#i am only showing you all a fraction of my power....

[artseniccatnip]

why does the beastie not just win on its own? is it stupid?

[mesetacadre]

any thoughts on left unity? saw the term in the bio of some Solarpunk blog

The most pressing matter to determine in regards to left unity is, in my opinion, what is "left", more than determining what "unity" is. Also, of course you'd see that in a solarpunk blog, they're all about labels that look good and progressive.

Are we talking about just marxists? Include the anarchists? councilists? eurocommunists? social-democrats? DSA types? anyone to the left of free market conservatism? I am aware in most cases, when people call for left unity, they generally mean communists of all stripes, anarchists, and maybe the left-most currents of social-democracy. But this illustrates the first issue with the term, and that's that leftism is not a coherent category and that it's based on vibes and a general undefined notion of "progress".

The left-right axis in politics comes from the first bourgeois democracies, in which there was a "left", free-market, or "progressive" party, and a "right", protectionist, "conservative" party. They represented the two main fractions within the newly in power capitalist classes. When other parties started to emerge, such as the first social-democratic parties (SPD, PSOE...), they kept with the left-right axis and positioned themselves to the left of the main "left" party, they claimed to represent the common man, that sort of thing.

Fast forwarding through a lot of history, these labels and the vast set of beliefs they categorize have stuck to today. But they are still labels based on the "centrist" consensus of the bourgeois parties. So it is both inappropriate and very hazy. To find the rest of the limitations of this "left" category, let's look now at the "unity" part of this slogan.

Which kind of unity and under which pretenses are these leftunitarians calling for, exactly? Are they talking about a united front kind of strategy? That has historically been proven to be ineffective and harmful. Any appeals to a common goal are nonsensical, an examination of the objectives of the currents these people pretend to "unite", reveals fundamental differences not only in end goals, but in the conception of specific tactics and ways to work.

In my offline experience organizing in a "united" way with "leftists", there has been, some times, an unsalvageable conflict in matters of tactics. For example, my marxist-leninist party prioritizes the security of its members, and if a given action is considered too dangerous in relation to the context, it is not done. However, anarchist and trotskyist groups place security on the back burner, displaying an admirable but very dangerous boldness when it comes to placing themselves and others in harm's way, for the sake of achieving the flashiest thing that will look good on twitter. How, exactly, is unity achieved in these situations? We would gladly collaborate if the others agreed to place more importance on security, but I'm sure the others have the same perspective on us placing more importance on their concerns. Experience also shows our approach is reliable in moments of high tension and danger, and theirs isn't, this is not a matter of opinion.

And this is the other and largest issue with the "left" category. There is close to no common characteristics besides opposition to the current system and a hazy agreement that people should be treated better, only the latter condition separates this category from fascism. Opposition to a common enemy does not make a sufficient condition for any kind of substantial cooperation. Actual, practical efforts are materialized through an understanding of what you want the alternative to be, not through an opposition to what's already there. This last sentence in itself is a matter of contention within the "left".

Left unity is a superficial slogan, so superficial that some can find it just as easy to cooperate with fascists, or to side with imperialists and genocidal settler colonies.

This is not to say cooperation in general is impossible. Like I said in the example from my experience, those differences only become unsalvageable in some cases. Especially in countries where the "left" category is characterized by fragmentation, collaboration with other currents is inevitable and necessary. What's at issue here is the elevation of this occasional cooperation to a defining principle of one's activity. Left unity is superficial and dysfunctional, cooperation within the "left" in some contexts is necessary.

[insert-something-funy-here]

PHIGHT OR PHLIGHT

Happy holidays!!! Here's chapter 4!! I might have a special present by christmas for yall if I'm not too busy :)

Hope yall enjoy stinky man crashing out while his rogue robot reconsider his career change!!

Bit of a content warning here: religious ideology and character death, read at your own discretion.

Part 1 || Part 3 || Part 5

Using the power of a god as a battery, how laughable. But this connection could do more than that, it was a direct way of influence. Granted it would be easier to leave him as he is, but where’s the fun in that? Besides, he’d get there eventually, may as well speed up the process and play with the product. Frankly, it doesn’t truly matter either way, alive or not, there’s nothing that can’t be manipulated.

Biograft could feel the air of the room around him, he lies shut down on the workbench as Medkit integrates the eye to power him. He felt the air inside him, his poor cooling system barely keeping it moving. He felt himself fall deeper than his body, he felt something other than himself in his code.

“That man may have created you, carved your mind, but I gift you life, soul.”

When making him, Subspace used hard code. All Biograft had known was the simplicity of set values and fixed data. Outside of that were the servers, all updates and new information being inputted through them. That was all he had to think about, all he could think about. But some loose line of code allowed for something more. But right now, he was still just code.

“ You’ll exist proper thanks to me.”

He could feel something new brewing inside him. Hear the gentle hum of energy flowing through him, replacing the electricity he ran on. He felt him. The Father changing him.

“You could consider yourself one of my children, as I am the one to truly give you existence through a fraction of myself.”

This pushing, crowding, invading of his innermost self. Is it even him thinking?

“I hold all my followers dear, but you? I have high hopes for. You best not disappoint. I have no use for a child which cannot provide back to me.”

Is it him thinking? Or is it this invisible force living through him? He felt the whirrs of his fans, but was it him making them move? He felt a gentle pulse as his new core began to stabilize. Did he have a heartbeat? Or was it just this hidden lord which forced its mimicry. Did he breathe? Or was the air he felt just commanded by some remorseless emperor to move as such?

“Don’t worry, don’t fight, you’ll receive what you wish, just don’t fight it.”

He felt his being expanding, preset values becoming dead weight. Stored data becoming memory-like. Simple intake and analysis becoming learning. As though he were being created, no, birthed for the first time. His limitations being stripped, he could edit his own code. But this came with a weight to it, the burden of a soul always does.

“Now then, what have you to say?”

He could speak whatever he wanted, but knew the response he owed.

“Thank you Father.”

Bigrafts lights turn on, a teal color replacing the orange they were before. The projection on his face now only showing one eye, the other replaced by a cactus flower. He sits up as Medkit watches anxiously. Biograft looks away from him and to himself, opening and closing his hands. Everything had this new depth to it; he felt his joints, his “skin”, the ever so slight warmth from the lights across him, and Medkit’s stare. After a deep breath and clearing his throat, Medkit breaks the silence, “How do you feel?”

Biograft thinks for a moment, realizing how the question doesn’t overwhelm him. He’s feeling a lot, but he’s able to think through it now. “I feel… I feel content. It’s odd, I have so much on my mind, but right now I feel okay.”

Medkit’s expression shifts slightly, showing some relief and a bit of surprise, “Good… that’s good,” he nods, “I should let Scythe know we’re finished.” Biograft nods and watches as medkit leaves. He steps off the workbench and stretches, it’s a familiar sensation, yet it’s different now. He looks down and notices the Blackrock emblem previously on his chest now replaced by that of the Lost Temple. Scythe’s and Medkit’s entrances interrupt him.

“Well lookie here!” Scythe steps in front of him, looking him up and down before putting a hand on his shoulder, “lookin like real family!” She gives a gentle squeeze before letting go and turning to Medkit, “You did a fine job on him. How’s his gear lookin?”

Biograft looks at Scythe confused, knowing what he’s about to ask she answers first, “Well we have to make sure ye distinguishable from the others don’t we? Don’t worry, I’ll teach ya how to use it.”

Medkit goes to one of the counters while Biograft responds, ‘I’m sure I’m capable of learning my own gear-”

Scythe cuts him off as Medkit walks towards the two with Biograft’s new weapon, “Aw but where’s the fun in that, besides you’ll already be with me for the next lil while considerin’ I gotta show you around.” Biograft opted not to respond, recognizing his lack of choice in the matter. He looks at the double-headed spear Medkit hands him, the ends having been taken from his old swords, but they’re now the same teal his lights are. He takes it and steps back in order to spin it a few times, feeling the new weight in his hands. “Havin’ fun?’ He stops as Scythe speaks, “Now, I got one last thing before we get going, you need a name lil guy!”

Biograft looks at her confused, so she continues, “Well we can’t just keep callin' ya Biograft, you’ll get mixed up with the others! So let’s give you a real name-”

Before Scythe gets a chance to continue, Biograft interrupts, “I want Medkit to pick it.”

Scythe chuckles under her breath and the two of them look at Medkit expectantly. Medkit thinks to himself for a moment. Seeing as he should be named after his gear the first word to come to mind was jägerstock; however, that doesn’t run off the tongue particularly well. It’s also known as a hunting staff… “Hunter.”

Biograft, no, Hunter stares at him before nodding, “That is my name now,” he looks at Scythe, “Hunter.”

“Well then, since that’s settled, we oughta get goin,” She walks to the door, motioning for Hunter to follow her, “See ya round ‘Kit.”

Hunter looks at Medkit for a moment, having so much more to say, but only manages to get out, “Bye,” with an implied, ‘for now I hope,’ before leaving. Medkit returns a quick goodbye as Hunter walks through the door.

Being left alone, Medkit reflects. The remaking of Hunter's gear was a familiar process, it reminded him of just how much he missed his old work. Gods, he hated being a doctor. It was such a miserable thing. But he couldn’t just stop. Not when there are people to help. That’s why he lives, isn’t it? That’s why he has the abilities he does. Why his crystal is different from Subspace’s at least.

The two had carved tangible pieces of the Iphinity which solidified into the crystals they used for power. It asked them what they wanted. Subspace said to destroy, Medkit said to help. The equipment they used has long been destroyed and Medkit made sure to take his notes before leaving. It would take Subspace some time to figure out how to repair the machinery missing half the processes for such.

Subspace’s crystal was much better at holding and channeling energy, while Medkits was better for manipulating it. That was how he healed people, simply reversing their wounds. It’s how he’s able to revive them.

It helps people, but he hates it.

He hates it. He hates the panic of being too late. He hates the chance that there may be a day where he cares for those he could save no more than Subspace does his test subjects. He hates that he cares underneath it all. He hates that he knows that day has long been coming. He hates it. He hates it. He hates it.

But what he hates most, is that there are demons he can’t save, because he knows he’s one of them.

A couple days pass, Scythe training Hunter and teaching him the church’s ways. If it weren’t for The Father’s energy keeping him alive, he wouldn’t have followed any of the beliefs they were spoon feeding him. Though, he only took a couple to heart.

He doesn’t need sleep, but finds mild satisfaction in it, so he continues the habit. Today Scythe wakes him, seeming quite excited, ��Get up! You got yer first mission today!” He gets up from his bed, leaving the mostly empty room and follows behind Scythe as they walk through the church's halls. “It’s a simple one, we’re gettin’ some gears for a dear patron of the church. It’ll be interesting seeing how ya do against a triple for your first kill, but I think you’ll do fine.”

Confused, he asks, ‘A triple? Please clarify.”

Scythe laughs, “A triple is a demon who’s gear has three main parts, instead of the usual one. They’re rare, ‘bout as rare as healers. Doubles, like me, are still pretty rare, but not as much as them. The one you’ll be goin’ after is named C.G. and wields a saber, rifle, and flag. We’ll be makin’ our way to Thieve’s Den.” Hunter nods, remaining quiet for a few seconds as he takes in the information.

“You said this would be my first kill. That is incorrect, unless you mean in the context of my working for the church.” Scythe stops in front of him and starts laughing.

She turns to face him, “Aw, bless your heart! You really think what you’ve done before counts?”

He looks at her confused, “Why wouldn’t it? Those demons are dead.”

She continues to laugh, Hunter unable to tell if it’s genuine or mockery. She takes a deep breath before staring him down, “Let me ask you somethin’, have you ever felt the weight of a life in your hands?” Before he can respond, she steps closer, “I know you’ve killed, but that wasn’t when you were living, that was when it was all you were meant for. All you were made for, because you were just a machine. Don’t misunderstand, you're still a machine, but you’re alone now. An individual that can think and feel fer itself, bearin’ the burdens of life. You haven’t killed like this.” She takes another step forward, “You have to take now, knowing you can be taken from just the same. You have a life now, you have something- well, someone, to loose. Still think you can kill the same?” Hunter finds himself unable to respond, tense. She grabs his shoulders, “Aw, you’ll be okay, there’ll be consequences if you can’t, but I know you it in you. Besides, family’s here to help, I’ll be watching your first couple missions, so don’t worry about anythin’ goin’ too wrong, alright?” Hunter hesitantly nods. Scythe lightly pats his shoulders before stepping away and the two of them leave the church.

“DAMN IT” Sucpace yells while throwing various supplies off one of his lab tables, glass shattering and various substances sprawling out on the floor. Hyperlaser observes his tantrum from afar. He had come to ask about the sudden drop in security, but found this instead.

“What the hell happened?” Whatever it was was definitely going to mean lots of work for him, so better to just get to the point.

“They got away! They- Medkit and that Biograft, they’re alive and they got away!” Subspace’s voice chokes up as he starts a coughing fit.

“A Biograft? Really?” That would explain the current state of things, but it was still hard to believe. Still not fully understanding, Hyperlaser asks a bit more forcefully, “What happened.”

Clearing his throat, “I had him cornered. Biograft was supposed to help, I had him. Medkit was right there in front of me, and that corrupted Biograft punched me off! Medkit’s bullet took a chunk of my side!” He motions dramatically to the injury. “Then they ran off!” he grips the table, about ready to throw it like he did with all the supplies which previously rested on it. “He took it! He broke him! He-”

Hyperlaser cuts him off before he could get too absorbed in his rant, “I assume you want me to retrieve him?”

Subspace pauses for a moment before grinning under his mask, seemingly a bit calmer, “No, no it’s fine, I’ll get back at him! I’ll just go back to the plan I had before! It’ll be perfect! I’ll take from him like he did to me!” As Subspace starts to laugh to himself, Hyperlazer decides that it’d be smart to leave. Subspace, not really noticing or caring about his exit, brings out an older set of files and starts writing on a nearby whiteboard.

All he has to do is kill Sword! That’s all! He’ll kill him, figure out some way of animating his corpse, and use him to get to dear ol’ Meddy! And once Meddy is dealt with, fixing that rogue robot is next on the list. How dare Medkit corrupt his son. There’s nothing wrong with Biograft, all his inventions are as flawless as he is! This one just needs some… correcting! With Meddy out of the way, it’ll be easy! But first things first, that son of a sword.

He arrives in a desolate grassland. There’s only one person other than him and Scythe. That’s the target, just a quick kill, then he’s done.

He arrives at a house. There’s only one demon inside. A Slow and painful death is what he deserves.

Hunter quietly approaches them, weapon ready in his hands.

Subspace begins flooding Sword’s house with a newer variation of his usual poison gas.

They stand and turn to face Hunter. They remain in a cold silence, waiting for the other to make a first move.

The Home’s air is suddenly chilling, but it takes Sword a while to notice something’s wrong. He hears his front door open and stands up. He sways and almost almost falls over going to see who just came in. He can't see much more than a tall figure, but there’s only one person who would walk into his home unannounced like this.

It’s hard to tell who swung first, but it didn’t matter considering neither of their attacks were hitting. Hunter still being unused to his weapon put him at a disadvantage. The demon he was fighting was weak, but knew how to use their gear in ways that made up for it. All it took to get them on the ground was a slight misstep and a smart calculation.

“Dad?”

“Go on, just make it quick.”

A sharp pain in his gut followed by laughter and a distorted voice, “Oh dear child, is that who the poison made you see?” he asks mockingly before continuing to laugh. He pulls the weapon out of him, watching as Sword falls to the ground. He says, “You both deserve this.” before stabbing him once again.

Hunter was caught off guard by the sudden surrender. The fight was a difficult one, but they were fighting. Perhaps there was something more he was missing, but he had to focus and get this over with.

As Sword lays bleeding out before him the air starts to feel tense, and not because of his poison. Without warning Subspace is suddenly thrown into a wall, it almost breaking from the impact. He coughs and takes a moment to regain himself before looking forward and seeing someone holding Sword.

And with one swift movement, it was.

They were gone.

They were gone, lying still, resting.

Scythe steps forward as Hunter stares at the body before him. For the first time since having the ability to feel, he felt nothing. Blank and void. Or perhaps he was feeling so much he just couldn’t feel it. Regardless, he was numb. Trapped. Scythe Picks up one of the gears, “Aw look, baby’s first kill!” She’s about to congratulate him, but without warning a familiar red rope wraps around him and steals him away. ‘SFoTH Damnit!” she huffs, picking up the gears and chasing after Hunter and his captor.

The rope around Hunter lets go as he finds himself next to Katana. ‘So you are the Biograft he mentioned.”

Hunter had questions, but they both knew it wasn’t long before Scythe found them, “My name is Hunter. Who told you about me?”

Katana sighed, “Hyperlaser.” Before Hunter asked anything more he asked, “Why? Why do you join them? They are corrupt. You are a hatchling young and blind. They are clipping you of wings you have yet to grow.”

“For someone I care about.” Biograft stands, readying his weapon.

A few moments pass, Katana processing his words, “I see. Then I shall cut you down as I would any of them.” He begins charging his weapon. Before either can move, Scythe steps in.

“Well, well, well, been a while hasn’t it?” Scythe smiles at Katana.

“Far too long. I'll see to it that your head is permanently severed from your body." He grimaces under his mask.

She chuckles "How violent! It's funny how some things never change." Scythe turns to Hunter, “We’ll leave for now, don’t need to drag the newbie into this! C’mon.” Scythe turns invisible, Hunter copies.

“Your corruption truly knows no bounds,” is the last thing they hear from Katana as they escape back to the church.

This was not good, not in the slightest. Sword was dead yes, but now his father was beating Subspace to a pulp. Venomshank knew he would outlive Sword, he always knew that. Relationships of any kind between gods and mortals never ended happily. But this wasn’t how Sword was supposed to die. This wasn’t when Sword was supposed to die. That boy had so much potential, and was such a kind soul, only to die like this. Venomshank should’ve been faster, he should’ve dropped what he was doing the second something felt off, should’ve trained him better, should’ve spent more time with him, should’ve… Should’ve better shown his care. Showed his love. Showed how Sword is and always will be a part of him. He should’ve actually followed through on his duty and promise to always be there for him.

But he’s already gone. The cause of his death almost gone too. Though Subspace is laying on the ground, coughing and wheezing, something’s wrong. He’s going to do something, but what?

It’s well known that when two phighters sacrifice their gear to the spawn, they obtain a biological child. The SFoTH deities being the exception. So what if one sacrificed their gear to god? A gear is attached to one’s soul, there’s plenty of worth in it. But is it enough for a blessing? Subspace had gone over the possibilities before, it was likely nothing would happen, especially considering the decay starting to corrupt his gear, but what else was there to do? He wasn’t going to just lie there and accept death, he was supposed to be making others do that! So in a last ditch effort, he calls to the only god he thought would respond and offers himself.

“ILLUMINA!!”

[arlana-likes-to-write]

Second Chance - Chapter 15

Masterlist

Warning: fluff with a mix of angst, mention of treatment, mention of death

Word Count: 3.4k

Note: a lot of this story is based on my own personal experience with the disease. As I've learned chemotherapy effects everyone very differently. The type of chemo the reader is on is based on her type of cancer but the treatment plan may not be 100% accurate. I'm no doctor but I am doing as much research as I can

Tony liked to wear masks, whether it be his Iron Man or the cocky Playboy or once upon a time behind a drink. He hated showing those around him how he was truly feeling. Partly, he blamed his upbringing. With his parents never around, he learned to box away his feelings and hide them. Things were different. He had Pepper, Morgan, and a team that felt like more of a family than Howard and Maria. Now there was you, a new addition to the mix but not an unwelcome one.

For once, he felt a little out of his element. With Morgan, he was there for the girl’s first steps, and although he missed her first words, Pepper sent him a video of it. Natasha made fun of him for crying, but he saw the tears that formed in the team’s eyes when his phone got passed around. But with you. He missed all of it. So when you declared that you weren’t going to use Morgan’s bone marrow to save your life, he couldn’t pull the ‘dad’ card. He was only your father for 2 weeks. There was no ground for him to stand on.

He sat in the meeting room while the rest of the team pilled in. They needed to know the change in your treatment plan. He caught Yelena’s eyes, and the blonde gave him a small smile. It was hard for him to wrap his head around the fact you were seeing Yelena. With everything going on, he needed a vacation. “So,” he said once Bucky sat down next to Natasha. “Her treatment is changing.”

He wasn’t sure if he told them the correct information. The intensity of the treatment dawned on everyone. It was still a 3-week cycle. Now, you would have a double dosage twice weekly for two weeks, then a week off. When Steve asked about a possible match, Tony gave a vague answer about still looking for one, but your doctor wanted to move forward before it was too late. It was your choice on how to tell the team the truth.

Thankfully, Yelena was there to fill in the blanks to the questions he wasn’t sure how to answer. No one seemed to bat an eye when she knew so much about your treatment plan.

Finally, the team began to leave. A heaviness filled the air, suffocating. Your ability to touch the lives of these people so quickly should be studied. A slight slap to his leg startled him out of his thoughts. “Belova, what do you want?” The blonde crossed her arms.

“I want you to say what is on your mind now that your daughter is not here,” she said. “I can take your shovel talk, Stark. I have faced bigger threats than you.” The man let out a dry laugh. It was funny, and she wasn’t wrong either. He knew only a fraction of the horrors Yelena and Natasha were subjected to. There was a lot he wanted to say - a conversation between the person dating his daughter that he thought he had more time to prepare for. Hell, Morgan was only 4.

But was it right for him to have a say in who you spent your time with? And this wasn’t someone random. This was Yelena, someone he knew long before you. He saw her grow into the person she is now.

“Why her?” he finally asked. “You could have anyone in the world, but you chose her after knowing her for less than a month.” Being an Avenger came with status and power. He knew it better than anyone. Tony watched Yelena’s face soften, and she let out a sigh. She sat in front of him.

“Before Natalia and I were taken to the Red Room, our mother told us to not let them take out hearts,” she played with a ring on her finger that had a turtle charm. It must be new since Tony had never seen it before. “I was not sure what she meant then, but now I do. Melina did not want our hearts to be darkened by the horrors we faced. It was the one thing we could control,” she sighed again. “Sometimes I question if my heart is still good but your daughter,” Yelena looked at Tony. “Her heart is still good even though the world tried to change it.”

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦    

The sound of the elevator stopping pulled you out of sleep. You weren’t fully asleep; you were drifting between the two stages. Your eyes fluttered open, and you saw Tony. Morgan was still pressed to your side in a much deeper sleep than you. “Sorry, kid, I didn’t realize you were here.” You shook your head.

“It’s fine,” you whispered. “This one was getting tired.” Pushing the blame onto Morgan was easier than admitting you were tired. If you were tired, then that meant you weren’t feeling good, and you refused to worry them. The man frowned and sat next to you. It was easy to lean against him.

“It’s okay to be tired,” he said, fixing the beanie on your head. You were wearing it less around the team, but it felt comforting to wear it. It’s okay to rest.”

“I don’t want to be tired,” you answered.

“Why?” Such a simple question caused turmoil to race through your body. If you were tired, your body was being affected by the chemo.

“Are you okay with me and Yelena?” You changed the direction of the conversation. Tony sighed, crossed his left leg over his right, and looked at the TV. The end credits of Frozen 2 were playing, but the movie was muted. You weren’t sure when you fell asleep during the film.

“I don’t think I have a say in who you sleep with,” you managed to sit up more and move Morgan so she was leaning on the armrest of the couch.

“Why would you think that?” You frowned. “Your opinion matters to me.” Tony looked at you.

“It does?” He questioned. You nodded, and you saw him smile as he looked forward again. “Then she isn’t stupid enough to hurt you. I’d kick her ass,” you chuckled and kept to yourself that Yelena believed she would win that fight. Still, his words nagged at you.

“Why did you not think your opinion wasn’t important to me?” You nudged your shoulder against him when he was quiet for too long.

“I haven’t been in your life long enough to dictate what you do with it,” he said. “If you wanted to spend your free time with Yelena, who am I to stop you.”

“Tony,” you spoke slowly.

“It’s fine,” he managed a forced smile. It reminded you of the smile from the garage. “I have some work to do,” he stood up and kissed your forehead. “I’ll see you later, okay?” You felt like you received whiplash with the change and tone in conversation.

“Tony, wait,” you said quickly, following him to the dining room table. You suddenly felt lightheaded. “Woah,” you said and grabbed onto the table.

“Hey, hey,” Tony grabbed you by the shoulders and carefully helped you sit down. “Deep breaths for me, okay? Deep breaths.” Your head fell onto his shoulder, and he rubbed his hand up and down your back. You took a few deep breaths, and your head stopped spinning. You slumped back into the chair and saw Tony kneeling before you with a smile. “Better?” You nodded.

“You may not have been there while I grew up because Jessica didn’t give you the choice,” Tony’s smile flattered. “But you are here now when I need you. Your opinion matters, you matter. So thank you.”

“No need to thank me, butterfly. You’re my daughter,” you nodded and heard Morgan call your name from the couch. “I’ll get her.” He stood up and walked over to the couch. You were too far to hear what Tony was saying, so you focused on your breathing. The world wasn’t spinning as much, but your body felt sluggish.

You heard Morgan’s feet pattering as she ran towards you. You sat up straighter when she appeared in front of you. “Daddy said you need a special Morgan hug.” You smiled.

“Yeah, I need a big hug,” she climbed onto your lap and wrapped her arms around your neck. You held her against you and looked at Tony over her shoulder.

“All better?” She asked.

“Yeah,” you closed your eyes and fought the tears threatening to take over. “All better.”

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦    

You loved traditions. There were so many between you and your mom. When the summer solstice came around, you would be camping to celebrate the summer kick-off. It was the best place to be, under the stars and a belly full of smores. For Christmas, you would ice skate on Christmas Eve and spend the morning at a local food shelter. Birthdays were kept small with a slice of cheesecake and one present. Those traditions died when she did. It hurts too much to continue them on your own.

Now, you were living with a new group, and they had their own set of traditions, which included the Young Avengers, as they were called, having dinner together. Since they were all horrible cooks, they decided on Chinese. Thankfully, they had soup options that wouldn’t upset your stomach. On any other day, you would offer to cook. Even when you tried to offer, it took a stern look from Yelena to keep your mouth shut. Besides, it would be unwise to stand in the kitchen when your entire body was laced with exhaustion.

It was frustrating. When your body craved sleep, but your mind and soul wanted this social interaction. Being trapped in your room while your friends were hanging out sounded dreadful. You never had FOMO. Sometimes, you need a night to recharge. Now, it was different. With this disease running rampant through your body, it was a clicking time bomb. Any moment could be your lost. So you fought through the exhaustion, ignored Yelena’s worried glances, and tried to stay in the present moment.

At first, it was easy; you laughed with your friends, told them stories about your life before them, and cuddled up against Yelena. She seemed to not care about the teasing remarks from Kate, America, or the winks MJ would send your way. All that mattered to her was that you were in her arms, but that was your downfall. Yelena was your portable heater. The heat that radiated off her soothed the ache in your body. It was bringing you closer to sleep than you would like.

You groaned and tried to shift away from Yelena. The blonde held you tighter to prevent your escape. “What’s wrong, detka?” She asked. “Am I too hot for you?” You rolled your eyes at her teasing remarks.

“No, I think you are not attractive at all,” you deadpanned and received a slight pinch to your side. “You are going to make me fall asleep.” Yelena frowned.

“Am I that boring?” You slapped her shoulder. She pretending to be hurt gave you time to move to the corner of the couch. The others were in the kitchen, cleaning up the leftover food and gathering snacks for the movie. Yelena quickly sat next to you again, offering space between you and her.

“If you are tired, get some sleep. We can do this another night.” Some of your friends in DC said you were brutally honest even when they wanted you to lie. You saw no point in lying to people that you cared about. It caused a few petty fights that lasted a few hours. You were like your mother in that aspect. She believed the truth; no matter how much it hurt, it was the best route.

You pushed some of Yelena’s hair behind her ear and kept your hand on her cheek. “I don’t know how many more nights I will have like this,” you whispered. “I want to join as many as I can.” Her green eyes softened, and she took your hand to kiss your palm.

Before she could respond, the others came back. Yelena placed her arm on the back of the couch and kissed the side of your head while you took the bowl of popcorn from MJ. You kept quiet while they discussed the movie to watch. Some random crime drama was put on and you relaxed into the couch.

While the opening credits were playing, you caught Yelena watching you. You took your eyes off the screen and looked at her. Quickly, she cupped your cheek and kissed you. She deepened the kiss and pulled away when Kate turned around to ask Yelena about the movie. She answered it perfectly as if her tongue wasn’t down your throat. “You are missing the movie,” she said.

“I am not sure how long I have, so I will never stop kissing you,” you smiled and kissed her cheek. You grabbed her arm, placed it over your shoulder, and leaned into her.

You weren’t the only one going through this, so depriving yourself of Yelena’s touch was depriving her, too. You weren’t alone. You had Yelena, Tony, Pepper, and all the Avengers. It was comforting yet terrifying.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦    

Yelena woke you up when the movie ended and returned to her room. Immediately, you fall back to sleep in the comfort of her bed and her arms around you. Suddenly, you woke up. Yelena separated herself from you. The cold air sent a shiver down your spine, but you couldn’t bring yourself up to cuddle beside her. It would wake her up, and she looked so peaceful while she slept. Her braid was coming undone from the constant tossing and turning. The blanket was at her waist, and her arms were under the pillow. Smiling, you carefully got out of bed. “Dekta,” you froze. You were sleeping next to a Black Widow, sneaking out of bed would be impossible.

“Just getting water,” you told her. “Go back to sleep.” Sleepy green eyes looked up at you.

“Promise you’ll come back,” you almost frowned. Instead, you walked over to her side of the bed and showed her your right pinky.

“Promise,” she looked at you confused. Her brain was still clouded with sleep. Slowly, she raised her hand and linked her pinky with yours. “Can’t break a pinky promise,” you smiled. “Especially if you kiss it.” You kissed your hand. Yelena dropped her hand and rolled her eyes.

“You are such a dork,” she mumbled and closed her eyes. You waited until she fell asleep and stood up. Deciding on getting water from the common floor, it was a good chance to stretch your legs. Surprisingly, you weren’t the only one there. Natasha sat at the dining room table with her laptop and a few files. The coffee mug she had was half full. You wondered how many times she refilled it. You filled two glasses of water in the kitchen and put in an electrolyte mixture. Once it was dissolved, you walked over to the redhead and placed it next to the coffee.

“It’s water with electrolyte mix,” you told her when she looked at it curiously. “You can’t survive on just coffee.” The woman scuffed but took a sip of the water. “What are you working on?” You sat on the opposite side of the table so you didn’t accidentally see what she was working on.

“Mission reports,” she answered and drank half of the water. You hid your smile behind your glass. “Just trying to get ahead.”

“I’m surprised Bucky let you out of bed,” Natasha laughed.

“I could say the same to you,” she said, glancing at you from above the report she was reading. “Does Yelena know you are wandering the tower at night?”

You wouldn’t call it wandering, but you knew what she meant. “Yes,” you said and traced the rim of the cup. “She knows I’m getting water, which isn’t a lie.” You finished your glass. While you sat silently as Natasha worked, your mind returned to the day Yelena planned for you. It seemed impossible to find something wrong. She let you ramble about animals, refused to make you feel bad when you walked about your mom, and made you feel safe. You only wanted to plan something that made her feel seen, too. Natasha seemed like the perfect person to ask. “I would say,” you spoke slowly. “You know Yelena pretty well.” The older Black Widow blinked at you and closed her laptop.

“I would hope so. She is my sister,” you rolled your eyes with a huff and leaned back in the chair. “What is on your mind?”

“I want to take her on a date before I start feeling unwell, but I’m not sure what to do,” you explained. So I want to ask the person who knows her the best.” You watched Natasha organize her workspace, carefully closing the files and making sure that the papers were inside and protected, then piled them on top of her laptop.

“Listen, I get that you are Stark’s kid, but that doesn’t protect you from me. Understand?” You nodded and kept your mouth shut. You knew she had more to say. “Yelena leaves her heart on her sleeve. It took a long time for her to trust people with it, and that trust was almost broken.” You figured she was talking to Yelena’s ex, the one who told her that her love language was something to be ashamed of. You wanted to ask more, but Natasha continued, “I see how you look at her. Your heart is good. She likes animals and dogs mostly. She has an American Akita with our parents back in Russia.”

“Thank you,” she nodded, stood up with her laptop under her arm, and grabbed her glass. You heard her cleaning the glasses. “Nat,” you followed her to the kitchen, and she took the glass from you to clean. “I like her a lot, and I will do everything in my power not to break her heart.”

Natasha narrowed her eyes at you and scanned you up and down. “Even though you refuse treatment, that could keep you here with her.” The air was sucked out of your lungs. It felt like she injected ice into your veins. Frozen to your spot, all you could do was stare at her.

“It’s so much more complicated than that,” you whispered. She gave you a soft smile.

“I get it,” she said, placing her hand on yours. Carefully, Natasha intertwined her fingers with yours. “I probably get it more than anyone.” You frowned, unsure of what she meant. “Just be with her for as long as you can. That’s all I ask.”

With Natasha’s words echoing, you walked back to Yelena’s room. The blonde woke up as soon as you got close to the bed. “Sorry,” you said as you climbed in next to her. Without saying anything, she pulled you close to her chest. Your head fell against her shoulder, and her heartbeat mixed with yours. It felt impossible to separate the two.

“Are you okay?” She mumbled. You nodded and burrowed your head into her shoulder.

“Can I put my hand under your shirt?” Her voice was soft when she said, ‘Yes’. You put your hand underneath her shirt and felt her breath hitch when she placed your hand over her heart. A shiver went down her body, you knew your hand was cold compared to her natural body temperature. “I used to do this with my mom,” you told her. When you were younger, you would place your hand above her shirt. “Her heartbeat always calmed me down.” Yelena used her free hand to pull your head out of her shoulders. You were looking up at her.

“Is there a reason you need to calm down?” She asked. You shook your head.

“No,” you whispered. “It’s just a nice reminder that you are here.” Yelena smiled. It was supposed to comfort you, but it broke your heart.

“I am here. I am not going anywhere.” She kissed you softly. Your body slumped against hers as you lost yourself in the feeling of her lips on yours. Still, Natasha’s words ran through your mind. You were the one who may leave.

_

Taglist: @likemick, @averagetmblrusser, @wandaromamoff69, @simpforyelenabelova, @cd-4848,

[crownmemes]

Assorted Media Sentences, Vol. 9

(Sentences from various pieces of media. Adjust phrasing where needed)

"You're not the only one who has lost everything to vampires!"

"Everybody wants to be a spy until they realise the cost."

"You're asking me to trust you? After you lied to me for all these years?"

"Don't wander far; we're not staying long."

"No offence, I just don't think it's a great idea you going on a solo mission to save the world."

"What are you doing in my bed?"

"I love you, I really do. It's just, somehow, it's hard for me to show that when you're here."

"Don't worry, it'll only hurt for a second or two."

"Is that what I'll become? Just an animal who can't resist?"

"Power - real power - comes not from hate, but from truth."

"Everything you've ever done, you've only ever done for yourself."

"I'm not as strong as you. I never was."

"Does it ever get any different for people like us?"

"Teach me to fight as you do! I promise I'll do anything you say!"

"History remembers the battle and forgets the blood."

"So you have no expectation that any relationship you enter into will last?"

"It feels wrong, doesn't it? To interrogate a miracle?"

"We are in a situation that is beyond morality."

"Why should I help you? What have the likes of you ever done to help the likes me?"

"I suppose virtue isn't a virtue if it doesn't cost you anything."

"Human? You don't deserve to be human."

"I like working with you. There's something about being around someone who won't compromise on doing well."

"You want them to believe that you're a god? You and I both know that you're not."

"You are the worst spy ever!"

"When I was a kid, I could see things. Things humans aren't supposed to see."

"Sometimes things go wrong, no matter what we promise. There are things in this world that we can't control, but we do our best, hm?"

"We make rather a good team, you and I."

"Is your conscience heavy? Do you have guilt in your heart for doing what you had to?"

"I'm starving. I don't remember ever being this hungry before."

"Whatever history remembers of me, if it remembers anything at all, it shall only be a fraction of the truth."

"We can call it lust or love, but it's always just need."

"Every place I was before where I am now, well, they were just leading me here, even if I didn't know it at the time."

[dbmars]

NOW ON A03...

The H-Files, Episode 1 Part 1

Relive everything you loved about the pilot of the X-Files but better now that it's Hannibal as Scully and Will as Mulder... "Spooky Graham"...!

The aliens may be responsible for Will's empathy powers, and Mischa was abducted...

If I get a decent response/support I'll finish the episode and maybe write some more!

No time like the present. I make my way back through the violent crime section, and downstairs, revisiting the secretary. She directs me to an elevator that sinks me down to the first sub-basement level. The doors open and I move through the cinder block hallway that smells of industrial floor cleaner and wet ceiling tiles. At the end of the hallway, past shelves of case file boxes, is an office door cracked open. The placard reads GRAHAM. I can hear shuffling within, the movement of a chair. My nose wrinkles against cheap aftershave and stale coffee.

        I knock. I knock again. “Sorry, nobody down here but the FBI’s most unwanted,” comes a wry voice. 

        I push the door open, revealing a small, windowless room packed with filing cabinets and shelves of still more files and paperwork. Despite what must be the vast amount of material crammed into the space, it is remarkably tidy, stacks neatly organized, lines clean. The bulletin board above the desk, however, is a mess of photos and handwritten notes. My eye is immediately drawn to a large poster of a science-fiction style flying disc, emblazoned with the phrase “I WANT TO BELIEVE.” 

        They don’t look like inverted bowls. More like saucers, thin and fragile, somehow meant to support an even more fragile teacup. 

        Against my will, my mind shows me the images that have haunted me most of my life – my mother’s teacup shattering against the floor, the white light filling every window of our hunting lodge, my sister’s screams, the whining, mechanical hum of the silver beast that descended from the heavens. My mother’s terrified shrieking as I raced out to save my sister, only to be rendered weightless, floating in searing blindness, and borne away. 

        I slam that door in the memory palace and attach another lock to it. They seem to rust and break at the most inopportune times.

         Agent Will Graham is bent over a light box, examining a series of slides. He, too, seems to forego the typical FBI uniform of dark suits and white shirts with uninteresting ties. He looks more like a rumpled professor or domesticated outdoorsman in brown pants and a green collared shirt that could just as easily be worn for yard work. His hair is curly, untidy in places, and he wears a layer of scattered stubble. When he turns to me, Will Graham lowers his tortoiseshell glasses down from his head. Fascinating. Nearsighted? 

        I give him my best introduction smile, oozing friendliness and ease. “Agent Graham. My name is Hannibal Lecter.” I approach and offer a hand. He shakes it very briefly, and a shadow flickers over his expression as I hold on just a little too long for his comfort. “I’ve been assigned to work with you.” 

         He glances at my eyes for a fraction of a second before turning his head, putting the frames of his glasses between us as a barrier. “Nice to, ah, suddenly be so highly regarded,” he says, all barbed irony. Rude. He turns in his seat and fiddles with the slides, deliberately disengaging. Ruder still. “So, who’d you piss off to get stuck with this detail, Lecter?” 

    He knows full well why I am here, it seems. Rather, why I’ve been sent. But they could have sent anyone. I was not chosen at random. There are multiple chess pieces moving at the same time on a three-dimensional board, and I have control of the queens. I am here because I seek truth. Because I cannot trust my memories – they might be nothing but a traumatized child’s nightmares, a wounded brain trying to explain what happened the night the world went away. Will Graham may very well be the lantern to light my way.

         “As it happens, I’ve heard a lot about you,” I say pleasantly as he gets up from his desk chair and opens a tidy file cabinet drawer, thumbing through the immaculate plastic tabs. I wonder if his drawers at home are kept just as meticulously. “I’m looking forward to working with you.”

         “Really? I was, ah, under the impression you were sent here… to spy on me.” He opens the file and glances through a few typewritten pages before returning it to its proper place. I let my eyes wander over him as he stands in profile. I’d jump at the chance to spy on him. Voyeurism is one of my favorite parts of my process - to see without being seen. To stalk. I imagine him moving through his assuredly modest home, stretching, scratching his head, sleepy. Ready for bed in, oh, a pair of dull boxer shorts. I think of him illuminated by the light of his refrigerator as he searches for a little something before bed, uplit by its unholy glow as I watch him through the window.

            Interesting. My body is responding sexually to the image. I wipe it away as though I’d drawn it in steam on a mirror. “Agent Graham, if you have any doubts about my credentials or qualifications-”

            “-you’re a medical doctor and you’re teaching at the academy.” He interrupts me. Rude. Instead of imagining my knife piercing his skin, I picture him on his knees, waiting to make it up to me. Again, I force the image to dissolve. “You did your undergraduate degree in physics, while, ah, concurrently double majoring in psychology and art history with a focus on Renaissance Italy.” He selects another file from the cabinet and slides the drawer shut. “I dunno about your artsy stuff, but your senior thesis was ‘Einstein’s Twin Paradox: A New Interpretation’. Now, there’s a credential: rewriting Einstein.” 

            I successfully mask my surprise that he’s so familiar with my work. “Did you happen to read it?”

            He returns to his desk chair and compares something in the file to a slide. I glance over at his computer screen as he bends over to retrieve a dropped report from the file. I make out the words force, abduction, and light before he rights himself. “Yeah. I liked it,” he says, still not looking at me directly, the rims of his glasses in the way. “It’s just that in, ah… in my line of work – the laws of physics rarely seem to apply.” He adjusts another slide, then turns on the projector, flashing a washed-out image on the blank bit of cinder block wall kept clear, it seems, for this purpose. He has a curve to his lips on one side that strikes me as impudent. I want to wipe it off his face, one way or another.

            “Not fond of eye contact, are you?” I say, an attempt to derail and destabilize. 

            Now he swivels in his chair and looks directly at me. His eyes are like the ocean between islands in Greece. “Eyes are distracting. You see too much. You don’t see enough. And it’s hard to focus when you’re thinking those whites are really white, or they must have hepatitis, or is that a burst vein?”

            I can’t help but smile, returning his gaze steadily. 

            “So… yeah. I try to avoid eyes whenever possible. It’s even easier in the dark.” Agent Graham steps behind me and switches off the lights. The windowless cell is lit now only by the projected image – a young woman, lifeless on the ground. Ah. I had wondered when we’d discuss murder. While Will Graham is apparently very aware of my career and accomplishments, he doesn’t know of my finest work as the Chesapeake Ripper. Perhaps, someday, he will. 

            Will leans his hips against his desk, crossing his arms over his midsection. It catches the loose fabric of his shirt, drawing it against the bow of his back. Distracted again. I refocus on the image he’s elected to show me. “Maybe you can give your medical opinion, though,” he says. “Oregon female. Age twenty-one. No explainable cause of death. Nothing in the autopsy.” He switches slides, showing me a close-up shot of the young woman’s lower back, marred by two livid red welts. According to the ruler nearby for scale, they are roughly the size of an American dime. “Two distinct marks, however, are found on her lower back. Can you ID these marks… Dr. Lecter?”

            I move closer to the projected image. Despite not liking eye contact, I can feel him watching me. Perhaps he has some voyeuristic tendencies as well. “Needle punctures, perhaps. An animal bite. Electrocution is a possibility.” 

            When he switches slides again, I hide my surprise. It is not the body from another angle, but a diagram showing a chemical compound. 

            “How’s your chemistry? This is the substance found in the surrounding tissue.”

            I study the image, my brain humming steadily. I do love a challenge, and I find them so rarely. “It’s inorganic. Perhaps a synthetic protein.”

            “Hell if I know,” Agent Graham says. 

            “That’s surprising. You must have had your fair share of chemistry studying entomology. Your monograph on determining time of death based on insect activity required a high level of understanding to compose, I’m sure.” 

            “By all means, be sure,” he snarks, but the subtle pink staining his cheekbones tells me he’s pleased I’m familiar with his work as well. “I’ve never seen it, either. But here it’s found again, in Sturgis, South Dakota.” He switches slides, this one depicting a large man in a motorcycle club vest with the same two raised welts on his back. He switches again, showing me another male body with the same marks in the same place, spanning the thoracolumbar fascia and the internal oblique muscles. “And again, in Shamrock, Texas.”

            A true mystery. This is delightful. I haven’t had an afternoon so pleasant since I murdered the man sent to evaluate me by my life insurance agency and stretched his corpse across two rows of bus seats. “Do you have a theory?” 

            “I have, ah… plenty of theories,” he dismisses, joining me in front of the projected image, the dead man’s outline juxtaposed over him, throwing the kind of light that both obscures and reveals. His forehead bears a gentle shimmer of perspiration, and I can smell more of him now, the scent beneath the cheap aftershave – dogs, fresh splits of pine, machine oil, and something sweet I’d need more time and a closer proximity to identify. He doesn’t look at me, turning his head to the side a few degrees to let the slide’s light catch on the lenses of his glasses instead. “What has me stumped is why Bureau policy is to label these cases as unexplained phenomena and ignore them.” 

            I can sense the rumble of anger beneath his sardonic tone, taut with frustration. 

            “So, Dr. Lecter, do you believe in the existence of… extraterrestrials?” He says it with a wry twist that might be a kind of bitter smile. I tilt my head. “As a scientist,” he prompts, leaving me to lean against the edge of his desk again. 

            “Logically, I’d have to say no.” I do strive to tell the truth in my own way. Logically, I shouldn’t. But I am here because I need his help with the illogical – to determine, once and for all, if something happened to me, or I happened. “Given the distances needed to travel from the far reaches of space, the energy requirements would exceed–”

            He interrupts, shaking his head. “Conventional wisdom. That girl in Oregon – she’s the fourth member of her graduating class to die under mysterious circumstances. When convention and-and science offer no answers, might we not consider the, ah, the fantastic as a plausibility?” 

            He tested me at first, showing me the chemical compound and the crime scene photos. Now, he wants to make the boundaries clear. Impudent. Wants to get a rise out of me, surely, to define the methods of interaction. 

            My answer is mild, clinical, the kind of voice I’d use if I’d chosen to become a psychiatrist. “The girl is dead. Death occurs for a reason.” Sometimes, I am that reason. “If it was natural causes, then it’s plausible something was missed in the postmortem. If she was murdered, it’s plausible there was a sloppy investigation. What I find fantastic is your willingness to sidestep human error and search for answers beyond the realm of science. The answers are there, I’m sure. You just have to know where to look.” I raise an eyebrow to add in the sentence I won’t let my mouth say. Apparently, you don’t know where to look. Or you want me to think you don’t know where to look. 

            Agent Graham looks at me now, a brief glance up through his side-lit lenses. His left eye is illuminated as well, making it unearthly blue and leaving the other subdued, its subtle green and brown tones shimmering through the dominant color. He smiles, the most genuine expression I’ve seen yet, and I’m momentarily distracted by his beauty. It’s like visiting the Louvre, making one’s way quickly to see a great work before a crowd forms, and catching sight of an exquisite but uncelebrated painting in a forgotten side gallery that makes one lose all sense of purpose, the internal compass spinning and spinning. 

            “And that’s why they put the I in FBI.” He breaks away and sinks back into his desk chair, rolling over to the glowing blue screen of his computer monitor. “See you bright and early then, Dr. Lecter. We leave for the, ah, the very plausible state of Oregon at 8 am.” 

            I can’t help but smile back, a beam of pleasure, as he turns away from me and begins clacking at the keys. “Until then, Will.”

            I’ve taken a risk, demanding a first name basis. He makes no comment, waves a hand over his shoulder.

            I take my leave and hurry home to pack. 

[deathmetalunicorn1]

I wanna see an angry protective Brother Rimuru, protecting Wendy Marvell ✨

When someone a non Tempest Person came to use Dragon Slayer Wendy (to manipulate her using her to kill dragons)

-Rimuru had just been strolling through town, looking around at all the hard work everyone had been putting in, a small smile on his face, feeling proud of what he helped guide into building, feeling proud of having something so precious to protect.

-He noticed a crowd up ahead, some people yelling, like there was a fight and he sighed, pouting slightly that his peaceful day had been ruined before he headed over to break whatever was going on up- praying that it was Milim again.

-As he approached the monsters who made up Tempest noticed quickly and cleared a path as he quickly made his way through, and when he reached the middle, his blood turned to ice, just for a moment before a roaring rage took over, seeing a warrior, someone not from Tempest- a human, holding onto Wendy’s wrist, yelling at her to cooperate.

-A female goblin quickly told Rimuru, feeling his pressure from his anger, that the warrior found out about Wendy’s abilities, and wants her to help him slay a dragon, but she didn’t want to and he resorted to yelling and trying to intimidate her.

-Rimuru stepped forward, seeing the first tear slip down Wendy’s cheek and instantly punched the man off of her, sending him hard to the ground, stepping in front of her as she gasped softly in surprise.

-The man was quickly back up on his feet, yelling at Rimuru, calling him a shorty, demanding to know who he was as he was a famed hunter, Rimuru just glared, showing this upstart a fraction of his power, “I am Rimuru Tempest- leader of the Federation of Jura. You are in my domain- you have no right to threaten the citizens of my country. Get out.”

-The man, feeling the power, quickly scrambled away, knowing that Rimuru was the real deal before those around them quickly cheered for Rimuru for his quick thinking.

-He turned to check on Wendy only to have her leap into his arms, crying comically at how scared she had been. He smiled softly, patting the back of her head, knowing that she didn’t like to fight unless absolutely necessary.

-Rimuru held her hand as she was still crying, leading her through town to get something hot to drink- nobody treated anyone badly in his country, especially his young maiden whom he had adopted like a little sister.

[nuri148]

Hi, can I ask something? What do you think are Levi and Mikasa's greatest personality strengths and weaknesses? Why? What do you love about their dynamic? Since when that you start shipping them? What is your fav (canon) rivamika moments? Sorry if you've answered these questions before.....

P.s

Thanks for sharing your fics and for this blog of yours. Also, thanks to you, I start shipping Rivamika. See, I love Mikasa so much but I really dislike Eremika and can not understand that ship at all (don't mean anything negative to Eremika shippers). I'm okay with Armin/Mikasa & Jean/Mikasa, but I don't love those ships that much. Until I found your blog, read your fics and fall in love with Rivamika! Sorry for my rambling....

First things first, I’m so so sorry for taking so so long to reply!!! 🥺I’ve been quite busy lately irl and your ask calls for a proper answer. I think Levi is the least judgeamental character in AoT. This is in a virtuous circle with his kindness and selflessness, where those three qualities feed each other back . He’s kind and He’s a good judge of character, he’s practical, obviously he’s strong, both physically and spiritually. His resilience is extraordinary, after all he’s been through, he has not succumbed to rage, revenge, envy… Eren went through a smidgen of a fraction of what Levidis, and he decimated mankind for it. If Levi’s virtues are a bit hidden behind his gruff exterior, his weaknesses are there for all to see (is this a fault in itself?). He can be rude, he expreses anger and frustration in a violent manner—which is a result of his upbringing, granted, but still makes him look unapproachable. This can be good when facing your enemies as a soldier, but can isolate him from meaningful human connections too. I’m veering on hc terrain here, but for all his empathy he also strikes me as someone who’d be much less compassive/forgiving when it’s about “first world problems”. Annie killed his squad? No hard feelings, child soldier, all that jazz; you berate the waiter because he messed up your order? You’re dead to him. I’ve mentioned this before somewhere, but we have an idiom in my country for people who, like Levi, are not cut for polite social events, and its to be “coarse as a plough”, which is funny bc Ackerman means ploughman.

Mikasa is also strong af, and she pairs that with a calm demeanor… unless her loved ones are threatened ofc. In fact, I think Mikasa’s weaknesses are mostly her virtues going overboard: she has a fierce protective instinct, which is good up to a point but it becomes a problem  when she lets that override her judgement, like in the female titan arc. She’s determined, but that turns into stubborness. She’s loyal, but that loyalty turned into paralysis in the case of Eren; not only when it came to having to stop him, but also regarding her crush on him, which she probably wasn’t fully conscious of, hence her surprise and awkwardness when he asked her “what am I to you”.

I’m not sure at what point I started shipping rm; I do remember fretting when he was revealed to be an Ackerman, for fear that they could turn to be family, because I was already rooting for them. I guess I was initially attracted to the idea of the power couple, being the two most badass characters in the series. But I also like how she blooms under his guidance. He could have easily dismissed or bashed her for her protectiveness of Eren, but he teaches her to curb that zeal and keep it as a goal, not a trigger; he lends her his trust and allows her to become his right hand in battle. She in turn, despite her initial enmity towards him because of his display in Eren’s trial, is able to recognize Levi’s kindness and appreciate his leadership. He treats her not like a weapon, not like a silly girl, but like a full human being. Perhaps Mikasa is the one who most shows her fear of losing her loved ones, and that’s certainly something Levi knows about. Neither of them have time or energy for BS. It’s canon Mikasa wishes for a peaceful life like the one she had with her parents, and Levi to me exudes huge “I’m too old for this shit” energy (like jjk Nanami, another husbando) so I can picture them spending their afternoons in domestic bliss, fixing things around the house, tending to the garden, rather than going to town. He can give her reassurance and She could provide him with the family life he never had.

They’re both hot af, too. 😆 Imagine that Ackerpower in the bedroom...

In the end though, like in real life, it doesn’t matter much why you like it… You just do, and it makes you happy, and it hurts no one, so it’s fine!

Awww idk if being thankful or sorry that you started shipping rm because of me! 😅 Our ship is one of the most misunderstood of the fandom, and from time to time we get hate from antis, eruris and/or eremikas. But because of who they are, what they’ve been through and what they want, I think they make for beautiful fics where their relationship helps them fix themselves, rather than fixing each other. This is something that often comes up in the rm discord, how our fave fics are usually post-canon and about building a healthy relationship based on respect, rather than all the drama and toxicity of classic romance lit. (ofc we also enjoy a good old pwp… though you’ll still find a lot of established-relationship porn and porn-with-feelings fics.)

Thank you so much for your ask, and sorry again for the delay!

[darklydeliciousdesires]

Fury Road - An Angel Reyes/Reader Smut Short.

I dreamed of having car sex with Angel last night, so now you get to enjoy it as well, besties!

Words - 837

Warnings - Smut below the cut, minors DNI!

“This makes me feel like I’m in high school still, hiding from parents or some shit,” he pants, tongue swirling with yours as his hands tug at your clothes.  

“Yeah,” you gasp, your mouth laying hot, open-mouthed kisses along his neck, yanking his shirt undone and sending the buttons you’re too shaky with arousal to finish undoing flying. “It’s been a while since my ass has seen the backseat of a car.” 

Sometimes, you just can’t wait until home. When Angel has been in charge of the transport, you've pulled over at the side of the highway and had him fuck you against his bike, but tonight, it’s your car that features as the location for two people who never have and never will be able to get enough of one another.  

He’s rough with you in his haste to have you naked beneath him, all fiery longing and impulses driven by need, by the blinding desire to slip into the heaven of your cunt and fuck you senseless, your underwear snapping in his grasp, his fingers stroking over your clit before plunging to take root inside of you, the metal of his thick rings cool at your hot, soaking entrance.  

“Fuck, baby,” he groans, fingertips exploring you, circling, nudging until you buck against him, eliciting a whine he kisses away as his mouth meets yours. “Damn, I ain’t even started and you’re this wet?” 

“What can I say?” you purr. “You know I’m a cock hungry whore for you.” Those words mist his senses, his fingers beginning to glide back and forth as he rakes at your tender walls, having you gasping and crying out, unfastening his jeans, needing something much more considerable in size than his fingers. “Need you. Right now.” 

He pushes his jeans and boxers down his hips a little, his cock like a steel post as he grasps it, pushing into you, his teeth sharp at your neck as the velvet hug of your pussy contracts around him. It’s fever-hot and urgent, your bodies undulating together, your thighs tightening on him as your legs draw up and clench around his waist, nails grazing his back as you pant against one another.

What he gives you is all-out sexual brutality, the car beginning to rock, your body sliding back only for the clutch of his powerful hands to keep hauling you back, anchoring you to him, forcing you to take the brunt of his fuck entirely. And that brunt, nothing could feel better. Nothing ever feels better than Angel, fucking you with all the power of a turbo charged jackhammer. Nothing.

His body is an absolute masterpiece to your lust blown eyes, all thick, smooth and tattooed, covered in a sheen of sweat as he rails you mercilessly into the back seat, rising up as much as he’s able and reaching to the soaking mess of your folds, his thumb beginning to stroke at your hardened clit, pleasure shimmering over your spine, the swell skittering over your veins and down to your bones as you wail helplessly, at the mercy of him, not that he shows you even a fraction of that. 

“Look at you, fuck. You’re so fuckin’ hot, split around my dick.” He growls, grasping your legs and hauling them up to rest against your shoulders, bearing his entire weight down into you through his pelvis, making you scream when his cock hits you deep, deep, deep. His groans fill the air between you, his teeth sharp at your neck, marking you with the brandings of a man near out of his sanity with carnal fury. He then slows, each plunge into your soaking centre given in all-in, all-out thrusts, teasing your aching core, chuckling at your frustrated mewl as he pants hard. 

“Angel, please! Fucking give it to me!” you demand, nails raking his arms. 

“But I am, dulce. Just not the way you want it.” He winks, laughing further at your frustration, the circles at your clit rubbed so slowly, lightly and tightly that you almost forget to breathe, his cock popping out again, pausing, arrowing back to your summit as he groans when you flutter strongly around him. He leans forward, kissing your throat before gently clutching your jaw, turning your head to look at him. “Alright, mi amor. I’ll give it to you.” 

And he does. And its utter heaven, the way he arrows into you without even a hint of control, long, hard, barbarous thrusts delighting your entire body, your screams filling the car as lava begins to bubble and pool at the base of your spine, your release set to erupt, his thumb circling at your bud faster.   

His teeth crush at your neck, whispering a string of cusses as his undoing possesses him, like a demon vying for release, your entire body tensing as with fury, longing and fire, you come undone spectacularly beneath him, seeing stars, breathless and sweaty, and oh so very satisfied. You’re unsure you’ll be able to drive without crashing, though. 

[sunny-haven]

The Dark Souls trilogy are a beautiful set of games that explore ideas of humanity, the soul, and other things surrounding that, but for as much as I love these games, the lore, and their themes, I can't help but feel an almost fundamental clash with said themes and who I am. I think this is especially apparent in how the games handle dragons, specifically, humans who want to become dragons. The dragons in the Souls games are magnificent, ancient, incredibly powerful, and very clearly separate from humanity (and this idea appears in later FromSoftware games such as Sekiro and Elden Ring).

There are in the games those who try to become dragons, and you can do so yourself via specific covenants in the games, but you will never achieve becoming a full-on dragon, or even anything that looks remotely appealing. This is most apparent with the dragon the player can become in Dark Souls 3, where you appear as if you haven't eaten in weeks and your bones are showing, and the abilities you gain to mimic those of the dragons are only a fraction of what they have. Furthermore, those who seek to become dragons usually end up going mad or are disfigured, if I remember correctly, unable to reverse what had happened. And this unfortunate fate is seen as inevitable for anyone trying to become a dragon, and that you cannot really become one. It's almost as if it's the world's punishment for trying to abandon your humanity and that actually, your humanity is something good and necessary even for those whose inner selves aren't human. The only dragon form that looks good is the Dark Souls 2 one, but in that game, it's just a set of armor that you get.

And that... really doesn't resonate with me. I am someone who identifies as a dragon but who is keenly aware of the fact that I am stuck in this human body. While I don't mind humanity and want to be able to coexist with it in peace, and there are parts about it that I like and want to keep for myself, there are other parts that just do not line up with who I am. And for these games which I love so dearly to almost mock me and other therians and otherkin who feel like me, it just... puts a bad taste in my mouth.

To be clear, I'm not looking to be able to turn into a full-on dragon in these games. I know they're made with gameplay in mind first and so obviously, being able to become a dragon would provide lots of balancing issues. But I would love it if the dragon forms you could turn into were much more appealing and didn't look like abominations, and that in the lore, there were others who went further than the player can and turned into full-on dragons and that it was treated more neutrally.

I haven't looked too deep into the lore and the themes of these games and I hope to pull it all apart myself someday, but these are just the vibes I got from playing them and listening to lore analyses from others. I hope that my interpretation is wrong, but I get the feeling it isn't.

[calypsopoet2003]

The Donna Chronicles, Volume: Supplimental

How Donna Makes Someone Her Hypnotized Pantyhose Slave, Like She had First Done with Me...

It all begins seemingly innocently enough, & then you just sort of stumble upon a sight that catches your eye, stops you in your tracks, & captivates you. Always at the center of what is drawing you in, she uses her eyes, hand movements, outfit, shoes, or even her pantyhosed legs & feet as focuses... Try as you might, you just can't look away... In fact, the longer she holds your gaze, the more your mind disconnects from all but her...

As you focus more, & more on Donna, you begin to find her more attractive, & far more important than anyone or anything else... Donna, in turn becomes your sole focus, your entire world, & that opens you up into a highly suggestible state subject entirely to her influence...

Donna is both a Registered Nurse & Board Certified Master Hypnotist, & has a habit of regularly placing anyone & everyone she comes into contact with under her influence in a very minimum of light trances... Be they family members, close friends, acquaintances, colleagues, or complete strangers, no one is immune to Donna's charisma, charms, or her hypnotic influence & control...

She did this regularly & consistently, practicing her craft, to herself a more proficient hypnotist. She also does it to establish control over her environment, as well as over anyone who may affect it in any way, & also just to amuse herself...

Donna craves both respect & adoration... In her mind there's no better way to achieve both than to make everyone believe she is worthy of, & even entitled to all such considerations... Donna had accidentally discovered that certain people could be made to not just respect & adore her, but to fall head over heels in love with, obeying, & devoting themselves entirely to worshiping her...

This is what had happened to me just after she first started hypnotizing & continually dropping me into hypnotic trances over, & over again... She created a fractionization effect, giving all of her suggestions to me while under her hypnotic influence considerably more weight in my mind & psyche, just as it would later end up doing to many others, but after me she only took other women nearly as deeply hypnotized, controlled, & even enslaved as she had done me...

Another tool Donna learned to employ to maintain control over subjects was the use of talismans, or personal totems as focuses to reinforce all of the hypnotist's suggestions, instructions, & commands when subjects were not in hypnotic trances... These talismans & totems could be items, such as jewels or garments to be worn by the subject making them subconsciously connected to the hypnotist... This will also reinforce the power & effectiveness of the hypnotist's suggestions, instructions, & commands in the subject's mind whether they are in a hypnotic trance or wide awake... Donna's first use of such totems & talismans was on someone she considered to be an excellent subject for her to experiment on, namely "me"... She used the pair of pantyhose she had worn when she hypnotized me the first couple of times, having me wear them while in a very deep hypnotic trance for her...

Once I was in her pantyhose, she deepened my trance as she caressed my silky pantyhosed legs & feet with her own pantyhosed feet. Thus associating the pleasure I felt from the incredible feeling of her ministrations while wearing them with believing anything she said to me, obeying her, serving her, & worshiping her...

This practice evolved into Donna making her thralls she considered as her Hypnotized Pantyhose Slaves wear her silky white nursing pantyhose... They were to always be worn for her with, or under whatever else they were wearing... Also, whenever Donna was present, all footwear must be removed immediately showing their pantyhosed feet & toes in devotion to Donna, their Hypnotic Pantyhose Mistress...

I was not spared from that fate, & am still now as I have always been perfectly fine with that... Donna has been retired & largely inactive for many years now, as she is now in her late 70's... She is still in our lives, & is still my Mom's best friend. My Mom is in an Assisted Living facility with memory care. She is in the end stages of Alzheimer's disease now, but Donna still visits her regularly, & still hypnotizes her regularly to keep from getting too overwhelmed with the many symptoms of the disease. She will always be our Hypnotic Pantyhose Mistress for the rest of our lives, as she will for many others...

Look for More of Donna's Hypnotic Pantyhose Adventures in Future Volumes of "The Donna Chronicles"...

[buggyboba]

✦ October 6th | Violence

AN 𓏧

↳ ○ | Day day six! My first dance with Thoschei, got in my feels about it, was supposed to be pure smut, have some feels too. Smut so MDNI.

SUMMARY𓏧

↳ ○ a dangerous meeting, tension is high, and then it snaps, rough hits turn into rough sex, biting, clawing, primal, neither one is unscathed.

PAIRING𓏧

↳ ○ The Doctor (Thirteen) x The Master (Dhawan!master)

TW𓏧

↳ ○ some non-con vibes, but like not really, dunno how to explain. P in V penetration. Biting, hitting, creampie.

WORD COUNT𓏧

↳ ○ 2500

A03 lINK𓏧

↳ ○ x

MASTERLIST LINK𓏧

↳ ○ x

★𓏧 𓏧 𓏧★ 𓏧 𓏧 𓏧★

It had to be on common neutral ground, He had reached out and contacted her. She knew it was a trap; how couldn’t it have not been? He dealt in traps; it was his flirting. However, she wanted to believe desperately that a fraction of Missy’s progress still lived in him; she had to wish that this was that. A lonely planet, where there would be no one he could hurt, no destruction he could do that could harm her fam, who she had left on earth, she said she was 'just popping out, had to check on some things', because if Yaz knew, if any of them knew who she was going to go see, well, that just couldn’t happen. She had to make sure they were far enough away and safe.

The Tardis landed with a whirring groan; even she was nervous about this meeting. She slipped out of the Tardis, and immediately her eyes fell on him, sitting on a rock boredly waiting.

“Am I still mad? No, you only destroyed Gallifrey; you turned our people into Cybermen; no, not mad,” she said, her eyes narrowing at her eyes at him, pushing his hand away from her. He tried to step closer, ignoring her anger. He leaned forward and placed a kiss against the side of her mouth, which she didn’t respond to; this made him frown.

“It always baffles me how you can be late with a time machine, love,” he said calmly, his dark eyes trained on her lighter eyes. He moved, standing with grace as he moved towards her, his steps calculated and fluid as he moved to circle her. The Doctor shook her head and watched him.

“What do you want? What was so earth-shatteringly important that you had to beg me to show up, Master?” She said his name with spite, a sort of hiss that used it as an insult. There was a flash in his eyes, a real sting of hurt before he masked it with a mock pout and puppy dog eyes at her.

"Well, my dear, it is simple; I...missed you,” he offered, which pulled a disbelieving laugh from the shorter woman’s lips. “You don’t sound convinced; should I prove it to you?” he said, circling around her, his hand trailing against her shoulder blades, to which she turned, catching his arm. He chuckled and stepped closer to her. “You are still mad?” He leaned to whisper in her ear.

“So cold, here I am trying to make you feel better, make you forgive me, and you are all ice,” he chuckled darkly. “No matter, you’ll forgive me, you always do, your flaw, you chose to see the good in me when there is none, always trying to appeal to my better nature, when we both know I don’t have one.” He tilted his head, his fingers trailing her jawline. She pulled back, and his hand followed, holding her chin, slipping down to grab her throat. Even if he knew he couldn’t squeeze the life out of her that way, it was a position of power. "Ah-ah, my dear, where are you trying to run off to?” he said and let his hand squeeze harder. He leaned forward, his lips pressed against her jaw as he forced her head back. The Doctor growled out and suddenly sunk her teeth in his cheek, causing him to pull away quickly, startled by the action. Though she followed her teeth, sinking into the crook of his neck and biting him through the jacket of his suit, his hand went into her hair, pulling it roughly to get her to let go. When she didn't, he breathed out, grabbing her shoulder to push her hard. “You want to play like that, my dear?” he smirked. Blood dripped from his cheek where she had bit, and he could feel the sting against the crook of his neck. He moved to bring them down to the ground hard, keeping her pinned beneath him. He straddled her lap, keeping her legs down by pinning them between his; his hands grabbed at her wrists, forcing them back down, pressing down against her as she tried to arch to escape. “No, go on, Thete.” The name was a deep growl as he bit her back suddenly, his teeth buried into her shoulder roughly. The Doctor had paused for a moment at the use of her old nickname; the way he had growled it out reminded her of restless nights and desperate moments, things she shouldn’t be thinking about currently.

He gripped her almost desperately, like his life depended on this moment. She pushed against him, and a pained sound escaped her lips as he bit harder. Pulling up, she got her arm free quick enough to deliver a blow across his face, knocking him back to the floor. A flood of manic laughter escaped him as he licked the blood from his lip. He sat up watching her as she held her neck where he bit. “What is this, Master?” She snapped, trying to get answers, but she already knew what this was. Throughout their dance across the stars, they found themselves falling for lies, what would become broken promises because neither one really could let the other go. They were connected, bound by fate in a tragic way, a way that had damaged them both so deeply, yet here they were again, pulled together. The Doctor was angry; the Master had gone too far this time, yet there he was, sitting on the ground just a bit away from her, laughing like he hadn’t destroyed their home, like he hadn’t violated the Time Lords in such a disgusting way, looking at her with those hungry eyes. He pounced, pulling her against him.

“You know what this is; it’s what it has always been and what it will always be... Look at me,” he said as she tried to look away. His hand gripped her throat, forcing her chin up with his thumb. “Look at me, Thete,” he breathed out. “This is what we do.” She knew what he was doing by calling her. Thete, he was trying to appeal to her nostalgia—the desire for a time when they weren’t locked in a war neither one of them could win. She wasn’t going to give him the pleasure of acknowledging it; it was just another manipulation tactic. He frowned and pulled her face up towards his before he crashed his mouth against hers, not letting her struggle against him again. He tasted like blood, whiskey, and the breath of a cigar he was no doubt smoking before she arrived. His tongue explored her mouth, and she considered biting as hard as she could, but when she thought this, his hand tightened around her throat, pushing against her jaw some. He could break her neck if he wanted to.

He moved his knee between her legs, pushing against her some, they both knew they would give in, it was just who would give in first, he wanted, no needed it, to be her so he could keep onto the feeling of control. She was formidable and wouldn’t be so easy to shake. He broke the kiss and trailed his tongue down her throat, moving to push up her shirt. After pushing her suspenders down, he put his hand on the back of her neck, pulling her up so he could push the offending clothing out of his way. She growled in a warning, her nails dug into his arm, he gave a hiss and suddenly sunk his teeth into the skin above her collarbone hard, if she wanted to hurt him, he could hurt her back. His hands moved, ripping at the bit of fabric in her bra; his mouth trailed with bites and kisses across her chest, his fingers kneading the soft flesh of her breasts. Feeling her beneath him, even if she hated him, felt like home, however broken it was now. She arched against him. How many times had they found themselves like this over their regenerations? Like moths to the flame, their dance was deadly and painful, a cycle of betrayal and toxicity, but it was theirs, and it was as close to in love as they were going to be. No, that wasn’t true; there was love, and that's why it hurt so badly every time they played this game, every time they stood against one another.

Her hands moved up to his hair, her fingers tangling in the dark locks, her nails scratching into his scalp as she pulled his head up from biting her, but his mouth covered hers again. She bit at his lower lip, and his tongue was in her mouth again. The familiarity of his taste confused her senses, and her hearts pounded. She knew she should run, leave, and go back to her companions, that this was just going to end the same way as it always did, and they would both be upset, though she would be the one that hurt him first, revenge for what he had done. She could be the first to leave this time and betray him with promises she subconsciously wanted to keep but knew she couldn’t. His hands moved down to undo his pants, pushing them down until they were past his ass, his hands immediately moving to get hers off. She lifted her hips to help him; he knew she wanted it as much as he did.

She moved with surprising strength and pushed him onto his back; her body followed, straddling his hips as she bit him again; she was angry; he knew any kiss he got was going to be him taking it from her; he moved his head as she bit his neck, so she had more room, leaving teeth marks and bruises signs of her love or hate; right now it didn’t matter which one it was, or even if there was a difference. The sound that escaped his lips when she sunk down on him suddenly was an uncharacteristic whine. His hands went to her hips, but she grabbed them, pinning them against his chest as she rocked against him. He knew what she was doing, taking away any control he had, but he was fine with that; he had her full attention, and that was what he wanted.

There were no sweet nothings, just grunts and groans as she moved, his hips rocking up to match her pace. When he tried to move his hands, she pressed them harder against his chest. “Thete,” he breathed out, his eyes closing as his back arched. He let out a frustrated growl.

“I’ll stop.” She warned. He opened his eyes and looked at her with a hurt puppy-dog look. “You get to do what I let you.” She said firmly, and he hissed out a low growl as she slowed down, her lips curled into a smirk, one he recognized. He relented, knowing she would make good on her threat; his eyes hungrily watched her writhe and ride him; his fingers interlocked with hers; she allowed it. She tilted her head back; there were no thoughts, just a primal need, so it seemed they weren’t above the need as they so proclaimed they were. Then again, nothing was normal with them; it had never been. They craved each other in ways that they would never admit, never fully say. Because neither of them wanted to give up their pride. He gasped out, feeling the tense feeling at the base of his spine.

“S-Slow down,” he mumbled in Gallifreyan; his brain couldn’t find the will to speak common Earth English; it was tedious, and he didn’t want to think about anything right now. He pulled her hands a bit, making her lean down, kissing her jaw, trying to get her to slow; he wanted to enjoy the moment after all, but she gave a rough roll of her hips. His fingers untangled with hers and trailed up her arms to her shoulders, one hand keeping her down against his chest. “Slow,” he repeated, drawing a growled-out breath from The Doctor. She obliged though, slowing; there was a light layer of sweat glistening on her skin from the movements. “There it is?” He breathed out, tilting his head back as he slowly moved; his fingers moved to where they were connected, his thumb rubbing small but firm circles against her clit.

The feeling kept building, and he groaned out. He could feel his muscles tighten more, his pleasure on the edge. He gripped her back tightly, “close.” He growled out against her ear, and she was close; he could feel it. With how her walls contracted and squeezed against his cock, he contemplated finishing in her. Though the complications that could bring about were not welcome right now, it could prove a fun plot for the future. No, he probably wouldn’t, but maybe. Her movements got faster before she yelled out, and her hand tightened against his chest as he felt her cum around him. Everything in him blanked for a moment at the delicious feeling that took him, and his body tensed more, thrusting as deeply as he could, holding her as her walls milked him; he couldn’t resist; he spilled into her, his teeth sinking into her shoulder. Their pants slowed after several minutes, and after a few silent moments, The Doctor got up, much to The Master’s dismay. “W-Where are you going?” he asked before he could stop himself. There was a flash of vulnerability in his words. Usually, there were sweet nothings and pretty promises; he could pretend she was his, at least for a while.

“No.” he said sharply. “You don’t get to decide that, it won’t matter anyway, we are destined to do this dance for the rest of our existence, so why can’t we enjoy these moments?” He said closing the distance, but she shook her head quickly turning to walk towards her tardis. “What running away again Thete?” He yelled after her, “You were always so good at it!” he snarled.

“Koschei,” There it was; she had finally called him his name after all of his poking and prodding with her old name. He felt a sort of shiver up his back, but the way she said it didn’t make him feel good about it, not like how she would whisper it in need. With such passion, the cold way she said it made his lip raise in a slight snarl.

“We both got what we wanted, yeah? Release… No need for me to stick around, fall for your pretty words, and no need for you to speak them; I think its time. she paused.

“Time for what?” He growled out. If she thought she could just end their games just like that, she was mistaken.

“That we stop.” She said calmly, grabbing her jacket. He moved to scramble up to his feet, fixing his pants.

“It’s The Doctor,” She said coldly as she reached the door. “And there won’t be any more moments, Master.” She said firmly, slipping into the tardis quickly to make her leave, leaving him there screaming at her as she left, it wouldn’t be the last time, but this time The Doctor left first, and she hurt him in a way that was deeper than physical, a small revenge, but it was only going to be a matter of time before they were forced into this dance once more.

★𓏧 𓏧 𓏧★ 𓏧 𓏧 𓏧★

Taglist𓏧

↳ ○ @bees-fart-too , @bakusquadobsessed , @anastasa-mslfedit , @cabinedepapel , @asteria237 , @suckerforcate , @bingewatchingmylifegoby , @toastvogel ,

If you want to be added to the rest here is the link to the tag list| x

[ladyduellist]

Epistles of Saints & Sinners

Chapter Summary:

Astarion's plans go awry when confronted with his own past.

⸺⋘✤⋙⸺

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.

⸺⋘✤⋙⸺

Chapter 12: Hunt*

Ao3

Next Chapter

Previous Chapter

Main Page & Chapter List

Word Count: 5.6k

Pairing: Astarion x female bard Tav

CW: Smut, Vaginal Sex, CPTSD episode during sex, Cazador, Blood & Violence, Act 1 Spoilers

⸺⋘✤⋙⸺

Vampires are some of the deadliest monsters we may contend with. I do not relish my current mission to seek out the spawn, Astarion. But, he may be the only way we can ever see our children again. I am plagued by visions of them being carried away by these blood hungry creatures. Plagued even more by their screams that fill my mind in the most quiet of hours. Full blooded vampires become consumed with whatever they set their eyes upon. But spawns—I have to wonder—if they were to escape their masters, would they be able to redeem themselves if they took the road less traveled?

— Gandrel of the Gur Tribe, journal entry 567

⸺⋘✤⋙⸺

“I suppose I should, yet again, count myself lucky: the bastard is alone,” Astarion smirked, picking a few stray leaves from his clothes. He had just returned from a lengthy scouting trip assessing the hunter they may parley with.

It had been several days of traversing rocky footpaths until they arrived in the Sunlit Wetlands. Several days of anxious nights wondering if Cazador sent more pawns to retrieve him. Several days of nothing more than forlorn glances exchanged with the elven songstress.

Wyll crossed his arms, concentrating on Astarion’s face. “That at least bodes well. Did he look familiar to you?”

“Not at all. Though I have met a lot of the city’s miscreants over the years, it’s possible he’s a scorned lover of a lover that Cazador convinced to seek vengeance. He had a lot of connections in the city—so it’s hard to say.”

“Let’s fucking goooo,” Karlach roared as her axe split apart a piece of log. She swiped away wood dustings from her brow, turning to the vampire. “What makes you think this is Cazador’s doing, fancy boy?”

“Oh, how could I forget that it must be one of my many adoring fans, come to shake my hand out in the middle of blasted nowhere,” Astarion replied with a sneer. “Tell me: who else could it be?!”

Of course it had to be his former master! Cazador Szarr would do anything to ensure his spawns stayed forever reliant upon him. For them to know that survival without him wasn’t possible. Astarion knew deep down that no matter how he repeatedly longed for freedom, if he showed up, without question the vampire spawn would still feel betrothed as a slave to enact his heinous mandates. Compelled or not, the attachment to him remained.

The fiery tiefling teetered her axe over her shoulder, ready to swing downward again. “Alright. Alright. As much as I’m always raring to go, I just want to be sure we aren’t getting caught in a trap, yea?”

She had a point. Cazador, reclusive as he was, commandeered powers that most were unaware. Their group was mighty, but could they defeat a vampire lord? It would be nearly impossible, but the fraction of a percentage that they could end his life for good, ignited an invaluable resolve inside of the spawn.

Astarion debonairly examined his nails. “Well, darlings, I’m sure I can go about this on my own if you’re not up for a bit of potential excitement.”

“I have every bit of faith you can handle this by yourself, but I think it goes without saying that hunters are all too well-versed in regions such as these. There may be something we don’t know from what you’ve investigated,” Wyll interjected.

“Why Wyll, the famed monster hunter is going to help protect a monster?! I could kiss you! Or bite you—if that is your preference,” the vampire giddily responded, clasping his hands together as he flashed the tip of his fang.

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves Astarion,” Wyll chuckled, uncrossing his arms to gesture a stop signal with his hand. “Shall we say around morrow’s noon we head down to speak with the stranger?”

“I’d prefer to stab first, but if you insist, who am I to deny such a handsome face?” Astarion flirtatiously bowed his head.

Karlach visibly shrugged her shoulders, breathing out a long sigh. “Ugh, finnnne. Let’s get this good and over with before something awful happens to your pretty face and you break someone’s fucking heart.”

“My dearest Karlach, are you saying you wouldn’t miss me?”

“I’m saying that our leader wouldn’t be all too happy with any of us if we just let you sod off on your own,” she clarified firmly. “By the way, you may want to speak with Tav about our plans.”

The vampire fisted his hand near his mouth, pretending to cough. “Ahem, well, I’m sure she’s been far too busy entertaining our newest druidic hunk we’ve adopted to camp. They’ve been practically braiding each other's hair since the party.”

“Gods, you don’t sound jealous at all,” she teased. “And look who it is! Mornin’ to you soldier!”

And there she was. Trailing into camp on melodies she sang under her breath. Lavender and vanilla invisibly suffocating him with its whorls of scent around his neck.

Wyll waved in her direction. “Tav! Could we trouble you for a moment?”

Tav quietly nodded, giving him a subtle smile out of the corner of her mouth.

“Astarion just returned back from surveying the bog and it would seem that this hunter is currently alone. Few weapons, but I reckon he has the good sense to protect himself with other means.”

“The three of us are heading down to speak with him come highsun tomorrow. But, if shit goes bad, we’ll be armed,” Karlach added, flexing her arm high in the air. “Hey, are you okay? You look awful.”

“There is nothing to worry about, Karlach. Personal matters.” The bard tried to peer behind the tiefling, staring at the elven man that was clearly avoiding her. “Astarion, did you approve of this?”

He raised his head, the state of her startling him. The skin around her eyes was swollen, a glaze of wetness having long filmed over her sclera. It was evident she had been crying on and off since their last encounter. She was lacking her usual demure aura, visibly rundown.

Astarion cocked a bleary eyebrow at her. “I did.”

“Then, I trust you to handle this to the best of your abilities.”

⸺⋘✤⋙⸺

In the middle of the night’s air, Astarion stood outside of Tav’s tent entrance, overwrought with a queasiness burning the walls in his stomach.

After their argument several days ago, he left in a panicked state to hide under the forest canopy bordering their camp. The illusion of hyperventilation attacked his lungs—a memory of it really—as he held onto the bulwarked trunk of a tree. And then, blood spewed from his mouth. He leaned over, coughing and vomiting up a mouthful of the bear’s crimson he consumed earlier that evening.

He had charmed and manipulated Tav enough times to create the image that would steal her away like a rogue in the night. And she craved it. She wanted him to fill the role of her abductor, appearing from behind the curtains in her bedroom, to entice her with cool lips on her knuckles and sworn covenants of intimacy with his bite. Urging her to just let go.

Yet, his plan kept hitting snags.

Without a doubt, he knew his instinctual techniques were all in order. When there had been a few mishaps, he quickly adapted and switched his tactics. But, what he didn’t account for—what he had little to no proficiency in—was dealing with these people’s bygone histories for this length of time. Try as he might to reluctantly focus on the lamentable surface details of the bard and the kettle of vultures—their companions—that circled the hearth of their campfire, piles of their shit kept unearthing themselves like the carcasses of burying beetles.

And he didn’t fucking care.

Why should he? He didn’t know them. Oh, they were a formidable bunch, each having inherited an adeptness for physical or magical strength. He extended his belief in them about as far as relying on them in battle would allow him. But what had they truly done for him otherwise? It wasn’t them that offered mercy upon his vampiric existence and allowed him to stay within their group. It wasn’t them that made sure he was properly fed, baptizing him in their blood.

No, the only person he owed a speckle of his acknowledgement to was the songbird with the voice of singing jewels. Though she challenged him at every nook and cranny of their time together, she was the only one to judge him in such a way that seemed fairly balanced.

Until now.

Tav with her saintly observations, was becoming aware of his methodical ministries. Perhaps not in the sense that she could pinpoint exactly what his strategy was, but gods, her cursed awareness and the cloistered tale of her former life, filled him with enough discomfort he almost considered forgoing his plan entirely.

She knew something was amiss with him. She knew he had to be embellishing everytime he damn near spoke to her about anything other than his wretched past. So, why didn’t she make more of an effort to single him out and put him on trial? Had she been waiting for him to tell her otherwise? To correct her misgivings she was having about him.

It made him uneasy to not know. He could poke around in her mind with their worms, but that certainly wouldn’t bode well if she was unreceptive to the notion.

What an absolute shitshow, Astarion chastised when a strained laugh cut silently through his teeth.

Not to mention the realization that it was not only the façade of her companionship and intimacy he would have to contend with. This foe was clever—more so than he. It had been in her life years before him. Knew her in ways he had yet to scour. And when she tried to disobey it, it had a way of enticing her back into the comfort of its everlasting punishment.

And the name of such a formidable nemesis? Her past.

He couldn’t afford to lose her—not yet. It was too soon and far too late to humor his whims on another camp occupant. Nay, he would see this through to the end. Tav’s or anyone else’s lives be damned!

“I can smell the bergamot in your oils,” a meek voice breathed out. “You can come in whenever you’re ready.”

Astarion deeply inhaled, preparing himself to face her, knowing he may have to use his body for another nightfall to convince her not to forsake him. His performance hinged on being immaculate tonight—to be everything she wanted.

Another transaction: imitated comfort for the reinstated troth of her loyalty.

He lowered himself to his knees and opened the flap of her tent to enter. Tav sat with the used lute on her lap, twisting and tuning the pegs on her bare thighs. She struck a chord, listening intently as the sounds vibrated off the walls of blue linen, then adjusted further or moved onto the next string.

She lifted her head to acknowledge him. With the candlelight casting a golden glow across her face, Astarion thought this may have been one of the few times she possessed such a delicate lethargy.

“Is something the matter?”

“I—no,” he paused. What would be the right thing to say in this situation? “I thought it would be in my good nature to check in on you. But if now isn’t a good time, I can come back later.”

Tav blinked at him several times, then gestured for him to come further in with a nod. He scooted closer to her on his knees, allowing the flap of the tent to cascade off his back like a discarded blanket.

“I'm not a fan of this lute, especially the strings on it, but some things can’t be helped right now. I should be grateful Alfira could even find one available for me,” she spoke softly as if he wasn’t there. “Hopefully, when we make it to a different area or even the city, I can buy a new one.”

The vampire cleared his throat, resting his sweating palms on his thighs. “There’s differences between them? I mean, of course the details are not the same, but what of the sound?”

A shallow smile formed at the corner of her mouth as she continued fiddling with the tune. “Lutes, flutes, drums, violins—any musical instrument really—sounds different depending on several factors. The material used. Strings. Weight. Length. It all determines the sound produced.”

“What type of wood do you prefer for your lutes?”

The messy bun pinned on top of her head bobbed as she popped her head up to stare at him. “Spruce. Always spruce. It has the brightest sound—perfect for ballads.” She pushed her bangs to the side as an afterthought, placing the instrument by her side. “I appreciate you coming here tonight, but you don’t need to pretend you’re actually interested in a music lesson.”

“My dear, I have quite the appreciation for the arts of all kinds,” he grinned. “However, since your perception precedes you, I’m here because I couldn’t stop thinking about you. And then I realized that the whole thinking part was actually a worry.” He covered his lies by slowly lifting his eyes under a refuge furled lashes to peer at her.

“You don’t need to worry about me,” Tav stated, pursing her lips.

“I’ll have you know, that I could be sinking my fangs into a deer al fresco right about now, but instead I choose to be here. Now, let’s forego this game of hopscotch and chat.”

She ran the pads of her fingers along the edging of her nightshirt. “I’d be lying if I said I didn’t want to revisit parts of our disagreement from a few days ago—if you’re willing to talk about it with me.”

He wasn’t willing, but what choice did he have if he wanted to keep up this charade with her?

Astarion cocked his head to the side to nod, flaring his nostrils with a practiced breath. “If it's truly that bothersome to you, then I suppose I could pencil you in right this very second to listen.”

He could hear the strums of her pulse trembling. She was nervous.

Blood rushed to her lips, coloring them in roses. He saw tears welling up, threatening to spill over her lower lids. She could no longer hold it in. “First of all: I’m so so sorry, Astarion. What you said about ‘power’ reminded me so much of…I…I shouldn’t have jumped to conclusions like I did. You are your own person, not some reanimated villain of my tragedies.”

Ah, so she wished to focus on her reactions instead of the subject he hastily broached during his blood drunken stupor. How very like her to satisfy her own accountability. This could work in his favor.

Astarion would not press. Should she circle back to his unfavorable comments, well, he could always blame it on the mind flayer tadpole having deceptively influenced his mind after their encounter with other ‘true souls.’ In case he needed to change routes in the moment to suit her thoughts and actions, he made a mental note to be considerably more deliberate in reading her facial expressions.

Finding out just how much power these worms wielded, delighted the vamp. Of course they would be valuable in advancing his fight against Cazador, but directing those around him to do as he pleased? Gods.

The positions he could seat! The material wealth he could own! The liberty to indulge in all manners of debauchery and authority!

A future living side by side with an illithid creation suddenly didn’t sound so horrible.

“May I ask who he is?” he questioned, trying to inflict his tone to a more polite wisp.

She shied away from looking at him directly, guilt-ridden and hiccuping. Tav’s lips trembled, shaking her head to refuse him while she continued to weep.

It intrigued Astarion to see the normally strong-hearted woman bearing this unknown man’s crown of thorns with the pith of his blackened blood dripping from her eyes like melted candles. Days ago, during their night’s quarrel, the soul mark behind his ear hammered rapidly to the point of searing pain when she mentioned him. This man—this incubus—still choked her with his malignant hands, even though he was probably leagues away.

The hells cracked open, And he was reborn. With evil tongues spoken, Her scrawled promises would not be mourned.

While bewitching the bard had been as ordinary to Astarion as any everyday routine, she was hiding the flotsam of her personal dogmas sundered by this same mortal, making his task all the more difficult. A heretic to her own emotions.

They were both slaves to their pasts and towed the weighted cold night visions where escape seemed nothing more than mere fantasy. And he felt something by this acknowledgment. A blink of connection to her in the form of empathy.

Empathy?

Hells, it had been so long since he knew any emotion except anger, terror, and numbness. But, empathy held dire consequences. One of the last times he felt any ounce of said emotion, cost him a year of starvation inside of that derelict burial place. The memory still seemed so fresh in comparison to the ages he’d lived. If he let himself know empathy once more, it would mean allowing himself to be in a position of the same weakness he had been in for centuries.

“You don’t understand how awful I feel for how I reacted,” Tav managed to squeeze out of her throat.

He moved further within the tent to sit cross-legged in front of her, angling his head downwards to grab her attention. “Silly creature, of course I understand how awful you feel. Your heart is literally an open wound gushing onto everyone it passes. If someone ran into you, YOU would be the one to apologize.

“We’re still alive, aren’t we? Well, you are at least, but I do have the advantage of being ravishing forever,” he added with a quip.

The bard laughed as her body shook with sobs. Hands flew to her face, catching the falling tears with dabs of her fingertips.

“Darling.” He reached out to her with his palm up. “Come here. I can’t leave you blubbering like some muppet begging for scraps.”

Taking a hesitant breath, Tav placed her hand gingerly into the inviting salve he offered, holding onto it tightly. “A moment longer. I have more to say.”

Astarion’s mind filled with dread. If she terminated their agreement, that would be it—his protection would cease. The possibility of Cazador dragging him off screaming into the shadows, felt more real than it ever had been. Swiftly, his brain sprang into action. He would use whatever methods possible to adapt.

Touch. Comfort. Sex. Promises. Encouragement. Which would she need?

“Don’t keep me in suspense now, my sweet. You know how I hate to wait,” he smirked in his typical silvery tone.

“I’m trying to word this as not to sound like a psychotic lover here,” she laughed anxiously. “But, I have run ’us’ through my mind more times than I can count and I keep wondering if it would be best if we end whatever this is between us. Casual distractions would be much easier if we didn’t see each other everyday, but we don’t have that luxury and—

“Do you even like me?” Tav questioned wearily. It was apparent such ideas had been consuming her.

No.

“Do I like you? I mean, you definitely have a certain set of allures about you,” he answered slowly. He wasn’t lying about her qualities—if that’s what people choose to call them—but, no, he did not care for her.

A grimace settled on her expression as she removed her hand from his.

“Were you expecting a more defined answer?”

The bard chewed at her lip lightly with her front tooth. “I’m expecting something that doesn’t feel like you’re acting on stage,” she replied stiffly. “You seem so versed in saying all the right things, but there is a pit in my stomach warning me it’s not all true. I don’t want you to force yourself with me.”

Oh, but he would force himself. His survival depended on it.

The spawn ran his hand through his curls, flashing a glib smile she didn’t detect. “Ha! Could that be your own insecurities speaking? Or shall I get down on my knees and recite a sonnet of my undying affections for you? Would you believe me then?”

Turning away, she looked past him towards the ground. “Is it so wrong for me to desire something real, Astarion?”

Hope.

She wanted hope.

He could perform hope.

The vampire enclosed her ruddy cheek with his hand, thumbing a gentle swipe across the roundest point. She shut her eyelids lazily, microscopic tears still adhering on her lashes like diamond dust.

“Don’t turn away from me, Tavelle,” he commanded her gently. “A woman that has as much to offer as you, deserves to hold her head up high and be worshiped.”

As if to confirm her yearning for him, her eyes roamed half-opened to search his face. She fisted the ruffling of his shift tightly, pulling herself taut against his chest to crash her lips fervently against his with a tight gasp.

The kiss was urgent. Delivered as if they’d both turn into smoke in an instant. Like she’ll lose me someday, Astarion thought.

He could hear her heartbeat stepping out of its darkness, begging, begging, begging him to cradle her adorations for him.

Kneading his pale lips on hers instinctually, she tangled a free hand into waves of silvery-white earning her a low hum from the deepest reaches of his voice box. “Star…" she incanted into his mouth.

Fluidly, he reached up to unpin her hair, allowing her tresses to fall over her shoulders. He decorated his lithe digits with her silken strands, tugging her head gently backwards to drop fervid pecks down her throat. She cried out, sputtering lilting syllables of his name everytime he idly rearranged his hold on her hair.

Tav held onto his arms as he worked his tongue in circles. “Tell me you want this. Tell me you want me,” she pleaded, clawing at his clothes.

Releasing her hair, he pulled Tav back in to seam their mouths together. She sucked tenderly on his upper lip, grazing her tongue horizontally across it, before she finally nipped at it playfully.

He pushed his nose into her cheek, abruptly stopping them. She was short of breath, heaving in anticipation for him to kiss her again.

Grabbing her chin firmly, Astarion’s eyes flitted down to her lips as he spoke mere centimeters from them. ”You’ve slowly been driving me insane,” he roughly asserted, avoiding her want for affirmations.

She snuck her fingers up the length of him, lacing them behind his neck. Her lips parted, a husky reply threatening to swallow them whole. “What do you mean to do with me then?”

A lukewarm thumb found safety pressed against her lips. The tip of her tongue tunneled through the gap of her mouth and licked a teasing small patch of skin on the inside of it. Debauched images of him drawing blood from her tongue filled his mind. Biting and biting every inch of her supple flesh until he had his fill of her essence settling like a fine wine in his veins. He panted maddeningly at the thought, his shaft hardening immediately.

Then, the minx slinkingly shifted onto his lap, encircling her legs on either side of his hips. She undulated on the length of his bulge compressed in the middle of her soaked smalls and his trousers. Insolently, she yanked a handful of his hair. He hissed at the delicious pain now aching through his cock and the back of his head.

Pallid dexterous hands ripped the front of her shirt open, cutting buttons loose to fly into the air. The strength of his paw found her breast hiding behind the torn fabric and he squeezed it considerably, pinching an erect nipple. She moaned his name, trying to keep her body upright.

Sharp teeth nibbled a sliver of flesh near the corner of her lips. “Is this what you need? For me to take you as I please?”

Tav nodded innocently, her whole body turning flush with desire.

And then something feral snapped inside of Astarion. That spine-tingling rapacious trait that was half vampire and half carnal man. He could have her if he wanted her; whenever he wanted. Fill him with her blood just to sate him. Her life belonged to him, if he so chose to take it.

“You can follow instructions properly, can’t you sweetheart?” Astarion grumbled as he tucked strands of her hair behind her ear. A strangled noise squeaked from her mouth as she shook her head. “Good. Now listen closely: I want you to unlace my pants, push your smalls to the side, and slide my cock inside that very wet slit of yours.”

The songstress whimpered, whilst she untied the bindings of his fly. “I want to be good for you, Astarion.”

Fuck, his name sounded like the filthiest sin coming from her mouth.

He peeled back the material of her shirt from her heaving bosom, exposing her soft milkiness. Humming around one of her pink buds that popped into his mouth, he felt her remove him from his pants with a few precursory strokes. Instinctively, his gaze feasted on the light bluish veins spreading across her breasts. Just a single bite couldn’t hurt?

“Hells,” he groaned as she sunk the crown of his cock into her clenching heat. “You like being this drenched for me, don’t you?”

“Only you…gods…make me like this,” Tav sang out, holding the back of his head while she adjusted to him inside her.

Her wetness dripped down his length as she stuffed him further into her, trickling down to settle on his testicles. A howling wail started from the middle of Tav’s diaphragm up through her windpipe when she glided up his erect prick once and came back down to his hilt. Astarion chased her mouth with his, muffling her frenzy with open-mouthed kisses.

“Shhh. Shh, songbird,” he hushed in a chuckle. “We are about to wake the lot of this camp soon.”

“I’m sorry. Just love…having you…inside of me,” she giggled lowly, kissing him with blistering ardor between her words.

Surprising the bard by grabbing under her ass, Astarion cajoled her to ride the stiff hardness in his lap. Tav hooked herself onto his shoulders, using them for support while she bounced upon him. Her tits brushed against his shirt with her movements, causing her swollen buds to stay hardened.

My prodigal son, what do we have here?

Master.

Ah, of course. Tonight would belong to the echoes of Cazador. There would be no need for the paralysis that enthralled the spawn’s body to take over, not when his master’s commands needed to be minded.

The vampire busied his fingertips by pressing them further into her flesh, focusing on her slickness encompassing all those nerves at the tip of his cock. He pushed her all the way down to his base, relishing the swaddling of her warmth around him.

A bard, hmm? Bring her to me.

Yes, master.

He reached a hand down in between them to swipe his thumb through her folds, caressing her clit in gentle circles. Tav’s mouth formed into a small “o.”

Look at her—enjoying your flesh like a whore. She’s exactly like all the others. You are only meant to satisfy her needs as a means to fulfill my hunger.

I won’t disobey you master.

“My sweet, turn around and let me fuck you from behind,” he urged mildly, trying to maintain his composure.

Astarion couldn’t let her see. He was steadily losing his grip on their surroundings, disappearing into the quilted stars of the night sky he summoned as he disconnected. If she saw he wasn’t present again, she would send him away.

Tav didn’t respond, continuing to pump his shaft with her tight cunt at a steady pace. She opened and closed her mouth in silent moans, replaced by heady breaths. Did she not hear him? He placed his hands on her waist attempting to settle her motions.

Would you like to hear her sing, Astarion? How do you think she’ll sound with her blood gurgling in her throat as I feed from her?

“Turn around,” he demanded firmly.

Body slowing to a near halt, she cupped his cheeks with a litany of fingers rasping the sharpness of his bones. She pressed a peck to his lips. “Lover, I want to look into your eyes while I’m on top.”

He bucked his hips maneuvering his legs to lift her off of him enough to push her down onto her bedroll. Spreading her legs open, he swiftly settled in between her thighs, and brashly reentered her with a concrete plunge. The bard yelped in shock, clutching his biceps tightly.

Soulmates? Tsk. Did my beloved spawn forget that he is not allowed to be connected to anything except me? Get rid of her mark.

I wish to please you master. Allow me to show my fealty to you.

His vision rapidly moved from side to side until he arched Tav into him to rest his forehead onto her soulmate mark, hiding, endeavoring it to disappear on its own so he wouldn’t have to hurt her. He thrust up into her hurriedly, trying to chase her to the banks of her climax to end his delusions.

“Wait,” she uttered as he drove into her.

Astarion ignored her, opening his mouth to frame his teeth around her soul mark. He must dispose of it.

“Astarion, no. Don’t bite there,” Tav ordered, snaring his curls at the root. “Look at me. Please.”

He’s everywhere. He knows where I am. He’s already taken everything from me. I’ll never be free, Astarion screamed inwardly in anguish.

His fangs pricked the first layer of her epidermis, pellets of crimson gathering around the invasion. The bard severely yanked his head to detach him, dribbles of her blood coating his lips. “I said no! GET OFF OF ME,” she shrieked, thrashing her body under him.

They became motionless. Her face had morphed into thousands upon thousands of blurry conquests. Voices: high and low, moaning, whispering their pleasures. Luring each of them in the dead of night to their death eternal. And Astarion, bound to the scaffold with a noose around his neck, forever being led back into Cazador’s arms.

And then her eyes were suddenly there in focus. Afraid and sorrowful. Full of tears. For her. For him. Rainy storm clouds floating across the earth. Tav with her inquisitor view, leading him on a pilgrimage away from the haunts of his deadened soul.

She covered her nakedness, pulling her ripped shirt over her breasts. Two pin prick spots of blood seeped through the fabric, reminding him of his violation. He was disgusted with himself.

What had he done?

“Tav, I’m sor—” Astarion proclaimed hoarsely, loosening his brace on her waist.

Tav reached up to place a hand on his cheek. “Leave,” her voice whispered sternly.

He couldn’t wash this away and escape what he was made into.

⸺⋘✤⋙⸺

Burning iron-vine powder levitated in a cloudy haze around them.

A Gur?! A godsdamned bloody Gur. Cazador’s cruel humor never seemed to fail; he must have sent him.

His mind started to race. Astarion’s safety may be coming to an end. It was a misjudgement to ever presume that he could disappear without facing the repercussions of his former master. Would he ever have somewhere to land from all this falling?

“You’re Astarion?!” The monster hunter loudly said in surprise. “Apologies to your companions, but you’ll need to come with me.”

“Gandrel, was it? I’m not going anywhere.” Astarion removed the blade from his back, pointing it towards the man.

“Fuck! This is bad,” Karlach muttered to Wyll.

“Then, I’m afraid I have no choice but to take you by force,” Gandrel declared, shooting an ‘Ensnaring Strike’ spell at both the vampire and fiery woman.

Thorny vines raised up around their legs, holding them in place. Astarion sliced at them, trying to wriggle free, but the bindings only reinforced their seizure. “Uh, a little help?!”

He was too distracted to fight. Flooded by the memory of how Tav’s tears flowed like blown stars living their final moments. But, he could still feel her hands upon his cheeks. Her hands where flowers bloomed in the dark; flowers that emerged wherever she appeared.

Karlach swung her axe in a criss-cross pattern. “I can’t move! Wyll, you’ll need to repel him!”

Wyll lunged forward casting an Eldritch Blast that narrowly missed the hunter’s cheek. “Damn!”

Gandrel placed another arrow in his crossbow, aiming it at the spawn as he approached. “I’m sorry it had to come to this, but you’re needed else—”

The hunter suddenly collapsed onto one knee, a spray of blood ejecting from his mouth. He looked down at the arrow protruding out of his right side, then looked past the spawn.

Astarion followed his gaze, mouth wide open in shock when he reached his destination. “Songbird? But why?! I don't—”

Tav threw down her bow, reaching to unsheathe her rapier. “You’re a beacon of trouble, ‘Star.”

[bluestarlett]

my mom writes poetry and wanted me to post some

she’s been writing a lot to deal with her grief and was wanting some sort of reach however she’s not super well-versed on social media so asked me to post some here.

Her first one she wrote about Will Wood, funnily enough. He’s a very important role model to her since she found his music after her dad died and it helped her through a lot. He also looks exactly like my dad lol

“The Old Gods Are Dead

More than two books gives me analysis paralysis Turns my prefrontal cortex gelatinous But here's my societal psychoanalysis

The Age of Anxiety Fear and false piety Only perceiving a fraction of Is it a quantum reaction When the TV became me And I became the tree That was up there on the screen

What the fuck does it all MEAN?

You are my artificial perception That I'll take as an ugly lesson My father gave me music It feels like time to use it In a different way than I always did

Host your demons Feel the changing seasons Turn the mirror around As your ego starts to weaken

Do you ever wonder sometimes Maybe if we didn't distract ourselves and waste our lives Would we see what's just out of reach Parallel Our eyes unbleached

Hyperspace is just too loud That buzzing Beeping Screaming Sound

So I'll surrender all my wisdom and power To forget And consume brain rot for just an hour

It's lonely at the top You've gotta understand To be aware nonstop Is hell for any man

I'll keep posting my kids on Facebook I'll misunderstand some great books I'll do anything to gain looks I will fuck up some decent hooks All for the sake of shoulder shrug

Are drugs considered ‘media’ “Drugs” are what they're feeding ya So the Soylent Green And the American Dream Maintains efficacy This is how it has to be

You used to be a Dreamweaver But you got sick when Mother Earth caught a fever Please don't give up on her yet We can win this, I bet

But if you show those white flags You might spawn a system that lags Wake up in the metaverse No need for that last ride In an 80s hearse No need for primitive pride

Being God is boring To exist as odd and flawed sounds alluring Maybe I could invent the wheel After the chariot Try to have child And have to bury it

To be a lab rat is a blessing I'll take a stab at constant stressing Ponder if I'm the control group Wander through the mirrored maze room

But once in a while I recall that I was once The collective mind The nature of flux

Being God is lonely Being human is pain Solitude is holy Humanity is insane”

and this is one she wrote during her… second? Stay at a psychiatric ward.

“Unit Red Love Letter

The sun and the moon were sharing the sky 11 am lucky strike Wishing I was high

I lay in the grass A small patch just for one To dream about home And laying next to you

Marigold toes Covered in ashes and prose A sunflower sapling Thriving in the throes

Black n Mild An unsuspected teacher Sees an abandoned child Heartbreak Validated She knows we are to be liberated

Don't fall back down your own black holes Keep looking up, and don't forsake your goals

Your family is nothing Ina world so cold Don't let them crush your worth Don't give them your soul

Be defiant Boldly go Find the sun Fill the dark hole”

[novankenn]

Son of the Serpent (3)

/==/ Table of Contents /==/

Ozpin’s mug fell from nerveless fingers, to shatter against the ground at his feet. He knew Jaune’s family, and even with his forgeries Ozpin knew Jaune’s pedigree, and could see his potential as a great huntsman, but now… with undeniable proof that the only son of Nathaniel and Benisato Arc had inherited at least one of his mother’s supernatural abilities, changed that potential… drastically.

“Headmaster?” Glynda Goodwitch called out, straddling him from his thoughts. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine. I’m fine.”

“No you’re not. You dropped your mug, and have been staring off into the distance for five minutes, not responding to me that entire time.” Glynda informed him. “Initiation is over, all the teams have returned unharmed and with their relics.”

“Very good. Very good.” Ozpin responded as he made a show of adjusting his vest. “Shall we get to the team ceremony then?”

“Oz, what is going on?” Glynda asked in a hushed voice as she stepped in front of him. “Does this have anything to do with… Mr Arc?”

“It does, but I will speak upon it later.” Ozpin replied. “Let’s finish with initiation, first.”

“I do not like when you play the secrets game, Oz.” Glynda remarked while giving him a stern look.

“We finish initiation, and we will discuss things, and yes this is with regard to Mr Arc’s interesting display.”

/==/

Jaune was freaking out. Literally freaking out. He barely passed initiation, and that was thanks to his “partner” Pyrrha pulling his ass out of the fire by pinning him to a tree during his swan dive towards the ground. Yet somehow, somehow he was made the leader of a team! But that wasn’t the bulk of his issues. No, what was really driving his anxiety into the stratosphere was the simple fact that he used his powers. Yes, he used them to help his new friends and teammates, which was a good thing… but still people saw him use the tattoos, and to top it off, Pyrrha knew that his aura hadn’t been unlocked prior to the launch.

Finding a way to slid away from everyone, especially Nora, who was firing off questions faster than a Gatling-gun, Jaune got into the bathroom and locked the door. His hands were shaking as he pulled out his scroll and made a call home. A call he had been avoiding for the last four months.

“JAUNE! Where the fuck are you?” his mother Benisato screamed, the video showing that she was well beyond livid. “Where are you? Are you safe? Where are you? HOW could you do this to your family?”

“Mom. Mom. MOM!”

“Don’t you raise your voice to me, young man!”

“I’m sorry, I am, but I can’t answer anything if you don't give me a chance to.”

“Fine. Are you safe?”

“Yes. I am safe.”

“Where are you?”

“In the bathroom of my team dorm.”

“Team dorm? Jaune… where are you?”

“Beacon.”

“BEACON! How the FUCK did you get to Beacon? Why are you at Beacon?” Benisato raged, “Was this why you ran away? To go to Beacon?”

“Yes, I ran, so I could attend Beacon.” Jaune answered, his shoulder slumping as he spoke. “And I have a problem.”

“A problem?” his mom’s rage abated by just a fraction. “What’s her name, and how far along is she?”

“NOT THAT TYPE OF PROBLEM!”

“Don’t you yell at me young man. You’re not so big that I can’t put you over my knee!”

[maryonaccross]

Just wanted to post this to answer @ivarusfalls who chose to post my comment on her anti green post : https://www.tumblr.com/ivarusfalls/715220391811006465/people-say-that-being-team-green-stans-doesnt

On her tumblr.

I figured the best way to respond would be to go through the arguments that were made in the post that I was commenting on and discredit them one by one.

So here we go:

“People say that being team green stans doesn't mean that they're supporting misogyny or anything else that their team stands for. But I just can't understand this take. How can you choose to support a team who's main character (Alicent) laughed when she heard about children and women getting raped?”

The same way I can’t understand how you can support team pedophile ( but we’ll get to that later). I have no idea where you got the information that Alicent laughed at women getting raped ( like in what context? Please state your source when you say things like that). But even if we assume that that was the case supporting her is still 1000 times better than supporting people who( like Deamon and Rhaenyra ) judge and belittle her for being a child bride. And that is a problem that I have with team back Stans in general; How mentally deranged to you have to be to call a child- bride and victim of marital rape “ Alicunt “??? Also team black proudly stands with Viserys who raped his first child bride until he eventually cut her open because her body couldn’t handle seventh pregnancy he forced on her and then proceeded to do the same with Alicent. Deeds speak louder than words. Whatever Alicent said or didn’t say, she never raped or groomed anyone which is more than can be said about many on team black.

“How can you support this team who's main purpose was to tear down the heir to the iron throne only because she was a woman?”

Again, that isn’t true. It the show Alicent supports Aegon because she is thinks that that’s what Viserys wanted her to do. Those were his last words. And in the books she is usurped because her children are bastards. Otto was literally the one who suggested she be named heir instead of Deamon in the first episode. This isn’t about her sex. Her heir is a bastard. Therefore Aegon’s claim is stronger.

“How can you support team green when even when killing Rhaenyra, they cut her breast (something that was unnecessary) only to highlight the fact that they were against her for being a woman?”

As far as I am aware of they feed her to Sunfrye. But all right, whatever you say; unnecessary cruelty towards a hostage. Does that remind you of anything? Oh, maybe the gruesome murder of six year old prince Jeaherys and how team black send assassins who also threatened to rape Aegons six year old daughter. ( And saying that Rhaenyra is innocent in that matter because Deamon gave the order just serves as proof of her failures as a leader. He was part of her fraction, and under her command therefore she is responsible for his actions. Just as Aegon is for Aemond killing Luke)

“How can you support a team whose main character (Alicent) was a rape apologist? Who, when she say her son raping women, bought the silence of the victim but didn't reprimand her son for doing this heinous crime?”

Alicent is a victim of marital rape. Did you even watch the show? Did you not see how she slaps Aegon and denounced him as her son for what he did??? Team black supports Viserys who let Deamon organize a police brutality event without consequences. The guy literally ran amok around the city maiming and killing people left and right. Of course Alicent is concerned how Aegons actions will reflect upon his wife who is her daughter. Alicent does everything in her power to stop Aegon from going down that road.

Rhaenyra lets Luke get away for literally maiming another child without consequences and doesn’t think that he should even apologize. But she is the mother of the year. Make it make sense

“How can you support this team when they knowingly protested against Rhaenyra, the first female heir to the iron throne which would do wonders for women in their society and improve their status, so that they could put their rapist son on the throne?”

This one is really funny, because Rhaenyra ( both in the show and the book) has proven that she doesn’t give a shit about women. All she cares about is herself. She sees herself as the exception, not the rule. In the books, she still proclaims that younger brothers should inherit instead of their sisters. She tells Rheanys that Jace and Beala’s SON will be the king if she married him, which means that she isn’t planning on changing anything for women. If anything her reign made it even more difficult women to come into positions of power because she is remembered as one of the top five Targaryen villains of all time. She chose to judge Alicent for being forced into a life she doesn’t want instead of blaming her father, who forced her into it.

“How can you support this team when Alicent abused Rhaenyra so much to the point Rhaenyra was forced to leave her home and her father because of it?”

What are you talking about??? Rhaenyra basically fleas Kings Landing because everyone was aware that her children are bastards. Even Deamon knew all the way from Pentos. The reason she had to leave was because of her own stupid decisions, and what exactly did Alicent do to bully her??? She doesn’t even actively spread rumors about her children’s parentage, she doesn’t need to, everyone already knows, people aren’t blind. The only time she mentions it is in the privacy of her and Viserys’ Chambers and to Aegon ( again, in private ). And I saw in another one of your posts that we are now villainizing Alicent for her asking to see Joffrey after his birth, because apparently she wanted to “ expose him to germs” I mean come on 🤣🤣🤣 this is a time period where people didn’t even know what that was ( I mean Visserys gives two year old Aegon WINE in the carriage scene ) children spend all of their time with maids and servants. The king and queen asking to see their grandchild isn’t outrageous. i’m sorry, I’m trying to take this seriously but this one cracks me up every time this is so hilarious. She probably wanted to infect him with COVID-19 as well.

And also, the king was right there. What do you think she would’ve done to the baby ? thrown it out the window?

And honestly, if all it takes is a little passive aggressiveness to bully the future leader of Westeros and make her flee to a rock I really don’t think there’s anything left to say about her skills as a ruler. That would mean she has absolutely zero resilience and cannot deal with the consequences of her actions. It’s not Alicent’s fault that people aren’t blind.

“How can you support this team when Alicent made Rhaenyra come to her as soon as she gave birth even when knowing just how painful and traumatic giving birth is?”

She doesn’t. She asked the see the baby. Not Rhaenyra. She looks visibly shocked when she sees Rhaenyra herself.

“Besides this, I've seen team green stans make fun of Rhaenyra being over weight, making fun of her trauma and abuse, saying she was a bad politician even though everything in the show indicates that she wasn't, etc etc.”

I.) the stuff that Team Black fans say about Helena, her weight, but also her being a neurodivergent coded character is so much worse. To the point of some of them arguing that she deserved to die because her life is not worth living

II.) Rhaenyra is a horrible political. She constantly makes stupid decisions ( like taking a lover who doesn’t resemble her husband whatsoever, letting people believe she killed Leanor, marrying the man everyone wanted to keep as far away from the throne as possible, leaving for dragon stone and letting the greens rule for years while her father was sick ect) and the worst thing is she always relies on other characters ( mainly her father and uncle husband ) to save her. Is Viserys hadn’t miraculously resin out of bed when Rhaenyra came begging him she would’ve been done for. She had absolutely no plan.

“I will never like team green stans or even team neutral ones because team green is beyond disgusting and I have no idea how anyone can not hate them.”

Honestly, I have no idea how to talk to hard core team Black fans without wanting to throw up. They are so much more problematic than team green fans and make it really difficult to enjoy this fandom.

And to answer your previous question Deamon is a groomer and a pedophile. In the show Rhaenyra’s actress says that her character is 14 years old in the first couple of episodes including the one where she goes to a brothel with Deamon. Deamon also marries Leana who couldn’t have been older than 15 at the time and grooms Nettles when she is a teenager.

And even if we focus on the book, he has known Rhaenyra since the moment she was born, and spent a lot of time with her during her childhood. Do you honestly think that it’s a coincidence that he keeps “ falling in love “ with underage women?

It’s profoundly disgusting and seeing people portray him ( a wife killer ) as a feminist man makes me sick.