridgett Nelson (Independently Published)

-- Pornography For the End of the World by Brendan Vidito (Weirdpunk Books)

BEST ANTHOLOGY

-- Human Monsters edited by Sadie Hartmann and Ashley Sawyers (Dark Matter Ink)

-- Camp Slasher Lake, Volume 1 edited by D.W. Hitz and Candace Nola (Fedowar Press)

-- Counting Bodies Like Sheep edited by K. Trap Jones (The Evil Cookie Publishing)

-- Call Me Hoop edited by SC Mendes & Lucy Leitner, created by Drew Stepek (Blood Bound Books)

-- Czech Extreme edited by Lisa Lee Tone (Madness Heart Press)

J. F. GONZALEZ LIFETIME ACHIEVEMENT AWARD**

-- Monica J. O’Rourke

The final ballot is composed of top recommendations from readers, critics, and the general public and then voted on by our panel of six judges. The sixth annual Splatterpunk Awards will take place at KillerCon in Austin, Texas August 12th. For more details, visit here.

The recommendation process for next year’s ballot is now open to readers, critics, and the general public. Eligible works must be first published in 2023, and must meet the definitions of either Splatterpunk or Extreme Horror. Email recommendations to [email protected]. The recommendation window will close at 11:59pm (EST) on December 31, 2023. THERE WILL BE NO EXTENSIONS. Thank you for your attention in this matter.

With love and respect,

Wrath James White and Brian Keene, Splatterpunk Award cofounders.

* Tie category

** The previous J. F. Gonzalez Lifetime Achievement Award recipients are David J. Schow, David G. Barnett, Edward Lee, John Skipp, and Clive Barker.

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ladyloveandjustice · 2 years ago

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Preview of my short story “The Touch of Winter” from a new anthology!

The anthology I’m in, Seasons Unceasing, is out! You can buy it on Amazon here!

As a special treat, here’s a preview of my short story. It’s about gay girls, giants, sacrifice and finding beauty in unexpected places. It goes in some unexpected directions from this intro.

The Touch of Winter

My blood seeped into the freezing water, the red mixing lazily with dark brown.

I was half-submerged, and it wouldn’t be long before my legs numbed and death crawled up my body. I wriggled on the snowbank, trying to get out of the stream soaking me to the bone, but it was so difficult to move with my legs and arms bound. All I did was trigger a small avalanche over my head. At least the cold snow soothed my wounds.

A thud like a thunderclap in the distance. Then another. And another. The giant was coming.

I closed my swollen eyes with a hiss of pain and waited. I wished I could take comfort in the idea I would see Keetha again soon, but I’d never believed in any sort of afterlife. The only thing that seemed real right now was my aching body, the blood on my face, and the poison in my skirt pocket. The fungus was unlikely to kill a giant, but I hoped it might at least hurt him.

It was pure chance I had it with me. I’d heard rumblings they were planning on taking Keetha next, so I’d brought some back with me from my last trip to the wilds with the vague idea I’d somehow poison the village elder and delay everything long enough that we could escape together. But I was too late. When I came back into town, she was already on the ceremonial dais, hands tied and body trembling.

Seeing her wide terrified eyes, her face twisted into a silent scream as they carried her away, I’d lost all reason and flown at them, biting, punching, kicking, and swearing. Of course I’d been no match for so many men. Of course I’d been dragged to a cell, bloody and half-conscious. I’d expected all that. But what I hadn’t expected was to be next.

It was only beautiful girls who got the honor of being sacrificed, after all.

But after months of frost and blight, they were getting desperate. When they bought me out into the light, they all said a strange sort of prayer. “We offer the winter giant a girl as cold as his beloved snow. May he find satisfaction in supping on a kindred spirit, may he finally slumber, and may Summer roll the rock and shine the brilliant sun.”

It was far from the first time I had heard I was winter’s bastard daughter. It was actually kinder than what they usually said: that I was a blank canvas, my face plain and unremarkable. That you’d easier get tears from a stone than get a delicate blush or trembling lip from me. That I was as frigid and unwelcoming as any blizzard, my words as harsh as the bitter wind. The worst thing a woman could be, according to some.

It was the murmur in the background of my entire life, whispered even by the customers who enjoyed the furs and leathers I fashioned for them in my small shop.

Keetha had been the first one to say anything different.

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#seasons unceasing #the touch ot winter #anthologies #queer fiction

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frighteneddraz · 1 year ago

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Anthology of Arik 2

Triggers: Self-Harm and suicidal thoughts --------------- Arik had finally arrived at his destination, as always, the journey had been long and tiring. He had already reunited with Cecil 2 months prior, and had celebrated their reunion hard, feasting and drinking and overall living it up with his old friend and ally. While there he learned of what became of the other members of their band of weirdos, apparently Bliss, the dryad druid had yet to reform in her tree, though Cecil assured Arik that “Zevikial is sure that will happen… eventually,” which, bluntly, only raised more questions than answers. Who the hell is Zevekial and why is he an authority on matters like this? Why would she reform in her tree if she died, wouldn’t her tree have, logically, just died with her? How long does it take to regrow a dryad body from a tree? Cecil, though Arik loved him dearly, was not all that bright (despite the fact that his armor glowed a blinding white) and could not answer even the first question in a satisfactory way. The only answer Cecil gave was “Oh, he’s a smart guy” and that was that.

The final party member was Reina, whom Arik had once sold his soul to resurrect, the aasimar cleric. One whom Arik had bore a rather terrible crush on while they journeyed together. Evidently, last Cecil had heard, she was with “some guy named Rugalia the Terrible” and was acting as his personal doctor. Rugalia was not a name Arik recognized, but it didn’t take much to find out who he was, evidently he was a rather infamous warlord on the eastern continent of Celtolan, renowned the world over for his inhuman strength and brutality. Arik would likely have questioned why Reina was working alongside him, but given Arik’s own temperament, it would be hypocrisy of the highest order. So it was, Arik set out to find one of the few people in this world he called friend.

Arriving at Rugalia’s encampment, Arik felt dozens of eyes on him and for the first time in a long while, Arik felt the twinge of fear that comes from vulnerability. He was once, so recently, a god, but no longer. Though he remained inhumanly strong and still healed from wounds impossibly fast making him practically immortal provided the wounds themselves weren’t immediately lethal, his recently obtained freedom had come at the cost of his once legendary battle prowess. All skills and abilities he had gained as a result of training were lost to him when he drank the blood that freed his soul from the God he once so foolishly bound it to. He had regained some of the skill he had lost in his journey to get here, but even so, he was practically a novice still. While his natural abilities would mean most of these men were no threat to him individually, he was under no delusions that he would be able to beat even a handful, even his healing needed a degree of control to allow him to survive mortal wounds, after all, control Arik no longer possessed.

The encampment itself was rather incredible, tents and banners fluttering in the wind of the grasslands it had been set up in were rather typical, from Arik’s own time as a soldier, its sheer scale however, granting it a degree of majesty on its own. The warlord Rugalia’s forces were so extensive that he needed to forgo defensive positioning entirely in order to get his men to set up camp. By Arik’s best reckoning, there were well over 100,000 men here, with livestock roaming around by the thousands. Dozens of stable tents filled with dozens of horses each. Indeed, Arik considered that calling Rugalia a warlord was, while technically accurate, like saying that a raging inferno ravaging a forest, simply, a fire. It felt like a disservice to the sheer scale of the military force that Rugalia had assembled to call him “a warlord”, and Arik recognized he would do well to respect that if he wanted to survive his journey.

Finding the tent he needed was surprisingly difficult, Rugalia did not have any larger living quarters than any of his men, and no one in the camp seemed to know which tent was his. In fact, Arik may well never have found the tent he sought were it not for the fact that he bumped into a man, not for the first time since his arrival, who did not move when Arik bumped him. Indeed, in a rather unexpected twist for the well over 6 foot tall goliath that was Arik, Arik wound up finding himself knocked clean on his ass. Looking up, Arik took in a man taller even than him, standing around 7 feet tall and nearly as broad, shirtless with rippling muscle belying strength equal to or greater than Arik’s own, golden skin riddled with battle scars, and a greataxe slung over one shoulder, the man resembled for all the world the picture of a barbarian king. Dark eyes under dark brows under dark hair with a face that could well have been shaped in bronze. Arik knew immediately, this was Rugalia the Terrible, the man who had conquered half the continent in but a couple of years.

The first thing Rugalia the Terrible did was grab Arik and bring him effortlessly to his feet.

The first thing Rugalia the Terrible said was “Sorry about that, didn’t see you there, are you alright?”

Arik was dumbfounded. He opened his mouth, but no words escaped his parted lips. Arik was certain, this was Rugalia, the descriptions he had heard made him sure of it, but… Why was a bloodthirsty warlord bent on conquering the continent through violent devastation so nice? It truly boggled the mind, the juxtaposition of what Arik had been told vs the man who was now talking to him. Oh no… he’s still talking. What is he saying? Arik thought in a panic.

“Hmm, well, you look fine, but the fact you aren’t saying anything has me concerned, follow me, I’ll bring you to the medical tent”

Arik followed wordlessly, not that he didn’t try to say something, but no matter how hard he tried, Arik could not get past the cognitive dissonance of what was transpiring. Arik had not been this confused since meeting Cecil for the first time, and just as the confusion was wearing off, they arrived. Arik’s first words to what some believed was the most powerful warlord in the world were “Uhhh… Thanks” as the giant lumbered away.

Snapping out of it, Arik finally opened the medical tent, it was emptier than Arik expected, though, given Reina’s magic, Arik supposed that wasn’t all too surprising. Sitting on a wooden stool was Reina, nearly as small as Rugalia was large, at barely 5 feet tall, Reina’s blonde hair and porcelain skin shone in the light from outside, her blue eyes flicking up to regard Arik. He hadn’t been sure what he expected upon coming here, but it wasn’t what he got.

“Oh, you’re alive.” Reina said flatly. She regarded Arik the way someone might regard the fly that landed in their soup, her disdain palpable “Well, what do you want?”

Arik blinked. He found himself, once more, at a loss for words. So instead of speaking, Arik simply took out the envelope with the letter from Cecil, and passed it to Reina.

“Ah, you’re acting as a messenger now? Well then, you’re welcome to stay in the camp, I will send for you when I have written my own correspondence in kind.”

Arik simply stared at Reina blankly, and finally said “I… came to tell you that I obtained my freedom, actually. That was just a favor to Cecil”

“Ah, well… you told me. Is that all?”

Arik felt his temper flaring, “Do I not warrant even a ‘nice to see you’ or ‘glad you managed to escape eternal servitude to Dezmond’?” Arik asked, unable to keep the edge from his voice.

“What do you want, Arik? Do you want me to jump for joy because you managed to weasel your way out of the consequences of selling your soul? Something I’m still baffled by to this day actually. I’ve made it abundantly clear, I find you annoying at best. Did you think I was going to run into your arms now that you’re free?”

Arik could feel his anger getting the better of him, hear the Beast’s voice in the back of his mind urging him to kill her. Instead Arik simply said “You want to know why I sold my soul you icy bitch? Because, I was literally deranged, and had just watched all of my friends and allies in the world be crushed by a fucking boat. I sold my soul for you and Bliss and Cecil.” Reina continued staring at him, her gaze remaining cold as the winterlands of Arik’s birth before saying something would shatter Arik utterly. “Why the fuck should I care, I didn’t ask you to do that, I don’t owe you anything. Leave now before I have my fiance crush you like the sniveling little worm you are. We traveled together, you sold your soul and then died. We are not, nor have we ever been, anything other than business associates.”

Even Arik’s anger cooled with the finality of that statement. “You… really thought that little of me? Even after we fought and traveled together for months?”

“Of course, you’re a rabid animal. You kill, and destroy and hate and that’s all you do. It’s all you know how to do. If I ever felt anything for you aside from contempt or apathy, it was pity.” Reina’s gaze softened for the first time. “I don’t care about you Arik, but even I will admit, it’s deeply sad that you somehow harbored the delusion that I did. You’re still welcome to stay in camp for the next few days. I doubt if my fiance would have the heart to turn away a broken shell such as yourself, but I’d appreciate it if you left me alone.”

Arik just left after that. He could take pain easily, his pain tolerance was greater even than his physical might, but… This felt different. He was less used to this. It didn’t hurt. Indeed, it was like… a numbness in the pit of his stomach. An emptiness. Arik simply walked, and as he walked he took out a dagger and plunged it into his thigh. It didn’t hurt enough to fill the emptiness. So he took out another and stabbed it into his abdomen. It still didn’t hurt enough to fill the emptiness. He considered running himself through with his greatsword… but it was unlikely that would fill the emptiness either, and Arik did not wish for death. He had things he needed to do yet, after all, so instead he just walked with those daggers plunged into his body. Walked until he collapsed to the ground, unable to move, and finally the emptiness he felt was filled by the familiar anguish of his nightmares.

#whumptober2023 #no.2 #“They don’t care about you.”#oc #oc fic #suicidal thoughts #self harm

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