#brains that makes us share visions... do i make sense? i make sense. we should have a photoshoot like this all im saying and posting it

[ashmp3]

@wantbytaemin

Irene & Seulgi » 2024 Red Velvet SEASON'S GREETINGS BEHIND

[ataraxiaspainting]

Laurel's Perfect Sun.

Yan Luka x GN Reader.

Synopsis: Sometimes stars are made to fall.

Warnings: Yandere themes, enslavement, (sort of) religious themes, manipulation, mentions of death/violence, and unhealthy relationships.

Word Count: 400.

*~*~*~*

Like an angel stripped of their wings, you’re stripped of your love.

The pain doesn’t provide the same sense of despair. No, it comes after a type of relatability is brought into your heart – close to belonging or a kinship – a stranger so outwardly dissimilar to you. Another human who is made up of everything someone of your species needs to survive in a world abandoned by their “God”.

Charisma, intelligence, and a state of perfect constitution.

Don’t look up. Luka’s voice echoes in your ears. It is a perfect replica of your shared mistress’ order – something he planted into her brain to keep you in line. Just recite.

You’re one of many moons that circle nameless planets. You want to become the sun – to shine so bright is to kill everything, even non-living things can sound like they are screaming if you try hard enough to hear. To be in the sky to watch it all is your greatest wish.

“Yet each man kills the thing he loves. By each let this be heard; some do it with a bitter look,” You use the paper in front of you to cloud your already limited vision and to stop the temptation to disobey an unsaid command. “Some with a flattering word…”

“That’s enough. We should rest. I would love to join you for tea if you’d have me.” He isn’t asking, you know this observation to be true. You feel Luka’s cold fingers move from the place where your jaw and throat connect to the tip of your chin. It’s permission you’re instinctual to accept no matter how you may feel inside – you don’t matter enough. 

Your birth doesn’t matter enough.

Your life doesn’t matter enough. Only your death will matter because despite your one desire to be alone; you will still have a prayer begging at your altar.

Luka is as non-discardable to your overlords as the sun is as important to this universe – he can’t join you in the afterlife but he will try.

He will try to make you stay. He will try to go with you.

You prefer the latter because you get to see if heaven is real and if your old friends are past its gates. If there is no heaven, there is no hell Luka will sink into.

You’ll weep like a real angel then, even if your wings are made of ash.

[acapelladitty]

Just a cute lil idea that’s stuck in my head even though it’s probably very out of character for the ghoul but cooper carrying reader through the wasteland when she has a fever and bonus point if he lets her wear his hat

Aye aye captain 🫡 have this little thing! 💋

And In Health

Pairing: Cooper Howard/Fem!Reader

Summary: Falling ill as you travel through the wastelands, Cooper is forced to take care of you. Sadly, not in the assassin way.

Fic Masterlist

Link to AO3

Dropping against the wooden information board which was too rotten and devoid of actual intel to be of use to anyone, your body chose to add to the mess surrounding the small board you as you drop your head to the side and vomit once again - the burn making your eyes water as you retch pathetically.

The fourth time you'd been sick that day, not that you were counting.

Having moved in silence for the last while, Cooper had been maintaining a rapid pace which you struggled to meet as your worsening condition hadn't proven too much of a hindrance until stopping for a moment had apparently allowed each element of your various ailments to assault you like a bonafide firing squad just waiting in the shadows.

"Not looking too hot, sweetie. Something you ate?"

"Probably." Groaning out the word, the taste of bile stings in your throat as you gaze up at him with bleary eyes. "Knew that meat you roasted up was foul."

Standing with a straightened spine, Cooper gazes back at you and you can feel the heat of his assessment like a host of ants crawling across your sweat-slicked skin.

"Didn't do me no harm. Quack doctor in the next town would have what we need for you to get that sweet ass back on the move. Chem, stim packs, hell - he probably has shit stowed away that even I wouldn't take. And that's a very, very small list."

Not trusting your voice as you keep your focus on breathing evenly, a sick hope alights in your gut as you blink up at Cooper and take in his contemplative musings.

"Can you walk?"

You shake your head carefully, every movement making your brain feel inflamed as even that small motion sparks fresh nausea in your throat.

Cooper grunts with displeasure at that, making no effort to hide his growing irritation with your pitiful state.

"Can you defend yourself here while I go and fetch what we need? That nasty little projectile skill you've developed there should keep the worst of the raiders and deathclaws away."

With inhumane effort, you raise your hand enough to flip him off very shakily before dropping your wrist back to your lap, the mild effort making your joint tremble and ache.

With a deep sign, Cooper shifts his body as he bends towards you. Strong hands lock around your frame as they pull you heavily to unsteady feet before swinging you up into his arms - the motion making you dry heave as you carefully tilt your head away from his body.

"Can't have you dying on me, sweetie. You owe me twenty caps after proving to be the shittiest gin rummy player I've ever had the misfortune to share a table with."

Held bridal-style against his chest, the little showcase of strength is enough to make you hum out an interested noise as his hands wrap around your knees and upper body. Borderline delirious as your vision swims and shakes, you swear you can hear the tiniest hint of genuine concern hidden beneath the sarcasm in his tone but you chalk it down to the ravages of infection.

The scent of him floods your senses as you tilt your head to push your face more roughly into his chest, desperately trying to block out the sun as it threatens to burn the life out of your eyes. Leather mixed with the definite tinge of coppery violence which always seems to hang around him is the most potent scent he usually carries but this close, with your nose practically touching his skin, you can pick up the faintest notes of sweat and natural musk which his lifestyle often hides.

"Coop-Cooper?"

"For someone on the brink of death you sure do seem to want to yap your hole a lot." Grumbling, he indulges you regardless as he begins to stride quickly in the direction of the town hosting the quack doctor he seems to know. "But what do you want?"

"Will...'m gonna die?"

"Oh, I doubt that. Too stubborn for sure. Why? You got a final request in mind? I don't sing so you're shit out of luck for a funeral chant."

Too out of it to think up anything witty as a comeback, a hiss escapes your lips as his head shifts and the sun glares down into your squinting face - the sudden brightness like an inferno alighting behind your sockets.

Sighing, Cooper bends his body enough to allow his curved knee to support your legs as his hand slips free from beneath your knees. In a single fluid movement, he pulls the weathered cowboy hat from his head and drops it across your eyes; the instant darkness soothing your pains a little as the scent of fresh sweat and leather swirls across your senses.

"Thank you." You squeak out your gratitude, the second word more of a noise than a word as Cooper slides his arm beneath your knees - once more pulling you close as he continues his journey.

The hat acting as a delightful barrier to the harsh rays of the sun as he refuses to acknowledge your thanks, your weakened grip on remaining conscious seems to flee you in an instant as you allow the steady beat of Cooper's heart to lull you into a restless nap.

[tonguetyd]

Chemical Mess

A Sleep Token Gift Exchange present for @sleeptokenpuppy 🥰

"What's the point? If life is fleeting, should I just hang with my friends? Should I spend more time with the people I love instead of in my head?"

Tags: Sitcom AU, Inhuman Vessels, Not Platonic or Romantic But a Secret Third Thing (Bonded By An Eldritch Being), Winter Solstice, Minor Existential Crisis, But Friends and Tentacle God Help You Thru It :::)

IV hummed as he balanced another 3 sticks of butter on the precarious tower of supplies retrieved from the fridge. Sure, he could take multiple trips back to the counter with less food, but what was the fun of having super strength if you didn't use it to carry as much as possible?

Deciding he had everything he needed, he shut the door and turned slowly towards the counter, making sure none of his supplies would lose balance and fall do-

"MOOOOVE!!!!" yelled II as he bolted past the guitarist to grab a Red Bull can, knocking over every one of IV's carefully stacked items to the ground.

He closed his eyes, taking a deep breath as to not yell at the drummer. "We really need to keep your caffeine in a separate part of the house."

"We shouldn't give him caffeine at all, he's already supersonic," chimed in III from the stovetop.

"Notmyfault, lotsathingstodotoday, needmyenergy, sorry, iiiwillhelpcleanup!" II said between gulps of his drink. "Oh! Happysolsticebytheway!" He scrunched up the empty can and tossed it to the bin.

"III will NOT help clean up, III has risotto on the stove thank you very much," the bassist sassed.

Huffing at his friends, IV began setting his supplies from the floor to the counter. "It's fine, leave it all for the non-flexible AND slow one, not a problem there..."

"Seeyougotit, dontevenneediiishelp, okaybye," II replied before running back off to wherever he had come from.

IV grumbled something about "rude motherfucker" while III walked over laughing. "Don't worry, we'll figure out some way to get revenge," the bassist said, stretching his arm to keep stirring the pot on the stove. "Little man won't know what hit him!"

An unnatural cloud of fog rumbled with amusement as Sleep watched His younger vessels prepare for His sacred night. He turned His attention to His First, expecting to see a similar sense of entertainment from his eldest.

Instead, Vessel's six eyes blinked joylessly at the wall, oblivious to his friends' antics.

The solstice was upon them once again. Another year had gone by. Were the years always so short? How was time continuing to slip away from him? It had just been summer yesterday. Was life passing him by? Should he be doing more by now? Accomplished more than what he already had? How much time did he even have left?

Futhermore, what was the point of having all this time anyway, if it was just going to fly by him? If he was constantly running out of time anyway, what was the purpose of filling them with...anything? The clock and calendar didn't care what he did to fill them. They marched steady onwards.

Emo shit. As IV would affectionally call it.

Vessel's brain spiral of Emo Shit continued as his friends worked around him to bring light on their shared sacred day.

Sleep was displeased at this. It would not do that His First should be melancholy on the Holiest of nights. His fog form swirled around III.

“Hey Sleep! If you’re looking to help I think IV needs it more,” the bassist said, affectionately twirling a finger in the mist.

The fog grew denser and lowered Itself to obstruct III’s vision.

III frowned and tried to fan the fog away with his hands. “Yeah yeah I know it’s your special day, I’m trying to fry stuff though and would rather not get burned because you’re blocking my sight!”

Frustrated, Sleep continued to His Second. If anyone would be in touch with His First’s emotions, it would be his oldest friend.

The mist descended upon II as he raced up the stairs. “SLEEPICANTSEE!” he exclaimed as he missed the top step, tumbling back down to the bottom.

He sat up and rubbed his head, glaring at the fog. “Thathurt! Becareful! Notallofusareimmortal!”

The fog continued to swim around him, forming an opening to direct II’s sight to Vessel.

II huffed when he saw his friend. “Ves. Talktoyourgodandtellhimtoleaveusbe!”

Vessel glanced up towards II and shrugged.

IV bellowed from the kitchen “OI, SLEEP, WE’RE BUSY! GIVE US A COUPLE HOURS!”

The ancient one’s frustration reached its peak. The fog condensed and shot over to Vessel before disappearing from sight.

Vessel suddenly didn’t feel so good.

His eyes grew blurry and his head heavy. His limbs began to move of their own accord, and suddenly he felt another presence in his mind.

The jerky movement from Vessel’s body caught III’s eye first. “…Ves?”

Vessel’s head snapped to III’s, his six eyes glowing red.

“MY THIRD.”

“…oh. Shit. Not Ves.” III reared his head back, creating space between himself and his now-possessed friend. “UH…GUYS? I THINK WE MADE GOD MAD…”

II and IV made their way over to the other vessels. “Whatdoyoumeanwema-oh. Fuck.” II’s eyes grew when he saw the already looming presence of his friend expand to house a god.

“MY VESSELS. YOU SEEK MY FAVOR UPON THIS HOLY DAY, YET YOU IGNORE MY ATTEMPTS TO OBTAIN YOUR ATTENTION. EXPLAIN.”

“Shit…we…we didn’t mean anything by it, honest,” III stammered out. “We just have to watch what we’re doing, or we’ll make a mess. We would never intentionally ignore you, Sleep.”

“YOU ARE IGNORING MY FIRST.”

IV tilted his head in confusion. “Ves has been sitting right there? He hasn’t said anything to ignore…”

“MY FIRST’S BRAIN IS RESTLESS. HE IS QUESTIONING HIS PURPOSE, FEELING AS IF HE HAS TOO MUCH YET NOT ENOUGH TIME.”

“…andstubbornasscouldnttellusthishimself?”

III elbowed II from across the room. “Oi, don’t be a prick.”

“HE IS SUFFERING IN SILENCE, AS HE OFTEN DOES, AS TO NOT BE A BURDEN ON YOU. I WILL NOT TOLERATE MY FIRST BEING UPSET WHILE SURROUNDED BY HAPPINESS. FIX HIM.”

With His command given, Sleep detached Himself from Vessel’s brain.

When Vessel blinked his eyes again, he felt more like himself. His three sets of eyes were met with another three sets.

“Why didn’t you tell us you were feeling badly?” II asked, deliberately slower than he had been all week.

Shame rose up in Vessel’s cheeks. “I…uh…well…you’re all busy…and I just…it’s stupid anyway.”

“It’s not stupid Ves, it’s something we all feel at times,” IV assured him.

“Yeah! Friendly Christmas existential dread!” III nodded.

Vessel huffed. “I just. You’d think if we all go through this that somebody would’ve figured it out by now.”

IV scoffed. “Yeah, yet here we all just fucking around anyway. Nobody’s got any idea what they’re doing.”

“Mmhmm. We’re bumbling around just trying to get…somewhere?” II offered.

“Or maybe not even go anywhere at all. Just enjoying the ride, wherever it takes us!” said III.

Vessel stared up at the ceiling as Sleep’s fog took shape once again. “I guess.”

“Listen Vee, yeah we don’t know if there’s a point to any of this, and yeah it might be over in the blink of an eye,” IV shrugged. “But instead of wasting that limited time we’ve got trying to figure it out, let’s just. Like. I dunno.” He gestured around their space.

“Eat rice balls!” III exclaimed.

Ves laughed for the first time all day. “Who needs a meaning in life when there’s rice balls?”

“Exactly!”

“III is right,” II said. “We’ve got rice balls, and more than that, you’ve got us!”

“If we’re to be submerged, let us be submerged together and all that shit, yknow?” IV joked.

And as Sleep watched his vessels pick their First’s spirits up, he hummed in agreement. Not even the ancient ones know what the future holds. All any being can do is enjoy time with those that make them feel less alone.

A part of a whole, no matter how messed up it may be.

Just a picture perfect, lovable, positively shitshow, chemical mess.

——————————

Matt’s song offers no answers, nor can I, nor can Sleep probably! There’s no right way to do the holidays or life. All we can do is try to be good to each other! This is my attempt to be good to y’all, and I hope you enjoyed it!! ❤️

[fernsnailz]

HI . GET ON THE DISSECTION TABLE. taking your brain RIGHT NOW OH MY GODDDDD. OH MY god ,,, everything in the zine,,,,,

obviously the quality of your work, the art itself is so good ,,,, but OUGHHGGGGHGH i need to bang my head into a wall until im unconscious . like the title itself, starting off . woe mama we are in for a fucked up roboty treat . your comps . your writing . in the most respectful and awestuck tone possible . i need to kill you

my favorite i think is how you draw gemerl ,, all the robots you nail their expressiveness but oughh ,, him in particular makes me kick my feet . 'you are everything i fear becoming' makes me actually tear the fucking floorboards up the themes of autonomy ,,,,,, ,,, and how you storytell through your comic panels,,, the 'what a fool you are to think the doctor is gone' panel set makes me drink 2 Monsters and eat glass

THE . THE IMPOSSIBLE GOAL COMIC RAGHHHHHH. FAV FAV FAV . geninely shaking and trembling looking at it like jesus thats so fucked up ,,, your mind . your writing is so everything !! i would love to get any insight for how you workshop it because it is consistently breathtaking it sticks with me so heavily,,, one time i accidentally stole a line of dialogue word for word from your Never turn back zine comic and had to change it dfhjd,,,,, (wow this line is so cool ! ...a little toooo cool. squint.) but yeah god the last comic wow,, your panel compositions are banger after banger you are so good at consistently writing evocative stuff,,, tragic, rlly funny, hopeful, its so inspirational

thank u so much for putting together such a cool zine, would love to have it physically one day !

GOD. THANK YOU SO MUCH THIS EDIT IS KILLING ME. this is such a rewarding ask to get, i'm so glad you picked up on these things!!

my writing work shopping style is. hm. a bit all over the place. i have a lot of thoughts about it i'll put under a cut if you're interested. there's a lot of little things i've picked up that help me out so so much that i would really love to share!

ok FIRST i should note that it took me so goddamn long to write this thing. like i had the very very VERY first concepts for metal sonic good future like. a year ago. the first scrawlings are literally in a notebook right after some thumbnails i was using for dance in fire and i was editing dialogue up until two days ago. i'm ill

BUT!!! there are a few things i like to keep in mind when i write/edit that have really helped me!

GET OTHER PEOPLE TO READ YOUR STUFF. ESSENTIAL STEP. i get stuck in holes with my work a lot and having beta readers and other eyes on this thing made it like a million times better

sometimes you have to kill your baby. there will be certain lines or moments that you ADORE that simply don't fit into the larger piece, and you gotta just cut it out to make it better sometimes. but usually this gives birth to an even cooler and more epic baby. or sometimes your killed baby is also resurrected later to be used in a different scene. does this make any sense

figuring out what emotion you want a scene to make people feel is very important - with this in mind, i also pay really close attention to how my writing or scene concepts make me feel physically. i think this is the thing that has helped me most with work shopping anything i want to be evocative. does a line make me tense my jaw? make my teeth vibrate? make my chest tight? do i suddenly feel the blood in my hands? if it makes me feel something within my body, i try to draw on that physical sensation when forming the rest of the scene.

ok this last one is. stupid. as i was wrapping up this thing i went through a final edit phase i'd call "Garten of Banban Vision." Garten of Banban is an indie horror game that has uhhh kinda mid dialogue. a lot of it focuses on exposition, and any emotion in it feels a bit hollow. with this in mind, i read through everything one last time and imagined like all of the lines were from a Garten of Banban game and spoken in the character's monotone voices. if the line felt like it could fit a little too well in the Garten of Banban world, i considered editing it. but if i started thinking "oh shit this is pretty good for a Garten of Banban game" i knew it was fine. do you understand what i was alluding to when i said my writing process is a bit all over the place

in conclusion. writing hard

[ladyduellist]

Epistles of Saints & Sinners

Chapter Summary:

Astarion makes an offer to Tav, later succumbing to his hunger.

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Story Summary:

When Astarion meets the humble bard, Tav, he soon finds out he's the only one between them that knows they are bound as soulmates through their marks. Deciding it's more trouble than its worth, he refuses to tell her along the course of their journey across Faerûn.

But, unbeknownst to him and their companions, Tav is harboring a gruesome secret that she only thought was nothing more than a traumatized period in her life.

As they both come to face to face with their pasts and presents, will they choose to move forward or let it consume them?

Healing isn’t linear—after all.

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Chapter 3: Thirst

Ao3

Next Chapter

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Main Page & Chapter List

Word Count: 7k

Pairing: Astarion x female bard Tav

CW: Sexually Explicit Language, Blood, Act 1 Spoilers

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He loved her right away. Her smile. Her creativity. Her heart most of all. He told her he used to have dreams about a woman before he met her, one fitting her description. It seemed like fate when they finally met. They both shared the same affinity for music. When he wrote her a love letters in the first few months of their courtship, he knew she would be his. She thought someone finally understood her. 10 years of a life together. 10 years of the dual natured beast that would wound. 10 years of love and honey of the cycle in between. Until she was numb.

— Evenlit (mother of Tavelle), diary entry 523

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“Ah, my favorite traveling companion, do you have a moment to, well, chat?” Astarion’s voice was less theatrical—more thoughtful—than usual as he saddled up next to the bard.

The crew had been traveling on foot again since early morning, deciding not to veer from their previous path. Searching for any signs that could point them in the direction of a healer that could excavate the worms inside their brains, hadn't yielded any results so far.

Tav nodded to Gale and Shadowheart, gesturing them to travel ahead, sensing Astarion needed privacy. The wizard shot her a prudent look under the guise of respecting her quarry to speak with the pallid elf alone.

Astarion didn’t strike her as the kind of man that would revisit a situation once he was rejected. No, he didn’t even seem wounded. Presumably, he would continue to carry on, his pretty lips sheen with dialogue prepped for the next casualty. Sure, it seemed suspicious enough, but if he had already moved on from their ordeal in the temple, there was no reason she should continue to dwell on their—misunderstanding.

Still, there was an awkwardness Tav buried behind her faint smile and neutral eyes. The want to restrict the memory of a foretoken graze of his willowy hands.

As Tav finally regarded him, her thoughts still flickering back to their time in the ruins, she met the garnet of his vision with a cautious gasp stuck in her throat as he stepped closer. The sun’s beams creating a halo around the feathery wisps of his curls, presented Tav with the imagery of an angel that had flown down from the heavens to gather her into his arms. Back arched, pecking along the top of her bosom—a holy sacrament that could convert her to him.

Thy will be done.

Her mouth felt dry. “Of course.”

Their boots slowed, equally matching each other’s footsteps in the dusty loam of the earth. Astarion stared ahead of them, his vision fixed on their two companions, likely watching their distance.

“To be quite frank, I read our little predicament wrong yesterday and took advantage of it without due respect to you. I’m sure that seems a bit odd coming from the likes of someone like me—considerate as I am—but I think we got off on the wrong foot." He absentmindedly scratched his neck. "I suppose even a charlatan like myself can get it wrong sometimes."

Tav was skeptical of his accountability that seemed less than straight-laced. But, it did dawn on her that she may have misjudged a few circuits that intersected within his heart. That, yes, while he seemed to live submerged in coquettish self interest, in this moment of letting her walls down just enough to scramble through some of the thickets of his inner mechanisms, he may be showing an ounce of authenticity.

Yet, there is an element to the contrition of her heart that she dare not speak. To utter it with a covetous breath would mean to give it truth. That while she seduced her thoughts of being filled in ways she had never known within the margins of a romantic relationship, that she was terrified to completely expose herself to another.

Astarion was indubitably beautiful, charming, and humorous. But, beyond those surfaces, she sought connection—maybe just enough to avoid more conflicting emotions to sow. In the minutes, hours, weeks she could stand, she knew love could be cutthroat and messy. Its afflictions: hail and brushfire, a constant bickering. She was unsure if she could ever love or be physically intimate in the way of it crossing the universe again.

The risk was so very grave. No matter the man present in her life, her interests must remain just that—interests.

For she, too, spits the saliva of the devil’s lies to guard the silly thing that is her heart.

“It isn’t as if I told you to halt as soon as it happened. I think we were both caught up in the moment and lust can be a powerful drug.” Her tone was so sickeningly gentle and candid with him.

“Is that a confession?” the man teased.

The songstress jokingly rolled her eyes. “Pfft. Hardly! Astarion, I am 91 years old. You are scarcely the first to try and seduce me.” She looked at him earnestly. “I’m sorry I let it go as far as it did; I have no desire to lead you on. I am attracted to you—gods, how couldn’t I be—but I...”

A silent awareness of their near intimate rush within the dank crypt walls hung thick in the air. Of the primal urge that can arise during traumatic events. The need to rake nails down another’s back. Foreheads slick with sweat. The smell of salt and sex in the air. To live inside one another’s flesh.

The impact of surviving: release.

He crossed his arms. “Enlighten me then. What is it that you’re seeking?”

Tav stayed silent. The truth crippled her heart. She didn’t even know if she believed such a concept existed anymore, belonging solely to romantic folklores of lovers supping droughts of poisons in order to meet one another again in the afterlife.

Astarion searched her face. “Something you think I’m incapable of?”

“I think it is something you’re not accustomed to,” she answered flatly.

“Then, it wouldn’t hurt to aid me with a hint. At the very least to prove you correct.”

Silver tongues belonged to silver serpents. And this, may be a game for him. But, self preservation could be the royal quandary of boundaries and she had already revealed enough. The vulnerability was there, ripe for the winnow of another’s cup, but she couldn’t bear it. Not yet.

A quietness slipped between her lips, the storm of her optics solemn. “…we do not know each other adequately yet.”

Astarion held his chin between his fingers, deep in thought. He reminded her of a scholar that endlessly agonized over scripts with his rumpled skin set amidst two silvery brows.

“Hmm. Tav, you’re really overthinking this. What I am offering—and desire, mind you—is a distraction. A short term fling to take us away from all this madness we’ve found ourselves in. But, if you prefer a less invasive course: what about friendship?”

“Annnnd, if you find yourself wanting that distraction, the offer will always be available,” he added swiftly with a quick wink.

The bard couldn’t help but laugh loudly. “You’ll be the first gentleman I’ll call upon in that case then! But, as for a friendship with you…I’d like that. A lot, in fact.”

Astarion narrowed his eyes, mouth perfectly molded into that of the trickster. “This whole conversation has been enlightening. In the spirit of ‘friendship’ and since we have gotten those unpleasant decrees out of the way, I believe this requires a bit of a reintroduction." He ceased his steps, placing a hand on his hip, while the other crossed over his chest. "My name is Astarion. I was a magistrate back in Baldur’s Gate. I enjoy a needle and thread, gilded chalices, and whatever other indulgences I can sink my teeth into. And you?”

And there was that darling blush creeping up the tenderness of her neck anew.

With all that hubris, Tav was amazed his head didn’t inflate thrice its size. Still, she played along, not discounting the potential for this being a gateway for better camaraderie.

A huff accompanied a subtle smile. “My name is Tavelle, but Tav is generally preferred by most. I was a traveling bard. I lived in Baldur’s Gate for the past year before the mind flayers came. I enjoy reading, a fine glass of bourbon, and the art of sword-fighting.”

“A bard? My, my. I’m sure the patriars just adored you, darling! To live in the Gate for that amount of time without winding up on the streets with folded hands begging for coin or between the sheets of some foolish braggart that doesn’t deserve your affections, warrants much more credit than I afforded you earlier,” he appraised her wryly.

Tav giggled coyly. She observed the high elf momentarily permitting himself to study the lifting of her own crinkling vision, down to the demure smile she flashed him.

“It seems you’ve misjudged me sir magistrate. A lady never reveals how she’s managed to work the entire city fawning over her! Though, I will say, it surely isn’t because of anything I’ve worked towards. I shudder to think I have any actual real prowess worth speaking about,” Tav bantered back sarcastically.

Bantering was not her typical forte. She had a quirky sense of humor about her, albeit a bit dark at times—she certainly wouldn’t consider herself to be an expert in the art of wit—but Astarion was bringing this side of her to light out of the blue. It was fun. Playful. An escape of sugary and sour amusements reserved for them alone. She couldn’t get enough.

“And where, my dear, has all this surprisingly sharp humor clawed its way out of? You’re typically so quiet of nature. Who knew our songbird had so much to say!” The way his mirth emerged itself when he bared his teeth to her in a dashing simper, caused her heart to skip a beat.

He tilted his head and grinned more broadly, as if there were an inside joke he had immediately recalled. Like he had heard the hiccup of her bloody organ.

“I may be introverted, but that doesn’t mean I don’t enjoy talking to others. Especially if it’s someone as charming as youuuu.” Another melody of a titter, her eyes so exceptionally spirited.

They both laughed.

Stepping closer to him, her fingers twiddled with the thrown plait of dark ash brown over her shoulder. She casted her steely blue gaze downward before raising them to his face, the lower portion of her lip bitten in thought.

“Thank you for speaking with me and trying to understand. Truly.”

Bong! The bell’s toll striked and the hunt began. With teeth real sharp and a charming grin.

Tav noticed his pupils track her teeth wedged into the soft plush of her lip as he swallowed gradually. ”Hmm? Yes, of course. Now as much as I’d enjoy teasing you relentlessly for the rest of the day, we should probably get moving.”

⸺⋘✤⋙⸺

As eventide washed over the land, the party decided on a night of respite before their visit to the Grove. Now aided by the addition of Lae’zel, the githyanki warrior, their dreadful circumstance had become notably strenuous. Two wary tiefling guards from a place called Druid's Grove, had captured her in a cage, frightened of the havoc she may cause. Her claim to have access to an apparatus that could rectify their tadpoles was a chance they could not all agree would be worth investigating, but Tav insisted they listen to the information she volunteered, offering her space within their elusive band.

However, she did not mince words once they were around the comforting light of their nightly fire. The flames casted a glow of saffron and tangelo reflecting onto the group’s complexions, bathing them in balmy heat. Shadowheart and the gith were standing near with arms crossed and irritated voices. Round green eyes narrowed on darker buttery skin. Razor teeth gritted and ready to spit.

“My people possess a cure for this infection. We will interrogate this Zorru at the Grove about where he saw my kin—unless you wish to sacrifice yourself to ghaik?” She was irrefutable in her credence, hellbent on reaching the githyanki crèche she deduced was nearby.

“Tav, she sees your kindness as a weakness. She will exploit it,” Shadowheart warned, pointing a finger at the bard.

Astarion slid past them, finding Tav sitting atop a massive piece of driftwood log by the fire. Her doublet was unbuckled, revealing a thin cream linen shirt underneath, tied lazily near her neckline. Relaxed and humming a whimsical tune, she had been pulling the last of her plait out while she seemed to be ignoring the two women's altercation.

She did not greet Astarion, instead resigning to a serene smile with a faint sprinkling of pink upon her skin as he watched her focus on running her fingers through her tangles. Even when his lissome form sat down beside her, fingers unknotting a snag, she still held the same expression.

Until out of nowhere, her voice caught him off guard, puncturing through the air between them. “Good evening, magistrate.”

Oh, did he ever bask in hearing the use of his former job title as if he still held a position of power. A fantasy of Tav pecking the coolness of his knuckles in reverence. “You’re not a monster, Astarion,” she’d whisper. The sly minx. He twitched in his pants.

The vampire bent down, his breath brisk against the point of her ear, inhaling the scent of natural oils from her hair. He was automatically taken back to their short affair inside the temple as he watched her skin prickle. Part of a plan failed, but not lost.

“Lae’zel is delightful. In a very ‘look at me twice and I’ll dismember you’ kind of way—of course,” he whispered.

Tav dramatically scoffed. Her hand drifted next to his bicep, placing it reservedly on him. She was climbing, climbing, climbing up, spreading her warmth over the sleeve of his jacket. It was seeping through—she was seeping through.

Her lips were a mellow heat and soft hush near his lobe. “Sounds like a challenge, Astarion. You have my support. Don’t let her get away!”

He modestly turned his head at the precise moment she descended from his ear to see her bottom lip swiftly bitten in a carefree simper. The same as she had done during their earlier conversation.

But, if he lifted the frail veil over her face, would he find her lips murmuring in prayer for him? For his cuspids to glide across her soft flesh. Mouth open and wet. On your knees, sweetheart. I will save you.

Then, there was a hunger present. A vivid thought of his teeth, latching onto that same part of her lip. Licking. Sucking. Kneading. His cock half erect. Until he bites into it and…

He cleared his throat, forcing the impure fantasy to subside, begging whatever divine beings that would consent to listen to not let their mind worms connect at that precise moment. If he didn’t gain momentum on the aching thirst he felt, everything would be lost.

Astarion leaned in closer, one of his longer curls unfurling, brushing against the side of her forehead like a feather landing in a dusting of snow. He delivered another punchline within distance of her temple. “You wretch. How could I ever say no?!”

Then, his voice was a purr. A final insert, one that neither the gods nor he can help himself but to taste on his tongue. “Though, quite recently, I’ve found my attention has been fixated on the enjoyment of wordplay with a friend.”

He could feel Tav shift nervously at his side, removing her hand calmly from him, folding it with the other in her lap. She turned her head halfway, peering over towards where Gale had been cooking their evening meals. There was a plume of flush resonating from her neck to her cheeks, contrasting against the ivory tone of her skin that sent a devil’s smirk on his lips.

All was not lost, after all, he thought.

“Gale appears overwhelmed. I should probably offer my help,” she muttered considerably, without acknowledging Astarion further.

Tav stood, placing the length of her wavy locks to hang like a waterfall down her back. She drifted towards the other side of the flames. Astarion watched her stroll towards the wizard, hips swaying like branches in the night’s breeze. Those same hips that were only inches away from him a few moments ago—inviting and wide.

Astarion leisurely rose, walking back to his tent to procure a bottle of a long forgotten red and a dingy goblet. He could overhear Tav and Gale discussing plans to prepare a suitable meal for their entourage with items from the packs they had picked through.

Gale appeared quite accustomed to cooking, skilled in frying meats to that perfect amount of crisp—or at least he had boasted. He passed along an enticing grin with a wiggle of his eyebrows towards Tav when he flipped a piece of sliced sausage midair and it landed right back in its starting position.

Tav beamed, "I see you are a man of many talents. Please never ask me to cook food so acrobatically for you. I promise it will not end well.”

“I fear, after this, I may have unofficially put myself in the position of ‘Camp Cook’ for our group. Food tricks and all. Though, let us resign from asking Lae’zel to help with food prep. I fear she’d insist on using that massive sword of hers on a poor tomato.”

“Not to worry, Gale. We’ll be sure to find you an apron and embroider your new title upon it so that everyone knows what you’re truly here for.” Tav appeared at his side, teasingly patting his arm.

Astarion cocked his brow, casting a sneer towards the two chefs before taking a large sip from an matured cup of wine. He disappeared behind the flap of red linen to change into a set of clothes that were more casual.

Folded neatly on his bedroll was an old ruffled shirt. Beloved and cared for over a long period of time. Multiple tears were visible, but each was stitched up with such precision, one would have thought they were graced with the surgical deftness of a doctor. Removing his intricately detailed coat, he carefully put the shirt over his torso and rolled the length of his sleeves up to his elbows—a particular piece of flair he added over an age.

This shirt was one of the few things that belonged to him in some fashion. When it was handed over to him as a “gift,” Astarion was aware that he would receive no other unless his behavior was considered favorable. For he would never be glorified for his contributions to his “family.” No, his tears were the sapid dessert that he demanded.

"Ungrateful boy. Your sobs will serve as my music tonight. Now bend over and cast your eyes to the hells for want of a contract with a hellion that will never save you from the flay."

Astarion crossed his arms over his chest, holding himself. A chilled sweat trickled down his forehead. Four walls baked in musk and blood: the kennels. His usual practiced breaths became gasping and erratic. He felt light-headed, needing to escape. His head started to scream louder than a harpy’s screech.

Yet, her mellifluous voice was sneaking into his ears, smoking out the curse that haunted him. It swirled around his body, protecting him, tugging him towards the source.

“Astarion. Astarion? Are you okay?!” Tav called out to him in concern.

He ran his fingers through his curls. Steady. Slow. The fabric walls of his tent come back into view.

Then, the roguish rake scratched its way back up his throat. “Ah, my sweet songbird! To think you left your handsome wizard to come sauntering all the way over here to look for me. You must be looking for refinement after all!”

He opened the flap to his tent dramatically like a ringmaster inviting patrons into a circus. Only, when he stepped out to face the bard whose voice granted him redemption, her appearance was perturbed.

Tav appeared sickly, like the blood had been drained from her upper body. A visible worry inscribed into the fine lines by her nose. She stood still and lifted her arm. Then, opened and closed her hand several times as if she wanted to reach out to touch him before deciding to rescind it entirely.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to intrude. I thought you were hurt. Your breathing…I thought I heard you in pain.” A tiny bit of breath left her mouth as if she were relieved. “Dinner is ready. I’ll give you time to collect yourself and head back.”

The elf bowed his head in her direction. “I assure you, I am fine. Run along; I’ll be right behind you.”

And then her smile was suddenly the first day of Spring. “You better or I will drag you over there!”

Precious angelic lark. Do not despair. Your wings will serve as the gateway for those that capture you.

Astarion wondered if he had chosen wrong.

No. He was rarely—if ever—wrong about his targets. Tav just presented more of a challenge. Had he not succumbed to the numbness he enacted to conserve what was left of his mental state long ago, guilt may have plagued the bits of humanity he plummeted away from Cazador.

She did possess a certain loveliness to her. Not in the way of grand belles he’d bedded in the past, but one that’s described in poesy passages of endearing semi-guileless women, whose beauty shines through beyond being skin deep. Anyone would be a damned fool to think otherwise. But, an intangible hole existed inside her beating elvish heart that had not yet fully healed. Only, the path to her is strewn with meteors and fragile stars. An unanticipated detail overlooked, one he did not predict as he tried to lure her in the ruins with the aphrodisiacs' of his actions.

He sighed. Had this been one of his usual haunts on the streets of Baldur’s Gate, with less time to devote to his victim, he could easily capture another with memorized lines and rehearsed “fuck me eyes.” All he knew were the instincts of a man that seduced centuries worth of people, using his body to be the prostitute his master commanded.

Where Tav was involved, simply uttering honeyed speeches or licking an oath of exiled pleasures she had never experienced in a stripe along her slit, would not be enough.

But, what of trust?

Ah. Now trust carried power. However, the caveat to such an assured reliance was the privilege of obtaining it. Trust gleaned through lust was manageable. But, trust through measures of safekeeping another’s hope and beliefs came with greater transactions.

If this songbird meant to be Astarion’s silver lining, then he would make her sing.

⸺⋘✤⋙⸺

Their lifeblood waits for you.

“Astarion, I don’t believe I’ve seen you eat a single morsel since you’ve been with us. You must be hungry? Here, there’s plenty to go around.” Gale brought the skillet over, sliding a portion of the food onto the remaining plates as the high elf approached.

You’re hungry.

He peeked over at the food sardonically. “As scrumptious as I’m sure—whatever all that—probably is, I will have to...decline. I have other sources of food stowed away. Regardless, you have my thanks.”

Starving.

Gathered around the campfire, they finished their meals while listening to Lae’zel speak about her crèche, K’liir, in the Tears of Selûne. Astarion couldn’t be less interested. He had no real family to speak of anymore—not that he remembered them—probably perishing many moons ago as it were. And the only place he called home, was the necrotic palace encased in stone towering over the lower city of Baldur’s Gate where dreams of a life go to wither.

”Your path is paved in blood. Your body does not belong to you. It was created to tempt. It is food created for anyone that craves it. Fuck your prick into anything that wants it. Your lips to press to whatever rotted or young flesh that desires it. You will never be anything more.”

Astarion refocused, nursing a goblet of wine as he leaned back against the log he had previously sat on with Tav. He caught the jovial expression on her face as she focused on each of them as they spoke—primarily that obtuse magician. The fucking gall of that wizard. I bet he gloated about his ‘mage hand’ all evening, he seethed.

Blood. You need to feed.

He needed to distract her. To cull her affections and isolate them on this farce of a relationship, ill-conceived by his want to survive.

Her. Your fangs want to be inside her, tearing at her throat. To taste the aurora of her voice as her blood warms you.

“Tav, dearest, why don’t you sing us a song from that arsenal of ballads you keep in that pretty little head of yours?”

The bard perked up, turning towards Astarion, her blue-gray depths wide as a doe. She was one of the moving pieces on the chessboard he satiated himself with.

Take her.

Though his request seemed innocent enough, the slithering leer of his gape seemed to make her feel abashed by the way she regarded him with her stare. This was all part of his cunning gambit of word wrestling they had begun to establish. And she knew what he was doing—of course she had to know. Astarion had the gumption to detect that she was conscious, but still uncertain, if he had only meant to tease her, to see her nonplussed in the moment, or if there laid an alternative motive to the glint of his impish smirk.

Her rosy lips parted slightly, a paltry excuse upon her tongue. “My lute perished in the crash.”

“Come now, it is not your lute that beguiles your audience with its voice. Do not keep us waiting, friend,” he winked, ushering her forward with a flamboyant wave of his hand.

Hunt her.

Tav did not argue. Perhaps to avoid further complications of the night or maybe because she recognized her talents had the ability to bring about a halcyon wave to their troubled comrades.

Though, as the first few notes she gifted to them uncurl like clear bells on silver tinsel decorating the reticence of the camp, her audience was now hers to command.

Taste her.

Tav's voice was ethereal, knitting together a story through the eyes of a traveler discovering fealty to happiness itself. She sang as if she were a holy entity within a chapel alone. The poetry of her words, the flames that would light the candles to the gods.

The winds spun around them, carrying her tune in ripples. Confidently, her eyes passed over to Astarion with a radiant warmth and he was motionless. As she reached a fluttering note, the bluish vein of her white satiny neck—a visible interference—caused an unexpected delirium.

Yes. Her blood will be the sweetest.

She had managed to do the impossible and hypnotize him entirely.

He had to have her. Just a taste.“Magistrate, please bite me.”

She’s yours. She’s yours. She’s yours.

The thrumming of his soul mate mark was a tittering of butterfly wings behind his ear. Astarion touched the sensitive area, crimson view darkened. Tonight. Tonight he would damn himself and be set free.

⸺⋘✤⋙⸺

”I love you, birdie,” he breathed into the nape of Tav’s neck.

The sunlight had just broken through with the dawn, casting illuminating golden beams onto their naked bodies. They were entangled with one another. Limbs thrown over limbs. Algos, her lover, spooning against her back. Pale and ruddy against his farmer’s tan.

He moved her cool brown locks away from her neck, placing a tender kiss near her hairline.

“Mmm. You spoil me,” she sighed lovingly.

“Not nearly enough.” He grabbed her chin, pulling it towards him.

Tav turned onto her side. She trailed her fingers daintily up his arm, then to the soft skin around orbs of near obsidian that were his eyes. If only she could freeze this moment. Collect it in a bottle and bury it within herself so the details, this exact moment, would never shift.

She scooted closer to him, the weight of her breasts hanging off to the side squishing them together. Her lips so soft, pliant, pressing to his own. They were slightly chapped, but doughy. The dreamiest of exhales left her nostrils.

He leaned in to kiss her back. One peck after the other, along her jaw, her chin. An amorous embrace accompanied by the heat of his breath kindling her neck again.

“Taste me, Algos.”

⸺⋘✤⋙⸺

Astarion hovered over Tav as she awoke with his mouth wide open, crisp air caressing her neck. His lips receded past their gums with teeth a pearly sheen in the light of the candle she had lit inside her tent.

“...shit.” He cursed.

Her eyes opened wide in confusion, watching Astarion swiftly backing away from her. She was furious. “What the FUCK are you doing?! Explain. NOW.”

Tav grabbed the rapier she kept at her side while she tranced and brought her wobbly self up to nearly her full height without hitting the tent's ceiling. Her body’s temperature was still cool from resting, leaving her partially disoriented. She was dressed in nothing, except her smalls and a gauzy linen shirt that barely reached past her bottom.

“No, it’s not what it looks like! I swear. I’ve never killed anyone—at least for food. I wasn’t going to hurt you!” He was crouching, his hands up in surrender.

There was a disbelieving jeer she hissed out. “No?! Do not play these games with me, Astarion! I am not an idiot. It looked like you were either going to bite me or assault me. I will run this rapier right through your ribs if you don’t leave immediately!” She pointed it towards him aggressively.

His voice was an octave above a shaking whisper, rounded eyes staring at her shamefully. “Wait, please! I just needed—blood. For food. I’m far weaker than I’d like to acknowledge. It’s pathetic.”

Then, when he altered his weight onto his other hip, the fine lines around his mouth having grown from their stressful interaction, she finally noticed. Astarion's lustrous teeth had sharp fangs, one on each side in place of a human’s usual canines. His pallid color looked even more unnatural than she paid attention to previously. The bluish hue bags of his eyes, a bit darker—presumably from lack of food.

A slave to his sanguine hunger.

Her voice was suddenly breathy. And then, as quietly as she could manage, she fanned out an unsettling laugh. “A vampire. Of all the things…why didn’t you tell me?!”

Astarion opened his mind and bid Tav to connect with his tadpole. She saw it unfolding. He held back some of the pieces that fit into the jigsaw that was him, but then there was something hungry and on edge removing parts of himself he’d never get back. His mind opened further revealing quaking, ruptured memories of tyrannical eyes commanding him to eat the only creature he was allowed: rats. 

Then, the connection dissipated.

“You were forced to eat them or else you would have to starve? By the gods, Astarion,” she heedfully replied, lowering the rapier and propping it against one of the tent walls.

Tav registered she’d wept a few tears when a salty one dipped into the cupid’s bow of her lips. The raw mental images he shared with her were intense. This was not what she had expected from him, regardless of him being a vampire or a mortal. Her heart ached for him and if she knew he would have allowed it, she would have pulled him into a hug, muttering that he was safe into the crown of his hair.

“I—yes. Whatever disgusting vermin my master picked. I hope this explains why I was slow to trust you,” he hesitated awkwardly, adjusting his stance to try and relax his arms at his side. “But, right now, I do trust you. And you can trust me too. I may be out of line in asking you to trust me further, but if I only had just a little blood, I could fight better and my mind would be clear. Please.”

Tav considered his proposal, the desperation in his presently softer accent. If she consented to him feeding from her, she ran the risk of him killing her—either on purpose or by accident if he could not control his hunger. However, she cannot deny this may be one of the first times since they’ve interacted that he was being ethically truthful with her. That he was aware of the risks if he did take her life. There would no longer be the presumption of his security nor the help of removing their worms.

The decision to be made was dangerous; she would not have much time to decide for the sake of herself, Astarion, and their sordid companions.

“You wish to feed from me, correct? But, not my neck. Not yet, anyways. Not until I know you’ll abide by your words in the future. Because you know as well as I do, that you certainly have a way with them,” she unexpectedly jested. “Will my wrist suffice for now?”

Astarion nodded quizzically. “I would only need a taste and not a drop more. If I wind up with a stake in my heart, well, I probably had it coming,” he chuckled. “That being said, your wrist is more than fine. Shall we make ourselves comfortable?”

Tav shook her head to reaffirm her consent and proceeded to sit on top of her bedroll in a cross legged pose, her shirt resting high above her pale thighs. The rosy buds of her nipples had pebbled, poking through the shirt’s fabric. Her areolas, a delightful crepe pink, faintly visible in the light.

Slowly, she rolled up the left sleeve of her shirt, revealing tattoo work inked intricately up the length of her arm. On her forearm, half of a falcon’s bust sat—mastery in keen observation—with iridescent blue and brown feathers. Up further, a white fox glared, clever, yet ready to strike. Each adorned in ornamental elven helmets surrounded by nature’s leaves and flowers only adding to the woman’s earthly beauty.

Astarion bent down to rest on his knees in front of her, the smooth leather of his pants tantalizingly grazing against her shins. She could see him studying her figure, switching to view ink on her arm. Then, he lingered on the shape of her breasts through her shirt, and back up to the flush that was spreading over her cheeks. He held out his arm towards her, his hand facing up.

“Whenever you’re ready.” His voice was soothing, humble even, gently inviting her to sacrifice herself to him.

May your blood be consecrated, the sacrament fulfilled. Waste not, want more. For you give yourself willingly for his power and nourishment. The gods be with you.

She extended her arm, first dropping her index finger into his palm, then tip-toeing the rest of her digits until her hand fully rested on his own. The glacial temperature of his skin flowed through her body entirely like titillating electricity. Tav bit back a moan when his other hand covered hers and moved up to the inside of her wrist, caressing the silky skin.

It had been years since she was touched so intimately by a man. The sensations with each movement of his fingertips rubbing circles into her skin, caused her to swallow down a gasp. Every instinctual nerve inside of her was at war, either to push him away to the far reaches of Faerûn or to offer her blood to the man that somehow made her feel virginal by the swipe of his lithe fingers across her palm.

“You’re trembling.”

“I’m nervous and you're cold,” Tav uttered with a shudder.

“Hmm.” Astarion continued massaging, occasionally feeling the throb of her pulse. “Where are you from originally? Your birth place.”

“Wha—the Dalelands,” she managed to answer.

“And which of your parents is a high elf?” he continued.

“My father. My mother is a wood elf. How did you know?

He smiled tenderly. “I could tell by your fair features.”

She tilted her head towards him. Was he trying to distract her? The efforts were working.

He lifted her wrist to his faded pink lips, placing them airily on the stretch of her visible veins. A chilled breath exhaled through his elegant nose. “Why did you move to Baldur’s Gate?

Arrhythmia started overtaking the organ in her chest. She fisted the edge of her shirt in her free hand, sighing heavily. “I needed a change of scenery—to start anew.”

Astarion pecked her wrist. A shallow gravel of his throat vibrated against her skin when he lightly started to suckle on the outline of her vein.

She cried out sweetly. Her chest swelled in tandem with the swift movements of her breathing, but not from the nervousness she thought would plague her stomach with knots. No, it was from the longing ache of skin to skin contact he had unknowingly granted her.

"Shhh. Shh. We wouldn't want to wake anyone now would we?" He lightly bit her finger in warning and then slid his tongue back up to her wrist.

Tav was wet. Considerably so. She felt the petals of her cunt drench in want the longer he prolonged his desires for her blood. It occurred to her that he may be waiting for her to give him the final confirmation for him to bite her, but oh hells, when she noticed his bulge straining in his pants, she conjured up a reverie of her climbing into his lap and grinding herself up and down his length begging for him to take her.

Astarion moaned into her wrist. He had trailed his left hand up to hold her elbow, while the right still held onto her hand, waiting patiently. Her clit was throbbing; she would have given anything to move even the slightest bit to feel pressure placed upon it. Any sort of relief to wash over her to abate the shivers of her flesh, to shake the image of him biting and sucking on her breasts.

Eyes half-lidded, she willed herself to speak. “Astarion?”

Rubbing the point of his fangs in contact with her flesh, his tone was huskier. “Yes, Tavelle?”

Dear Oghma grant mercy on this woman!

It had been the first time he had mentioned the full length of her name and it was as clear as a magical forest revealing a trail to honeyed fruits that she should not partake in. What kind of man could be capable of appearing as both a divine creature and one that could lure her into the shadows?

Burning, burning, burning.

“Bite me.”

The sting of his fangs entering her wrist was like two icy shards stabbing her. Her blood filled his mouth in short spurts and he had trouble containing it all. At the corners of his mouth, two streams of her red essence dribbled down towards his chin.

Astarion gripped onto her arm tighter, involuntarily pulling her closer to him. Greedily, he gulped her down, sometimes stopping to lick at the puncture wounds before wrapping his maw around her wrist once more to swallow her down. He hummed in pleasure the longer he drank, possessed by the taste.

Tav felt lethargic. “ ‘Starion.”

He didn’t hear her. The scarlet of his eyes had grown foggy with a glaze of something voracious and abysmal. Guttural sounds accompanied slurps of her blood as his fangs dug in deeper.

Tav’s head fell forward meekly. She grasped onto his silvery curls with the strength that was slowly being depleted and tugged. “Astarion you must—NO MORE!”

All at once, he released her, falling backwards onto his elbows. He licked his fingers with a pleasing noise, as if he’d just treated himself to an extravagant feast.

“You were—you tasted amazing!” Breathing in quick shudders he added, "I feel…happy. Strong. My mind isn’t clouded.”

Still slumped over, she attempted to placate the vertigo that was causing her head to swim by regulating her breathing. She sounded raspy. “Could you please help me to lay down?”

“Ah! Yes, but of course. It’s the least I could do after that invigorating experience.”

Astarion crawled over to her. Cradling her against his torso, he considerately brought her down to rest on her bedroll. It was flattened, probably uncomfortable, but to Tav and her ailing situation—it felt perfect.

“Are you alright?” he asked, leaning over her, wiping her sweaty bangs from her face.

His scent rolled over her, lulling her to enter a trance. She hadn’t noticed it earlier, perhaps from her adrenaline spiking, but it was pure heaven. Bergamot, rosemary, and smokier warm notes.

“Mmhmm. A bit weak is all.”

She reached up and wiped the drying blood from his chin and lips with her sleeve, providing him with a tired smile. “Astarion? Thank you for trusting me tonight.”

He tensed as she touched him. Jaw tight. A furrowed brow. His eyes moved back and forth, searching hers. Something uncharacteristic briefly showed behind his inspection of her, then fleetingly faded away.

Strange.

Standing upright, Astarion turned to leave her tent. He looked over his shoulder, his voice a serious temper. “Rest well. I still need to hunt to fill myself completely, but this was a gift you know. I won’t forget it. ”

Snuggling into her blankets, she recalled the events of the night. The bizarre appeal of his icy breath. The arousal she felt when he stroked her. The pain mixed with carnal desire as he bit her. The weight of truths they shared. His unforeseen concern for her comfort. A veracity of his soul, bared to her before he left.

And as her lashes laid in long weaves along the edges of her closed eyelids, her last thoughts as she drifted off to enter the dream realm, were about the closeness Astarion unintentionally gave her that she hadn’t felt in years.

[loveandlive4eva]

HOW TO SHIFT TO VOID/DR/IMAGINATION (using yoga nidra!)

[ hi guys! I’ve been researching for ongoing shifting attempts I’ve been doing and I found out about a really interesting meditation/yoga method, yoga nidra, that looks like it could help a lot with visualizing our imaginations/4d and shifting to the void/dr! disclaimer- I’m like not at all an expert on this technique. yoga, or desi culture in general, I literally like just started researching it today, what I hope to do is introduce LOA methodology to some of this technique to help manifestors and shifters in their LOA journeys, if I get anything wrong, offend anyone or if theirs something you’d like to enlighten on, please comment, reblog, or send an ask! ♡ anyways let’s get onto the post ~ ]

so, what is yoga nidra?

[ from my (brief) research, yoga nidra is a yoga technique which allows for access to the states between sleep and waking consciousness, which is relevant to manifestors and shifters because this intermediary state allows for the brain to be more susceptible to allow our subconscious to manifest our dream live and wants. Yoga Nidra is an ancient practice vital to the Hindu religion for millenia, but the specific form of yoga nidra I’ll be discussing was established during the 1970s, and I am mostly going off of the teachings of Satyananda Saraswati (this figure is controversial and is tied to accusations of sexual abuse, I in no way am supporting his actions and only want to share the information he provided with my additions, his action are super, super, gross, don’t support him as a person or financially). The following brackets will be profiling the seven steps needed to achieve the yoga nidra state. Also, this method is greatly aided by the assistance of a guided meditation, which can be provided through audio form such as through youtube or spotify (which there are numerous resources) or irl through a yoga instructor or friend, but make sure this environment is safe, and research your yoga gurus. you can lets begin ♡ ]

HOW TO ACHIEVE YOGA NIDRA : STEP 1 - STARFISH / SAVASANA POSITION

[ the first position which is recommended for yoga nidra is to assume the shavasana position, more commonly known as the starfish position in western circles due to having all four limbs spread openly, similarly to the animal. We’ll be further using the effects of this technique during the course of the yoga nidra state. ]

STEP 2 - THINKING WITH INTENT

[ this step might be familiar to shifters and some manifestors, as we’re often instructed to think with intent to achieve your desired manifestations or reality. In this state, we will think with intents to fully relax our mind and body, and later, think with the intention that no matter what, you will achieve your desired state or want, think with the intent that all limiting beliefs have been discarded. ]

STEP 3 - ROTATION OF CONSCIOUSNESS

[ I think this is basically just body scanning, but can also be used as an oppurtunity to position your consciousness into that of the desired person, state, reality etc you want to achieve. Disconnect your body fully from the 3D world at this point, you should only be aware of the 4D world ]

STEP 4 - AWARNESS OF BREATH

[ it’s basically what it sounds like lol, so just do your preferred breathing excercises ]

STEP 5 - FEELINGS AND SENSATIONS

[ this is where you should start to visualize your inner world more vividly, invoking the ability to use your 5 senses in your inner world to further immerse your brain in this experience. I’ve already made a post (that no one read) about how to easily invoke your five senses to shift :) ]

STEP 6 - CREATIVE VISUALIZATIONS

[ this is an extension of the previous step, where you visualize your inner world. in this step, the focus is specifically on the sense of vision in the inner world, where intense mental traning and concentration is used to invision complex imagery. remember, visualizing (and vision in general) is a sequence of succeeding imagery, it’s not that complicated at all, and you’ll become better and better every time you try! ]

STEP 7 - INTENTIONAL THINKING - THE RE-UP

[ This final step invokes once again intentional thinking, but instead of easing you into the dream world, it eases you out, returning the mind to wakefullness. ]

conclusion ~

[ what originally drawn me into this method was that it provided the clearest instruction of how to bring ourselves to the inner world I’ve seen before, and I hope it was able to inspire you also~ you’re going to manifest your desires, it’s literally destiny, remember that, and byeee! ♡ ]

[captain-lessship]

His “Sidekick In The Chair” No Longer Pt. 3

A/n: I rushed to get this little part out. Pt 4 will be a fight scene.

Your mother woke you up, knocking on your door, “Sweetie! Pavitr is here!”

You and Toxin groaned as you rolled over, eye squinting at the wall that shined in the morning sun. 

The door then flung open, it was Pav. “Let’s go! Come on! Why are you still in bed?” 

He yapped at you like a chihuahua until you had your teeth brushed, fresh clothes and a spot of breakfast and tea.

He then told you what the morning would consist of and you were not exactly excited.

Candy bar wrappers littered the top of the roof as you laid, breathing heavily to the side. You had been working on mastering using Toxins abilities for hero work all day and you were ready to call it a day but Pavitr wasn’t.

“Come on! One more lap!” Pav said, blowing a whistle he bought for the occasion. He had been making you do laps, pushups, pull ups and burpees. He had turned into a very cheery drill sergeant.

Toxin swallowed the fifth bar of dark chocolate and almonds before speaking to you, “Is it too late to eat him?”

“It wouldn’t do you any good, He has no brains.” 

Toxin grumbled at your comment, you raised up and looked at Pav, annoyance  prevalent on your face. “Blow that whistle one more time.” 

And he did.

You opened your mouth to say something but before you did, a red streak flashed across your vision and you watched as a string of crimson darted towards Pav. Instinctively, you grabbed onto it and pulled it up, watched in horror as is plunged into the television antenna above Pav. 

He looked at you. You expected anger due to the fact it could have wounded him but he had this huge grin on his face like a kid in a candy shop.

“That was so cool!” He shouted, running up to you, “I didn’t know you could do that!” 

You had been hard at work for the past few days. You had made a sort of under suit and helmet that you could use to listen in on the communication line, which was shared with Pav. You also updated his suit to make it more protective.

He, of course, was looming over your shoulder as you showed him what exactly you were doing to his beloved suit.

“Are you sure you should be cutting that?” 

“Yes,” you sighed, “I know what I am doing.” 

On the other shoulder was another critic, “I don’t want to have to hear his voice in my ear constantly.” Toxin hissed out.

“Hey!”

“Shush!” You spun around, listening intently. Sirens.

Pav’s spidey sense was catching up on what ever was making the noise, “Is the suit wearable?”

You quickly sewed the arm shut and tossed it to him. You pulled on your own suit and placed the helmet. “One, Two…” Toxin surrounded you, leaving only the eyes thin enough for you to look through, “Check?”

“Check, check!” Pav said, giving a thumbs up. “You ready for your first fight?” He said as he opened your window but before you could answer, he threw himself out of it. 

“You ready, Toxi?” 

“Yes and I get a nickname?” 

“Yeah?”

“That is really sweet, I never thought-“

“I love you guys but come on,” Pavitr’s voice rang in, “It’s go time!”

You smiled, “We’ll talk later Toxi.” you jumped out the window and felt as a rope extended from your hands, you were web swinging.

You moved and weaved around the buildings, letting Toxin go on autopilot, following Pav’s directions.

You looked down at the city, mind drifting to when Pav once took you web swinging. He pretended to drop you and that put a end to that but you couldn’t help the smile that came to your face as you think about it.

As you swung into the vicinity of Pav, you saw it: Electricity

Light swelled and then popped due to the voltage. Electricity seemed to flow through the air and in the middle was a man who was glowing blue and rippling with strips of purple. You and Pav made it on top of a building.

“Any ideas?” He asked. 

“Well, obviously water is out of the question.”

“If we get to close,” he added, “we will burn to a crisp. Or at the very least look like we licked wall outlets.”

“What’re options?” You asked, “No close range not water.” 

Pav looked at you, “Is he a conductor?”

“What?” 

“Does he absorb electricity?”

“I know what a conductor is, idiot. I am just wondering if you are trying to fry me from the inside out.”

Toxin spoke up. “I am. It doesn’t hurt me. It is not fun though.”

“I think we should try talking to them first.” You said.

“What?” Pav and Toxin said in unison.

“No one goes on a rampage like this for fun. They must want something or need help themselves.” You said, walking to the edge of the building.

“But what if they are just a bad person?” Pav said, walking right behind you.

You smiled to yourself, “Then you wouldn’t have followed me.” 

[cyarsk52-20]

SEX

12 Sex Experts Share Advice On How To Be Sexually Confident

ASHLEY COBB

MAR 24, 2023 15:00 PM EST

Every single person struggles with self-confidence from time to time. It is natural to not feel confident in everything that we do. In the bedroom, too, lacking confidence is a normal part of life because of imposter syndrome and insecurities about our bodies. Sex is a confidence problem ready to happen. If you engage in sexual activity long enough, you’re bound to face difficulties at some point or another. 

Society teaches us to love sex and excel at it, but we are expected to keep it quiet. How does that work? I believe that people who talk about sex tend to have better sex. So, instead of shying away from your insecurities around sex, you should embrace them and figure out how to overcome them. What better way to gain sexual confidence than to learn firsthand from an actual sex expert? 

Listed below are tips on how you can boost their confidence in bed from some of my favorite sex experts and educators. 

Honor your body through your senses. 

"I believe that women and femmes can become more sexually confident by honoring their body through their senses (our sense of sight, taste, touch, smell, listening, visioning/mind). By asking a question like, 'Which touches or sensations feel good to my physical body?' we can open the door to exploring our sensuality. Our sensuality is a building block to sexual confidence. Learning how to Pleasure Map can support women and femmes increase their sexual confidence. Pleasure Mapping is an intentional act and skill by an individual or partners exploring varieties of physical touches, their sensations, intensities, temperatures, and directions that bring them pleasure in their bodies. 

"By asking a question like, 'Which touches or sensations feel good to my physical body?' we can open the door to exploring our sensuality. Our sensuality is a building block to sexual confidence."

"This exploration and this pause to touch their bodies with intention can support them in learning what turns them on both sensually and sexually. Understanding their bodies, in turn, helps them feel empowered. Then, women and femmes can take new knowledge, skill and embody that sexual confidence so they can use it in whatever way we see fit. It doesn’t matter whether they are single or with partner/s."

– Andrea Richardson (she/her), Certified Full Spectrum Doula (BADT)

Give yourself grace and do not compare yourself to others. 

"To become more sexually confident, you first have to be gentle with yourself and give yourself grace! We all have various upbringings and backgrounds that shape how we approach sex and sexuality. This may require some unlearning or reframing of the things you learned or internalized. Go at your own pace and do NOT compare yourself, your body, or your journey to anyone else's because everyone is different and you will not have all the details of anyone's story but your own."

– Chanel Jaali Marshall, Sexologist and Human Sexuality Ph.D. Student

Remember that our sexualness lives in our bodies.

"Get out of your head. Our sexualness lives in our bodies, the thoughts we have about our bodies, our pleasure, and our sexuality don’t serve our confidence. When we KNOW something we are more confident and getting to know your body will increase your sexual confidence. Also, consider taking an embodiment course or learning some gentle somatic practices that help you drop into the feeling body out of the thinking brain."

– Amina Peterson, Somatic Abolitionist, Tantric Sex & Intimacy Coach

Write yourself a love letter about your fantasies. 

"In order to be able to grow your sexual confidence within yourself you have to be able to effectively articulate what makes you feel sexy. This happens through our relationship with words, because words have meaning. My advice is to write yourself a love letterexpressing your fantasies and be as detailed as possible. When you are done, take a moment and step away from it. Then come back and allow yourself to review with an open mind."

— Mystkue Woods, MEd, Sexuality Arts Educator and CEO of Mystkue Publications

Examine the ways your sexuality has been defined for you, and redefine it for yourself.

"I believe that women can become more sexually confident and connect more into their sexuality when they begin to examine the ways in which societal and cultural expectations have shaped their thoughts about sex, sexuality, and who they are as a sexual being. Many women are shamed and sexualized and accept those ideologies as the way they should behave and think about their own sexuality. Self-reflection, acceptance of self, and release of sexual shame, and perhaps an acknowledgment and healing from sexual trauma can be the first steps to sexual liberation."

— Tanya Bass, PhD, CHES, CSE

Dance in front of the mirror naked.

"Dance in front of the mirror naked. As you're dancing, be sure to spend time admiring what you love about your body. Take notice of how your different body parts move, giggle, and flow with the music. If you find yourself thinking about what you don’t like about your body, redirect your thoughts to how much you love the song that’s playing or refocus on the parts you DO LOVE!"

— Chanta Blue, Sex & Relationship Therapist at Blue Counseling & Wellness Center

Ritualize getting ready in ways that make you feel sexy.

"Create a getting ready routine with songs playing all throughout the house that make you feel sexy. Take your time getting ready, and consider slowly caressing your body as you get dressed. Try a new or bold lipstick. Go perfume testing and find a scent that really compliments you."

— Tia Evans MSW MEd LCSW CST

Step into your power as a woman and never forget it.

"I believe women can become more sex confident by learning what is true. When women learn that they're worthy, beautiful, sexual, free, and deserving of pleasure they become more sex confident."

— Dr. Jacqueline Sherman, licensed clinical psychologist and certified intimacy & relationship coach.

Give yourself permission to be free.

"Sexual freedom arrives when you stop waiting for permission to be free. It’s past time to take your fantasies off of your pillow, I promise you’ll enjoy it in real life."

— Dr. Hareder Mcdowell, Community Psychologist & Black Female sexuality researcher

Have open dialogues about sex, what's taboo, and what you've experienced.

"In my experience, having open dialogue with other vulva owners has helped with my sexual confidence. The reality is, no single one of us knows everything there is to know about our own bodies or how to have sex with others. If we continue to have candid convos with people we trust, and NOT just the people we are sleeping with, it definitely helps boost sexual confidence. 

"Sharing experiences takes the taboo out of some of the things we are scared to try because at least our home girl tried it and she said it ain’t that bad. The point is, having honest discussions about our experiences will help us all be more confident and hopefully create better sexual experiences for all of us."

— @Toy._ the self-proclaimed sex sensei

Focus on your assets instead of what you're lacking.

"For me, sexual confidence begins within. It starts with our identity and mentality. In order to become more sexually confident, I believe women should focus on being comfortable in their own skin with more self-love (i.e., positive self-talk and body positivity) and a lot less comparison to others. Focus on your assets, not what you think you’re lacking. You are beautiful and uniquely you!"

— Dr. Ashley Townes, Sexual Health Researcher

Self-reflect and practice your sexual confidence. 

"Sexual confidence requires self-awareness and insight. It requires self-respect and self-love. How one treats themselves and speaks to themself can contribute to both building or destroying one’s sexual confidence. Sexual confidence is not solely about sex, yet [it's] about your relationship with sex and the relationship you have with yourself. 

"Sexual confidence is not solely about sex, yet [it's] about your relationship with sex and the relationship you have with yourself."

"Such confidence can be externally displayed through your aura/energy, the way you walk, speak, eye contact, and body movements. If ever lost, sexual confidence can be found again - through means such as self-reflection, practice, therapy, and/or coaching."

— Jasmine Brown, MA, International Trauma-focused Sexologist

Let’s make things inbox official! Sign up for the xoNecole newsletter for daily love, wellness, career, and exclusive content delivered straight to your inbox.

Feature image by Jose Luis Pelaez Inc/ Getty Images

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5 Easy Ways To Boost Your Sexual Confidence | The Everygirl ›

ASHLEY COBB

Ashley Cobb is an Atlanta-based sexpert, blogger, and HIV Activist known for her fun, down-to-earth and practical commentary. Her work has also been in Essence, Madamenoire, and other publications on the internet. Follow her on all platforms @sexwithashley.

Sent from my iPhone

[sinvulkt]

Angstpril:16. "YOU HAVE TO LET ME GO" - evil au

TW: NON CONSENSUAL AMPUTATION

@whumpril- 16. Guilt | Shock | "I'm so sorry." (Yes it fit all three)

@chaos-company

Binders coupled with a magnetic field held me upward, while various bounds ensured I could barely shift. Force-suppressing restraints kept me away from my gift, the Dark far away from my reach. Pat circled my chained body, making some last minute adjustments to—

No. It won’t happen.

I lunged at him, to no avail. Held as I was, I could barely shift. I snarled instead, but it did nothing more than make Pat brush my captive mind in reassurance.

“Don’t worry, Master. You won’t feel anything.”

That was the issue, wasn’t it? Not feeling what I should feel.

“You’ll regret this,” I growled between gritted teeth.

I flapped my wings, but they were too bound to move. They strained against the chains, doing little more than gathering a headache-inducing cacophony of clinks. I tensed and relaxed the muscle nevertheless, testing the leeway the restraints allowed them. It was too tight, too little- not even enough to throw the Togorian near me away, but it was something.

Soon, I wouldn’t even have that.

A long needle appeared in Pat’s hand.

Local anesthesia, my brain provided.

A strange kind of emptiness filled my chest. I struggled more, uncaring of the irritated skin that threatened to tear apart under the striction. It was negligible, compared to what my so-called Flock threatened to do.

Pain meant power.

None of the restraints gave, however, and I stayed trapped. A beautiful bird held in a golden cage, cared for but deprived of its most basic right.

Do you know what happens to little house birds? the Dark whispered in my ears.

I shuddered and pulled on the binders, wings shaking.  No matter how strongly I bid it, the Force remained silent to my calls. Despair dimmed my vision, until only a vague blur remained.

“You have to let me go,” I pleaded to Pat.

Perhaps the bond we once shared would appeal to him?

"I'm so sorry, but it must be done." His face was mournful, but determined. My stomach flopped.

I heard the words, but they felt empty, meaningless.

I should have known. Hope had always only held me back

I clenched my fist, hooks sinking deep into skin. Drops of blood fell on the well polished floor. For once, no one would scold me for dirtying it. A glance at Pat taught me he hadn’t noticed, and I reveled in this small rebellion. Not that it mattered. Soon, the whole room would be painted crimson.

I couldn’t stop it.

Pat stepped closer, and my panic increased tenfold.

“Let’s begin the surgery.”

The long needle edge was sank into my spine, and I screamed. I screamed as tough leather was placed into my mouth, and I screamed as my whole backside was rendered numb. I screamed until my throat gave out and I could scream no more, because I knew that, were I too stop, everything would become real.

The noise stopped.

I sagged in the restraints, mind rendered dizzy by the drugs now running through my system. Pat was behind me, touching the appendages I couldn’t feel anymore, and I couldn’t help but wonder… Were they still there? Were they gone?

It didn’t matter anyway.

No matter how much they removed in the surgery… They had warned me enough that the remnants would never allow me to fly again.

I turned away from the thought, folding my sense of self deep within my mind. Without the Force, it was harder. My core was lost amidst wild instinctual fear, and even my Siegrind memories remained closed to me. But I pushed further and further, sinking into lives I lived and lives others did. Sometimes, fear pushed my mind to bubble back, but I resisted. Again and again, helped by whatever cursed meditations poisoned me, I coralled my self further away from reality. I didn’t want to be here. 

Here had nothing to give me. 

Nothing but weakness I would drown in, pain I couldn’t use, and chains I had proved unable to break down. 

What a joke of a Darksider I was, I mocked, in between the sound of scalpel cleanly cutting skin and the mournful cry of a broken bone.

What use was living, when none of your life was your own?

Back in the room I refused to be in, held down by those it should have never feared from… a single tear rolled down a Siegrind’s cheek.

It was fun while it lasted.

[grislyeye]

This post evolved out of a series of self-essays I wrote on the subject of Mothership while developing CONT/EXT. I present these (incomplete) thoughts here. Please see my previous article on institutional horror.

I continue to unpick the intestinal knot in our cultural psyche that is Alien (1979). This article expands on Skerple's Aliens and Alien Design post, focussing on Aliens as objects of fear for games like Mothership.

Let me start with this: by definition, aliens should be uncategorisable. In the comfort of Skerple's categories, aliens can only replicate the earthbound horrors of slasher flicks and supernatural thrillers. It's a trap to imagine aliens as comprehensible in any conventional sense.

But, how do you go about portraying incomprehensible aliens?

Star Trek Futurism

Firstly, in order to question our assumptions about alien life, you need to understand Star Trek futurism. Star Trek futurism is the (often unconscious) bias that the future will be like the eponymous (and often nonsense) TV show. It's an optimistic vision of the future as it ought to be, with faster-than-light travel and (most relevant here) contact with ubiquitous, intelligent and human-like alien life.

It's a powerful vision, so thoroughly internalised that it colours everything we understand about science and technology. If you've ever wondered why earnest young men consistently keep faith with Elon Musk's increasingly unlikely plans to colonise Mars, it's because Star Trek futurism demands someone, anyone must make this first step.

Star Trek futurism also biases our understanding of alien life. Faster-than-light travel only makes sense (if it makes sense at all) when there's something to actually visit. Or someone, such as intelligent alien life that shares some affinity with us, i.e. possesses the ability and desire to communicate, trade, exchange knowledge, etc. with us.

Any concept of intelligent alien life that lacks that affinity gives lie to the idea that space travel is a meaningful endeavour, and so we see the endless forms of human-like aliens with funny foreheads in popular scifi.

But these creatures can never be terrifying because they are too like us. We must abandon Star Trek futurism, give up on the unlikely idea that aliens would possess any affinity with us, and leap, heedless, into...

The outside context

I propose a new category: Aliens as outside context entities. The alien as fundamental physiological, psychological, categorical and semantic break with our parochial assumptions of what alien life might look like.

Xenobiological universalism

Alien life, however, does not have to respect the educational difficulties posed by naked apes with oversized brains, and can exploit any autocatalytic system to generate complex 'lifeforms' if the environment permits. And the range of environments - and autocatalytic systems - is huge.

What Does a Martian Look Like? by Jack Cohen and Ian Stewart, 2004

Xenobiological universalism is another powerful concept, one that has influenced science fiction authors like Philip K. Dick and Greg Bear. At its heart is the idea that the complex, self-replicating systems that lead to life are not just unique to this planet, but are, in fact, a fundamental property of nature.

In scientific circles, the general consensus is that conditions for biological life on Earth are so narrow, delicate and improbable, it's unlikely they occur elsewhere in the universe (the Rare Earth hypothesis).

Xenobiological universalism is called "xenoscience" by its proponents, but I'd question its scientific basis.

This is, of course, absurd. Open hailing frequencies!

Universalism rejects this hidebound, parochial outlook. Just as the pond skater can't imagine existence beyond the two dimensions of its pool, our earthbound perspectives prejudice our definition of life.

Universalism seeks to widen our understanding of what life is, and the conditions under which it might evolve. In particular, it focuses on one of the possible origins of life on Earth: autocatalytic systems.

Quick science lesson, bear with me: catalysts are molecules that promote the formation of other molecules, without being used up themselves. For example, enzymes are naturally occurring catalysts, and catalytic converters can turn carbon monoxide into carbon dioxide indefinitely.

Autocatalysts - molecules that can create themselves without being used up - don't really exist, but collections of chemical reactions, taken as a whole, can be autocatalytic. DNA and its various helpers are an example of an autocatalytic system, which are capable of self-replication, a key element that allows complexity to defy the second law of thermodynamics, persist, grow and, hypothetically, evolve into more complex forms.

Examples of xenoscientific fiction include:

Diaspora by Greg Egan, 1997 (a personal favourite)

Dragon's Egg by Robert L. Forward, 1980

Mission of Gravity by Hal Clement, 1951

Ring by Stephen Baxter, 1994

Sundiver by David Brin, 1980

Universalism takes this further, imagining that DNA is just one possible example of an autocatalytic system, and that similar kinds of processes could occur under radically different circumstances. If self-replicating DNA could originate from the building blocks of organic chemistry, could not other, self-replicating systems form in the complex interactions in, say, silicon-based chemistry, magnetic fields, and so on?

These are "analogous autocatalytic systems," that mirror organic enzymes and DNA, but with radically different mechanics. They're a tool for imagining truly exotic forms of alien life, from the sun-ghosts of David Brin's Sundiver, who evolved in the magnetic fields of the Sun's chromosphere, to the microscopic cheela from Robert L. Forward's Dragon's Egg, who evolved on the surface of a neutron star.

All that is needed is that spark of self-replicating complexity, whether that is exotic, nucleic "molecules" formed by the strong nuclear force, or organic-like, silicon-based chemistries.

Or - in one particularly colourful example - squids living in machine-like simulations, running off Wang tile mathematics, formed by the interaction of super-large carbohydrate molecules floating on an alien ocean.

Most importantly, xenobiological universalism allows us to imagine aliens that defy categorisation, that exist in contexts completely outside human experience.

Creatures we can truly fear.

Fearful intersection

The problem with analogous autocatalytic systems is that they propose forms of life so alien, it's difficult to understand how we might interact with them. From the perspective of Mothership, our interest is in those potential points of contact, where exotic alien biologies unhappily intersect with our own. With xenobiological universalism in mind, horrors can lurch out of the darkness from some very unexpected places. So, we must imagine (or steal from science fiction) new forms of life that somehow hunger for our own.

Fearful symmetry

...it was a perfectly, perfectly reasonable, it seemed to me, that... that some organism should incubate within the warmth of another being.

John Hurt speaking in The Beast Within: The Making of Alien, 2003

While we stretch the definition of life, we must take care to stretch it only so far. The xenomorph, for example, is horrifying because it is incomprehensible, but also because it speaks to uncomfortable and undeniable truths about biology. It follows a set of rules that make it feel palpable.

When creating improbable biologies, there must be some hook our players can grab onto, so they can at least realise how doomed they are.

Learnings

This article was research for CONT/EXT, my upcoming britpunk one-shot for Mothership. Please follow or subscribe for updates.

I tried to make the alien "xenostoma" from CONT/EXT as inexplicable as possible. It doesn't have any sensory organs, no obvious front or back. It's unorthodox method of locomotion that has no earthly equivalent, seemingly designed for space. As an inhabitant of the Thread, it's not evolved for gravity, its senses attuned to the effluvia.

There's little context for the player's to latch onto, especially as I kept its full form hidden during playtests.

The elegance of Mothership allows us to portray complex creatures using the light touch of the rules. Our outside context entities only need the fateful intersection with Wounds and Instinct. The fiction of the invented biology can inform the rest.

But, the truly inexplicable thing about CONT/EXT is The Thread. Next week, I'll be looking at the psychological and semantic implications of the alien as outside context entity.

[guardian-rocket]

Hello there! We don't write together, but I follow you and regularly love reading your threads when they come across my dash. You write Rocket so well, and clearly do it with love. I came across this post and immediately it gave me Rocket feels, so I thought perhaps you might enjoy it too. Have a great night! =)

https://www.tumblr.com/everythingfox/703282848622329856/grabby-hands

/// Wow! Your message truly made my day! First off thank you so much for sending this! It means a lot to me to hear people enjoy following along with my threads. It means the world to me to hear that you enjoy my portrayal of such a beloved character and I want to say I absolutely love doing it.

And to top it all off, thank you for sharing that adorable video! Watching it brought a huge grin to my face.

Below the cut is me drabbling on about the video and what it made me think about, but it got long so I am cutting it into a read-more to respect those who may not be interested in me going on and on about raccoon/Rocket's biology. 🤣 ///

///This is such a joyful video, and I will say that because of Rocket I've learned to understand a lot about Raccoons and this little fella is feeling this person's fingers with his paws to 'see' them. Because of raccoons very poor vision, they will often use their sensitive sense of touch to see, and they can 'see' with their hands. I do kinda incorporate this in headcanons I have of Rocket, in that if he needs to see something close to him (well) he wears work goggles or glasses if he can't just figure it out with his hands, otherwise you'll get him squinting or just straight up not looking at what his hands are doing.

You can see this baby just being like 'What's this?'

Another thing this makes me think of is when we first see Rocket thrown in the cage with Batch 89, shortly after he is thrown in he tries to stand up like he normally would (on his hands/front paws) and he immediately collapses because of the work that was one on them. The first series of operations gave him thumbs and changed his hand shape to be more humanoid. A raccoon's brain has approximately two-thirds of the sensory perception area of the cerebral cortex devoted to touch, primarily from their paws so I imagine this must have been very painful to have gone through particularly because we're unaware if they used any pain killers for the processes. Rocket can't lift his weight on his sore paws, and immediately collapses, shaking, looking at his operated 'hand' confused and scared. It's such a small and quick scene but ever since I started RPing Rocket I noted that his hands and stature are the two most significant physical (and not-brain related) augmentations that were done to his body.

I don't know what my point is exactly, just... raccoon hands are important and we should all take a moment and appreciate Rocket's hands too. They've been through so much and he's done so many amazing things with them. ///

[anon-of-the-void]

I feel like this needs to be said for everyone doubting themselves at any time with anything they do. (And I hope I make sense) This can be applied to EVERY interest one may have (but NOT including immoral shit. I do not support murder or anything criminal as a hobby. Just needed to clearify that. Moving on!)

We do our hobby because we like doing it. We appreciate the struggle and can be proud when we have finished the project.

Naturally we love to share that with others. Hear their thoughts on it. Hopefully get them hyped on it like we are. Receive praise for the work we put into it. It is nice to be known for something you do and are good at according to our interpretation of being skilled or "talented". There is no shame in it but people can be fucking cruel and some idiots just love to break others for a quick laugh.

Suddenly you are cringe when you do incredible stuff but don't have the community yet to back you up with views and likes and compliments. Now, any skill has become a contest for who is the prettiest or who makes it look the prettiest or who makes it sound the prettiest.

Niche things became mainstream. New things are being changed to fit that wave of a trend for some quick money grab.

Greed has killed passion.

We got addicted to the high of receiving praise in the hundreds to thousands to millions with just the press of a button. A button you can click on accident. A millisecond of barely an effort that has no character, no opinion, no thought and should have no weight to how we feel about the finished projects.

Sure, we use it to measure how valuable we think our skill is to the outside world. To everyone around us. To those living their own life and experiences. To the taste of people we may not have wanted to cater to. To a taste the project was never created for. But it has an opinion. And it's gonna use it.

In a lot of cases I see the doubt in the people who want to make it in the art world but simply get screwed over by the digital systems that helps so many other things become mainstream and the norm. And that shit is exhausting, never being first choice. Never being picked. And the few that pick you seem laughable in comparison to the big guys you may actually outdo with your creations.

What I am trying to say is that, if you create to be recognized and known for it, for the likes, for the fame- and you make it? Good for you. -if you fail at it? Quit it. You are not passionate about what you do. Maybe you even hate it. It can be incredible and some people will hate the loss of you creating things that others are passionate about. But still. Quit it. You are only hurting yourself. Choosing a path to get to fame- that thing you actually want- that you cannot stand is not helping you or the people in your life.

If you create because you appreciate the lows and are proud of the results. Get giddy when you get that idea and scrable to collect your materials. When you get lost in your own little bubble and forget time or that you had not eaten a thing for the last 10 hours. If you'd rather die than lose your vision or be unable to listen to music ever again or cannot draw or write. When you'd try everything in your power to find a way to still practice makeup or fashion or interior design even if all that's left is a brain with ideas, desperate to manifest them into something everyone can see, while being stuck in a decaying body. Imprisioned in your own flesh and bones. And you are not too focuses on all that you lost with it but instead cry for never being able to dance again or sculpt or simply making a little paper star to gift to someone retail worker who got yelled at by their boss again. If you'd rather die- do not quit.

Do not quit.

Never fucking quit.

Our days are numbered. We grow older and become more frail. We will be at that point eventually. Do you really want to mourn the ideas lost in your skull, stuck in your brain that will never see the light of day? Would you regret having silenced yourself because you didn't reach a silly little number of people you cannot even confirm are real (that is what we are online. A number. A made up name. And most of the time just some blank profile with nothing to show for itself.) I would. And I am pretty sure you would too.

If you create, and put your own needs to the side to create for anybody but yourself- take a breather. Throw your phone to the side. Go out and buy your favorite snack and drink and go on a walk. Sit outside and observe your surroundings. Be aware of what you see. Talk to yourself. Point out that the grass looks really soft and cozy. Or that that color is really pretty. Or count the rings of a cut down tree. Marvel at the age it reached. Wonder why it was cut. Give it 5 minutes of care that you wish you'd get from others. It sounds silly and it will feel silly but it will distract you or even make you aware of thoughts your brain was hiding in a corner.

If you can't find yourself enjoying anything you do, roll with the first ideas you get wondering what you used to do when you were a child. Board games? Dress up? Play make belief with some figurines? If you have it at home you are good to go to be cringe in the safety of your room. Be ridicolous! The sillier the better. Your goal is to reach a state of giddyness, happy stimming and your eyes glossing over, maybe even crying from the overwhelm of happy little feelings. Or go out and visit your favourite toy store with the intention to spend 20 bucks. Look at the toys you used to see as a kid still being sold years later. Look at the new toys and extended lines that were added into it. And if you are unsure about being there to buy toys for yourself then you are the fun aunty looking for a gift for the niece's birthday.

Important is to distance yourself from it for however long you think you need to. Do other things you know will bring you joy. You are in no rush to get back to creating in that specific hobby. After all, you are creating meals and outfits every day! Creativity needs a nap too sometimes.

Just never quit.

We all hate to lose. Hate to depart. And even when you choose to lose to greed in regards to that specific interest, maybe it was not worth fighting for. Maybe it is just a stop on the journey you want to stay at a while longer. Simply have fallen into the trap of tour guides instead of venturing out on your own. The possibility of doing so, getting lost or finding your connection back to the group are still as present as when you first arrived. All it takes is a choice or a happy little accident. Just never stop moving.

So?

Will you lose your passion to your greed?

Or will you make them work together and face the dangers of other people's greed that try and consume you.

The battle never stops. Greed will always be our threat. Our opponent. But it makes a difference if it is our own greed betraying us or somebody else's who has yet to realize they are at war with themselves and the people around them.

And that is ok. It has always been ok until someone decided it wasn't pretty to them. But it doesn't have to be pretty.

It just has to be real.

Low key feel like once I complete the last two requests that came in I may quit writing. My stuff just isn’t getting much traction.

Thoughts?

[funnywormz]

OUUGHHUIIIUIOO DIMPOLE

edit: image description written by @princess-of-purple-prose ! thank you!

[ID: An in-character interview with Dimple from Mob Psycho 100 on 4chan. It reads:

>Interview with Dimple

>Q1. What kind of person were you when you were alive?

A. I forgot... But since its me, I'm sure it was a hella sexy dude.

>Q2. It seems you can communicate with Reigen when you're possessing him. How is that different from others?

A. Who knows. It's probably because we have a shared purpose. Even when you're both sitting in a car, only one of you can use the steering wheel, right? So unless two people agree exactly on which direction they're going, the car's not going to move in the right direction with two people behind the steering wheel. Ordinary people aren't usually conscious when I'm possessing them. It's different for espers, though. Especially strong ones, who can't even possess.

>Q3. What do you feel like?

A. Wet, smooth, slippery. A bit cold, but that can be adjusted. But it's not like ordinary people can touch me to begin with.

>Q4. Why did you stay in the world after giving up on becoming a god?

A. I'm not sure either... Spirits are born from a purpose, like resentment or obsession. Only with strong desire can the spirit body be maintained. But maybe it's like what Mob said. People are just people. You don't have to exist for a reason, and it doesn't matter if you care about it or not. Why does that kid occasionally say something profound when he's dealing with something besides himself?

>Q5. Is there anyone you particularly enjoyed possessing? Anyone you want to try?

A. That old lady or whatever guarding Claw. People who have very little spiritual resistance will do whatever you want, so that feels nice. Being the cult leader of LOL was especially fun! One person that surprised me was the leader of the Body Improvement Club. It was like manipulating a giant robot! Someone I'd want to try... probably Hanazawa. If you give him to me, I'm sure I can take him from being the school idol to the least popular guy in school in a day.

>Q6. What do you do when Mob's at school?

A. I've been going to Spirits and Such more often because interesting things occasionally happen there. Besides that, sometimes I take a walk, watch TV, or I check out your house. (evil laughter) I'm kidding, of course.

A. He's always trying to play pranks and thinks he's got Mob fooled, which is pretty funny to watch. Or at least that's what I thought, but it turns out Mob is really just that gullible. Reigen's like that guy who keeps building shaky towers out of building blocks, and it should come as no surprise when they collapse. He's always using some weird and question means of maintaining it all, and sometimes I just want to poke him a little bit and make him fall. ...I have to repress that desire.

>Q8. If you could become a human and become Mob's friend, what would you do?

A. Become a human... Make friends... Travel, eat food, play sports. Anything would be good, but I'd just like to pass the time as usual. That's enough to make good memories. ...or actually, I think I'd like to do sumo! Even if I can't beat him in powers, I want to use my bodily strength and muscles to toss Mob around. Let him see how that feels like.

>Q9. What was your first impression of Mob? How about now?

A. I thought he was just a kid so I underestimated him. But instead he was scary as fuck. I pissed my pants, okay? I don't think I understand him as much now since he's grown up a lot. I wonder how he'll end up.

>Q10. How can someone see you? A. You need to think that seeing me is something completely natural. Once you can fool your brain, your perspective changes. This is something that you can train, but maybe something completely unexpected will happen. So it's dangerous and not recommended. The easy way is to just let me possess you. The important thing is just to break the common sense that forms your vision.

Q11. Can you eat ordinary food? Please tell me your favorite food!

A. I can still eat and drink, and I'll absorb the energy in the food. My favorite food? Beans and peanuts. That's cute? Yeah, that's right. Also alcohol. Beer has the best alcohol fragrance. You say I sound like your dad? Hmph, shut up.

>Q12. What's the first thing you remember?

A. The memory of my life is entirely gone... I can't remember at all. I feel like it should be like it is now. I stare at the sky a lot. There's some old memories from right after I became a spirit, probably in a cemetery. But I don't know if I have a tomb somewhere. It's all like a prior life to me, anyways. One day, will I forget about what's happening now, too...? Ugh, that sounds like something an ordinary living person would be worried about. Forget about it. End ID]

[sequinsmile-x]

Tequila Confessions

Emily reveals more than she means too, and much more than Aaron would like, on a girls' night out.

-x-

A gift for @hancydrewfan, who immediately, on the first try, guessed the name of the College AU fic off of the initials alone.

-x-

Words: 3k

Warnings: Rated Teen. Discussions of sex, although non-graphic. Alcohol consumption, cursing.

Read over on Ao3, or below the cut

Girls' nights were rare. 

Any night that wasn’t taken up by a case seemed rare in itself, but this was even less likely to happen. A night when all three of them were free, no responsibilities with the kids, or date nights with their partners, was something special.

It was Penelope’s idea, as it always was. A demand to spend time with both Emily and JJ, claiming that they hadn’t had the chance to do so since Emily’s bachelorette party 8 months prior. Penelope convinces them to go to their favourite taco place, and doesn’t tell them it’s Margarita Night until they get there, knowing they both would have hesitated to drink quite as much as they ended up having on a work night if they had known. 

Emily feels pleasantly buzzed as it occurs to her that this was exactly what her husband told her would happen when she explained their plans to him. A look on his face that she found annoyingly attractive as he, slightly condescendingly, asked her if it was really a good idea. 

She’s lost count of the number of margarita’s she’s had when they, inevitably, start talking about sex. The rational part of her brain, that was slowly drowning in tequila, told her that she should just smile and nod, listen along as Penelope shared stories, and JJ interjected with comments about Will. She knew Aaron felt uncomfortable if she shared too much, something she had done at her bachelorette party.

She sees the screen of her phone light up on the table, grabbing it and smiling when a text from Aaron pops up. 

Still need me to pick you up? 

She types a response, the screen a little blurrier than usual as she blinks a couple of times to try and clear her vision. 

yess plese 

She smiles when she sees the dots indicating he was replying pop up already, imagining him sitting at home just waiting for her to let him know she was ready. Two texts appear in quick succession.

Ok, just let me know when you’re ready and I’ll come get you.

Please drink some water. 

She replies and puts her phone back down. 

Ok, live you. 

“What about you, Em?” 

She looks up at her friends, sees the expectant look on their faces as she takes another sip of her drink, not even tasting the alcohol anymore. She knows she’s crossed the line from tipsy to drunk, and that she had absorbed any of the conversation whilst she was texting Aaron.

“What about what?” She asks, having more of her drink before she sets it down. 

Penelope rolls her eyes lovingly, “If you hadn’t been sexting Hotch you would have heard.” 

“I wasn’t sexting him,” she replies, “we only do that when I’m bored at work.” 

JJ sniggers and Penelope gasps, clearly unaware of that. “Oh yeah,” JJ says, looking back and forth between her friends, “they aren’t that subtle either.” 

Emily narrows her eyes slightly. “What was the question?” She asks, moving the conversation along. 

“Where’s the craziest place you and Hotch have had sex?” Penelope asks, indicating to the waiter that they wanted another round of drinks. Emily is silent for a little too long, and Penelope winks at JJ, “or is he really as vanilla as Rossi likes to say he is.” 

Emily feels immediately defensive of Aaron, the tequila making her forget that this was exactly how Penelope had got details out of her last time, using her protective nature against her. 

“No,” Emily says casually, taking a sip of her drink, “I was going to say the back of our car, but that was just a hand job,” she feels a sick sense of pride when JJ splutters her margarita everywhere, covering her mouth as she laughs, “so I think I’d have to say his desk at work.” 

“His desk?” Penelope exclaims, sounding delighted despite the scandalised look on her face. 

Emily nods in response, the movement making her feel a little dizzy. “It was during the day too.”

Their next round of drinks arrive, and any attempts at keeping things to herself are long gone. 

___

When Aaron walks into the restaurant he immediately hears them. 

He gives the hostess a small smile and nods over to the table where Emily, JJ and Penelope were sitting and he walks over to it. JJ spots him first, announcing his presence a little too loudly. 

“Aaron!” Emily exclaims as she turns to look at him, a wide smile on her face as he makes it to the table. He leans down and kisses her, not surprised when he can taste tequila on her lips. She pulls him down into the spare seat next to her, and he complies, knowing from experience that he wouldn’t get them out and into the car immediately. 

“Hi honey.” She says, leaning into his side. “We were just talking about you.” She places her hand on his leg, much higher up than she usually would in public, and he’s grateful that he made the decision to sit down. “All good things, I promise.” She adds on quickly. 

“Very good things.” JJ says, nodding.

“Great things.” Penelope says at the same time, not quite looking at him. 

He feels Emily’s hand drift up his leg slightly, and he grabs it, linking their fingers together to stop her from actually groping him. 

“Shall we go?” He says, looking back and forth between them all. “I can drop you both home if you want.” 

“That would be great, Hotch.” JJ says, smiling gratefully. “I would have got a cab otherwise.”

“Thank you, Sir.” Penelope says, standing up as they get ready to leave. 

“You don’t have to call me, Sir. We aren’t at work.” He says, something he had told her many times over the years, feeling increasingly uncomfortable with the title as their personal lives got more and more intertwined. 

They get into the car, Aaron supporting Emily with his arm around her waist the whole way whilst the other two women walk arm in arm. They make pleasant conversation the entire journey, dropping JJ off first. The three of them were clearly very drunk, their voices, and laughter, louder than normal. 

As he pulls up outside of Penelope’s apartment building he offers to walk her up, but she declines, saying she’d text Emily when she was upstairs. 

“Thanks for the lift though, Sir.” Penelope says, opening the car door. “It’s a nice car. There's a lot of space back here. It’s very…handy.” 

Emily turns around sharply and glares at her, the movement too fast for her drunken state. 

“Pen.” 

“What…” Aaron starts, the situation clicking in his brain as he speaks. “Oh.” He looks at his wife, an imploring look on his face. 

“Sorry,” Penelope says, laughing at her own joke as she puts her hands up, “I couldn’t help myself.” She closes the car door and waves at them, before she turns and walks towards her apartment.

Emily sighs as she settles back into her seat, avoiding Aaron’s eye contact as he starts to drive off. They sit in silence for a couple of minutes before her phone pings, and she looks down to see a text from Penelope.

“Pen made it to her place.” She says, smiling at him. “Thank you for picking us up.” 

“You’re welcome.” He replies, “It’s better than you getting a cab home.” 

He’d done his job for too long to allow that to happen, had seen too many things, so he’d always gladly go and pick her up.

Even if she did tell their coworkers things he considered private. 

“Sweetheart,” he says adoringly, despite his mild irritation, “how many times have I asked you not to tell Garcia about our sex life.” 

“She gave me tequila. It’s like truth serum!” She exclaims, her words slurring in a way that makes him bite back a smile, fighting a losing battle as he desperately tries to keep the moral high ground. “If it helps,” she says, turning to face him and placing her hand, a little too high, on his thigh, “I was very complimentary.” 

“Funnily enough, Em,” He deadpans, throwing her a look before focusing his concentration back on the road, “that does not make me feel better.” He sees her all but pouting, or the closest she ever came to it, out of the corner of his eye and he sighs. He places his hand over hers on his leg to stop it from wandering any further up, linking their fingers and placing it closer to his knee. “How complimentary?” He asks indulgently, not really wanting to know the answer, but he knows he’s done the right thing when she smiles brightly, his chest tight at the sight of it. 

She shifts in her seat so she’s able to see him a little better, a wry grin spreading across her face. 

“Incredibly so,” she replies, biting her lower lip, her usual subtle attempts at flirting with him left behind in the restaurant, somewhere in between her 3rd and 4th margarita, “the best I’ve ever had. I even told them about that thing you do with your ton-”

“Ok, yes thank you sweetheart.” He cuts her off, already feeling his cheeks flush at the idea of his employees knowing that level of detail about his sex life with his wife. He clears his throat, looking over at her again briefly and raising an eyebrow, pride he felt a little ashamed of rising in his chest. “The best you’ve ever had?” 

She beams at him. “By far, honey.” She winks at him, or he thinks she’s attempted to when both of her eyes briefly close, “I can prove it to you when we get home.” 

He squeezes her hand before turning the car into their street. “Not tonight, I think it’s best we get some water in you and then get you into bed.” 

She frowns at him, her nose scrunching up in displeasure. “Spoilsport.” 

Aaron chuckles as he parks the car, getting out of it and round to her side before she’s even managed to unclip her seat belt. He isn’t surprised when she stumbles into him as she stands, his arm already wrapped around her waist. She steadies herself by grabbing the back of his shirt, her fingers tangled in the material. She smiles up at him, her eyes glazed over, a glassiness that did not diminish their beauty. She kisses him, and he responds, managing to avoid grimacing at the taste of the tequila. 

When she pulls away she looks at him, her teeth pressing into her bottom lip. “Are you sure you don’t want to have sex?” 

Aaron grabs her hand as she goes for the front of his pants, a lesson he had learnt in the restaurant earlier, and starts to lead her into the house.

“I’m sure,” he says, kissing the side of her head as she whines a little, “we have work in the morning so we’ll go to bed, I’ll get you some water and help you take off your makeup, and then we’ll go to sleep.” 

She leans into his side as he opens the front door, her head against his shoulder. “You’re the best husband I’ve ever had.” 

He smiles and shakes his head at her, his hand at her lower back as he guides her into the house. 

“I’m the only husband you’ve ever had.” He replies, encouraging her to lean against the side table by the door whilst he took her shoes off for her. “Now let's go to bed.” 

She stumbles twice on the stairs, and Aaron briefly considers vetoing all week day girls nights in future. 

___

Emily genuinely had never felt so sick in her life. She groans as the car goes around a corner, sharper than she’d ever remembered it being. She briefly closes her eyes, the light not blocked out by her sunglasses too bright for her to handle. 

“Do you have to drive so fast?” She asks, reaching into the McDonald's bag in her lap, grabbing another hashbrown to eat tentatively, her stomach still unsettled. 

“Em, I’m already driving a little below the speed limit.” Aaron replies, and she doesn’t have to look at him to know he’s smiling. “I cannot go any slower.” 

She groans, taking a sip of her Diet Coke. “Why did I think drinking with Pen, of all people, on a week night was a good idea?” She runs her hand over her face. “She can convince JJ and I of anything.” 

“I have no idea, baby.” He replies, pulling the car into the Quantico parking garage. “If only someone, who happens to be your husband and your boss, tried to tell you it wasn’t a good idea.”

She glares at him, her sunglasses falling down the bridge of her nose as she lowers her head slightly. “I���m going to remember this next time you’re hungover.” 

She watches as he tries to suppress a smile, and he nods, leaning over the centre console to press a quick kiss to her lips.

“Ok, Em. Next time Dave and I go out and exchange stories about our sex lives you can make fun of me.” He deadpans, climbing out of the car. She follows suit, her bag of hashbrowns clutched in her hand, as she meets him on the other side of the car, grateful that he’d picked up both of their briefcases. 

“What?” She looks at him for a second, her face screwed up in confusion before it clicks, memories of the night before flooding back. A few details too many shared over margaritas that she lost count of at some point during the evening. “Oh fuck,” she says, grimacing her spare hand reaching out and touching his arm, “shit, I’m sorry Aaron.” 

He shakes his head at her, any annoyance he would have felt the night before long gone. 

“It’s fine, just…maybe try not to tell them about anything else next time.” He says, leading them towards the elevator. “I do still have to do their annual evaluations, you know, how are they supposed to take me seriously when you’ve told them that I’m the best you’ve ever had.” 

She groans as the elevator starts, partially due to the feeling it creates in her stomach, partially from embarrassment. She leans her head on his shoulder, drawing the last bit of physical comfort from him that she would be able to have until they went home that evening. 

“I stand by that.” She mumbles, just as the doors open to reveal Dave on the other side, a shit-eating grin on his face. 

“Wow Prentiss, you look even worse than Garcia.” He says, his smile not diminishing. 

She scoffs and pushes past him. “Shut the fuck up Dave.”

___

She makes it to lunchtime before she hits a slump, her exhaustion and self inflicted headache taking hold. She’s just about to consider going to get a coffee when one appears in her eye line, a paper cup from her favourite cafe coming into view. She looks up to see her husband standing by her desk, an eyebrow raised at her as he pushes the coffee slightly closer to her.

“Thought you would need it by now.” 

“Oh my god,” she exclaims, pulling the coffee towards her as she takes a sip, “I love you so much.”

“You talking to Hotch or the coffee there, Princess?” Derek jokes from his desk, his smile only getting wider when she glares at him. JJ turns in her seat too, looking slightly green as she does so. 

“Both.” She answers, looking back up at Aaron. “It can be both.” 

Aaron pulls a paper bag from behind his back and passes it to her. “This might put me ahead of the coffee.” 

She gasps as she opens it to see her favourite pastry in the bag, the smell making her stomach roll in a nice way for the first time since she’d woken up that morning.

“Ok, yes. I definitely love you more.” She says, gratefully taking a bite as she speaks.

“How come I don’t get pastries and coffee when I’m hungover?” Dave asks, having joined the group, a sly smile on his face. “This stinks of special treatment.” He jokes, winking at Derek who smiles, clearly ready to join in.

“Yeah what gives, Hotch? What does Emily do that we don’t?” 

“I suck his di-”

“Ok.” Aaron says, cutting off his wife before she could continue, her usual professionalism thwarted by her hangover, her words thankfully slightly muffled by the food in her mouth. Although he knows from the slightly horrified look on Spencer’s face they’d heard her. “She’s my wife.” He says, leaving no room for argument. “I can bring her coffee.” 

Penelope choses that moment to walk over, thankfully cutting off the opportunity for the conversation to continue any further. She's paler than usual, her normal chirpy demeanour somewhat soured, and she comes to a stop by Emily’s desk.

“Sir, where do you want the files for the Hayes case?” She asks, looking at Aaron as if it was taking all of her concentration to stay standing up straight. 

“You can just put them on my desk, Garcia.” 

There's a moment of silence and he watches his wife’s eyes widen almost comically, and the same happens to JJ and Garcia. 

Emily coughs, briefly choking on a flake of pastry caught in her throat, and Aaron pats her on the back. 

“Em, are you ok?” He asks, concern laced through his voice, but then he hears Penelope and JJ laughing, both of them doing a poor job of covering it. 

“Yes,” she says, clearing her throat, “I’m fine.” 

“I’ll just go…put these files on your desk.” Penelope says, biting her lip to stop herself from smiling, and failing miserably. “Sir.” 

Aaron looks back and forth between the three women, feeling just as confused as the rest of the males members of the team looked, until it clicks in his head. He sighs, turning to look at his wife, who was very purposely avoiding his eye contact, suddenly finding her desk very interesting.

“Really, Em?” 

-x-

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[blinkycravesviolence]

her name is sabie and she's been trapped in a psuedo-timeloop because she keeps taking the deal "blinky" (more on the quotations later) gave her to "re-do" everything and start over. she is blissfully unaware of this fact.

the loop we see her in (not meet, as we kind of already met a version of her in the adventures for drowsytowns stuff) has her be some 16 year old circa 2014 or so. she's pretty closed off and defensive, her only friend being one avery, who she has a crush on. she's kind of dependent on avery, by the time it gets Bad, she begins to view her as a sort of angel trying to bring her salvation. i might talk about avery later actually. her home life isn't really a happy one, but she tends to ignore it, pretending nothing is wrong... but if you look close, you can see a bruise on her arm.

of course though, there is one defining factor in each of the loops, a little piece of media about the lords in black lost to time that, if found or fully deciphered or whatever else, could bring about the end times. sometimes its a kids show, other times its a book, in this timeline, it came in the form of those flash game sites. appearing in the early oughts to only suddenly shut down in 2010. sabie used to play it when she was younger, and one day found out it's lost media and decides to try and recover it out of nostalgia. little did she know, she signed herself up to be one of the first people to be infected by the cognitohazard embedded within the core of the site, blinky putting his sights on her and all that. she begins to feel incredibly paranoid anywhere outside of her room, seeing figures staring at her and later on actual fucking eyes. the visions yknow? she can't really stop trying to search for it anymore either, she's too scared to stop, and it's kind of her only purpose in life at this point. back on the angel shit while she views avery as that she also views herself as basically beyond salvation, beyond saving. she feels like avery should stop trying and leave her to rot, even if she deep down craves her presence.

sabie does inevitably bring about the apocalypse, entitled "the payload". it kind of works like a computer virus in your brain, if that makes sense? the website and knowledge of the website is a cognitohazard that breaks you down to whatever the lords (mostly blinky) deems necessary, basically giving them free access to the biological computer that is your brain. they can erase memories tamper with your thoughts etc. one notable thing is that those infected feel a urge to share it to as many people as possible. it only affects people with an internet connection (this is important cause avery is chronically offline and thus is one of the few ppl not affected by it)

sabie couldn't be bothered with the apocalypse, as by then she came to a horrifying realization. nothing here is real. not her life not the lords nothing is real. she's just a fictional character on a screen. she's not even real in the hatchetfield mythos she's in a fucking fanfiction. she knows about the psuedo-timeloop now, she knows about everything. this is why i put blinky in quotations btw, cause it's not really the REAL blinky as it's more the author (so me lol) than him. but hey, blinky and the audience might as well be the same at this point, right?

anyways i feel like sabie and estelle should me

do you want to hear about my oc

soery i didnt se thiss until now!! yes yes yes!!