#lest she set the house on fire

[singedbutter]

.

[heirofnight]

pendulum

an azriel x reader thought dump that may or may not become a series but is really just me needing to unload a bunch of thoughts and feelings that i have

ok enjoy <3

the late afternoon light cascaded through the chiffon curtains that billowed gently against the large windows.

your rooms at the house of wind had become a sanctuary - your safe place, secluded from the hustle and bustle of the main two floors below you.

you'd spent months curating your chambers, collecting pretty trinkets and beautiful art that were all now dutifully placed around the room. you'd made sure that each item had elicited emotions from deep within your chest each time your eyes happened to fall upon them - sadness, joy, longing, adoration - you'd been infatuated with simply allowing yourself to feel.

you'd acquired bookshelves lined with novels including the widest range of genres you could get your hands on. you loved to learn - aspired to fill your mind with as much knowledge as possible. your eyes snagged onto the spine of one of your favorite classics - a romance, of course. you were always drawn to romance. your heart was consistently perched right on your sleeve, dreaming of the day that a lover may pluck the beating organ right into their own hands - cradling it and worrying over it as if it were their own.

you sighed at the thought, gently sprawling your current read across your chest. layers of cloud-like bedding encompassed your frame - you were already curled into your mattress for the evening, body adorned in a silk pajama set comprised of a camisole and shorts. the smooth fabric boasted dainty embroidered roses - it was your favorite ensemble to wear to bed, airy and light.

you peered around your space, the fire lit in the hearth providing the coziest blanket of warmth. the bursting sunset allowed pools of golden, pink light to pool across your hardwood floor. you felt, just for a moment, like you were solely existing in a dream.

and, like in most of the dreams that nestled their way into your mind's eye while you were asleep, azriel's face made an appearance right at the forefront of your thoughts - uninvited, but never unwelcome.

your eyes fluttered shut as you allowed every part of you to succumb to every bit of him.

you adored being a romantic to your core, and often found a lovesick, drowsy feeling always trailing right behind any thought of the shadowsinger that resided right down the hall.

you'd pined for him, which came as no surprise to you at all. he was so kind, so gentle with you. and you longed to give every ounce of love that you'd been collecting, saving, nurturing, growing for the right moment - the right lover - over to him.

you knew he deserved it. and deep down, you knew he'd been longing to be loved just as much as you'd longed to love.

you curled your legs in tighter to yourself, opening your eyes to cast them to the tall ceiling above your head, but only momentarily.

you never allowed yourself to give into these lovelorn feelings for too long, lest you actually make yourself feel ill. your body would begin to itch with the urge to bound northward through the halls, until your bare feet found themselves right at the threshold of azriel's wooden door.

and then what?

then things - feelings - would become too real, and azriel struck you as the kind of male likely to bolt as opposed to stare down the barrel of that gun.

so, you clutched onto the book that was still spread across your chest, stretched your bare legs out before you, and continued to read. about love, and happy endings, and a male that loved the main character just as much as she loved him. if only.

azriel, on the other hand, decided that he loved you about fifteen minutes later. and by decided, it moreso felt like he had been hit in the chest by one of cassian's training shields at full-speed.

his shadows had been skittering about his large frame, following him up, up, up the stairs, and down the hallway towards his rooms.

he was lost in thought, momentarily attempting to work out the details of a mission he was set to embark on later in the week, and also contemplating if he should ask the house for a plate of chocolate cake to indulge in before sharpening truth teller.

he watched as a tendril of shadow darted ahead to unlock his door, and all it took was one absentminded craning of his neck to the left to stop him dead in his tracks, literally - his heavy boots almost making an audible screeching sound at the abruptness of it all.

the door to your rooms was ajar, just slightly. he wasn't even sure if you were aware of it.

but right in his line of sight, was you. laying atop soft bedding, bare legs in silk shorts, long hair undone and cascading around your shoulders like a halo. the evening glow through your windows mixed with the flames from the hearth and surrounded you in a haze that made you look like an angel - like you were a figment of his imagination that had conjured itself when he was in need of it the most.

you were so peaceful, reading a book with a dreamy-looking expression painted across your features. he couldn't have asked the most skilled artist in prythian to create a more beautiful piece of art.

now, of course azriel knew you. he'd conversed with you plenty of times. you were often around the rest of his family, present at most meals and gatherings. and he'd always thought you were beautiful - achingly so, at times.

however, he'd forced himself to place a mental barrier where you were concerned. you were too precious, too kind, too bright. so bright, in fact, that he'd always made sure to hide his shadows away from you.

but seeing you this way, right now - he felt those mental walls crumbling under the weight of your exquisite existence.

should he knock?

should he inquire about what you were reading?

should he honestly just skip all of that, and instead rip his heart from the confines of his chest and offer it over to you on the spot?

no, surely not. his shadows were lazily orbiting around him now, and his wings had relaxed to the point of lightly trailing along the stone floor. he was mesmerized, and you hadn't even noticed - hadn't even seen him.

which, he thought, was probably how it was always going to be.

his hand twitched, his fist clenched, and his shoulders drooped - all for only a moment. and then he continued forward, dejected and craving isolation.

back to the shadows, where he belonged. not worthy of your warm, bright light.

a/n: sad girl + sad hours = sad writing

lmk what u think PLS, this one feels a little pointless but i wanted to share it anyway <3

[startanewdream]

A small Harry and Minerva moment, set after the final battle, in honour of Minerva's birthday.

*****

"I am not coming back," Harry blurts out. Next to him, Minerva's only reaction is a flicker on her spell: for a moment, the broken chairs of the Transfiguration classroom get extra pairs of legs that make them look like spiders.

When the chairs go back to normal, she turns to Harry with an impassive look.

"I imagined so."

Harry blinks. "You did? You never mentioned anything."

Minerva shares his surprise. "It was not my place to say anything. You are of age now."

"So all this time I've been helping here at Hogwarts, you just knew and went along with it?"

"Would it please you if I say I do not agree with your decision?"

"Yes, actually."

There's a hint of a smile on Minerva's lips. "I think you should come back to school."

"Oh." Harry looks down at his feet before moving to fix the bricks on the wall. Despite what he just told her, it's undeniable that this was not what Harry wanted to hear. "You think I am not ready?"

He sounds young. It's difficult to match this adult Harry — nearly eighteen-year-old, tall like his father, and spotting too many scars for his age — with the eleven-year-old who was sorted into her House, but that's the memory that resurfaces: Harry is eleven and he was caught out of his bed at night, losing 50 points to Gryffindor. He'd looked upset at the idea of being a disappointment.

That's how he looks now.

"You are of age," she repeats, her voice more tender than she allows herself around him, lest she betrays her soft spot for him. Harry's eyes are hungry as he turns to face her. "You faced more than any exam could measure — you faced things that cannot be measured." She thinks about the unconfirmed tales of a sacrifice and master of death, and it's not easy to match this with a boy worried about homework and deadlines. "From an educational point of view, I believe your time at Hogwarts has concluded."

Harry watches her. "But?" He guesses.

She allows herself a little smile. "But education is not all Hogwarts has to offer." She remembers seeing that scrawny kid laughing as he first took flight on a school broomstick; three friends sitting outside on a winter afternoon, bundling up next to a warm blue fire and sharing tales; a boy and his girlfriend, walking hand-in-hand through the halls, oblivious to any gossip. "I would be glad if you returned only to enjoy your Seventh Year as a common student. No threat. No drama. Just school."

"Just school," he repeats, his gaze far away now as if he could see it. Then Harry blinks. "Hermione and Ginny are coming back. Ron is not, though."

Minerva nods. She won't say it, but sometimes she wonders if the fact that Ron Weasley isn't returning isn't what's weighing most on Harry. Inseparable like brothers. Like father, like son.

"Do you think my parents would be okay with it?"

This time, the question baffles her; she's glad she wasn't transforming anything because it might have been disastrous.

"I do not believe I am qualified to answer this, Harry," she says.

"Ah, it's just —" He holds the back of his head, ruffling his hair, unaware that this was what James did when he was embarrassed. "You are one of the last people that knew them."

And this, as far as Minerva is concerned, is a terrible thing. James and Lily would be only thirty-eight if they were alive. She has lived now nearly four times what they did; how is it that there are now so few people that knew them?

Harry looks young once again. She knows he's made up his mind — and like Lily, he's adamant once he's decided something —, so this need for validation isn't what she associates with the young man she saw standing up to Voldemort one month ago.

But for all his deeds, Harry is just a boy who grew up longing for his parents — parents who had loved him fiercely, she knows. She doubts Harry might ever do anything that James and Lily wouldn't support — God knows Minerva supports him, and she isn't even his relative — but she also thinks they would insist that Harry return to his final year.

Seventh Year. That had been the year when James and Lily were Head Boy and Head Girl, and the future had looked promising to both. That had been the year when they had started dating; when the darkness of the war hadn't yet tinted their lives. When they had been the happiest. How could they not want the same for Harry?

But that's not what she tells him. "Yes," she lies calmly. "James and Lily would approve it."

Harry breathes easily. "Thanks." He moves to fix another desk, not noticing how, a long time ago, someone carved JP+LE in the wood.

Harry's spellwork is good. He might enjoy some refinement, but she doubts he will be fixing desks in his future job, so instead of commenting on it, she just lets it slide.

"Of course," she notes with a hint of humour, "if you came back, it would not have been all fun. I would have high expectations for you."

"Quidditch?" Harry guesses. "I'd say that Gryffindor is safe in Ginny's hands."

"I enjoy the Quidditch trophy in my office," she agrees. "But alas I was thinking about another responsibility. A Head Boy badge would suit you." Harry's eyes widen; she is once more sorry for not insisting harder with Albus that Harry should have been made prefect. "As it did your parents."

Harry smiles. "I would enjoy that."

"There are tons of paperwork, I might warn you — though not unlike being an Auror." Harry chuckles. "But either way, Harry, your parents would have been proud."

As I am proud of you, she thinks.

[cherry-burst]

Sylus x F! MC “My Fire In Your Blood.”

Alternate Universe | Dragon Shifter!Sylus

Love and Deepspace

Tags: Smut 18+ mdni | Dubcon | Size Difference | Biting/Marking | Outdoor Sex | Primal | Monster Fking | Telepathy | Monster Romance | 

WC: ~10,400k Words

Read On AO3

Summary: In a world overrun by dragons that invaded the planet from a portal in the sky, humanity's survival is a daily struggle. Cities crumble amidst the chaos and destruction of these feral beasts. However, one encounter with a dragon changes her perspective forever as the massive beast transforms into a human-like man and forges an everlasting bond with her.

Disclaimer: I wrote this BEFORE it was canon that he’s a literal dragon (I am still trying to process that!!!) so this has nothing to do with his myth. It’s a ‘dragon shifter’ fic with my own kinda lore. Also, he only has one dick. Please forgive me for my transgressions. 

A distant roar echoed through the afternoon sky prompting her and her traveling companions to seek shelter immediately. The dragons were known to cover miles of ground in only a few minutes so the group only had a short time to hide. 

She quickly extinguished the campfire, kicking dirt onto the red embers. Everyone stuffed their provisions into their bags and began helping others pack up their supplies. They worked like a well oiled machine, and in no time the campsite was dismantled. Their runner returned from their mission to find shelter and announced there was a cave not too far away with plenty of room to house everyone for the night. 

“Do you think it will even come this deep into the forest?” Tara asked her, an overstuffed backpack slouched over her shoulder.

She shrugged, her own bag heavy in her arms. “They can be unpredictable. So, who knows.” 

The group began walking through the forest towards the cave. It was estimated to be about a five minute walk so they didn’t have too far to go to safety. The dragons, though a constant presence in their everyday life, had yet to pose an immediate threat to them in the forest. 

The massive beasts usually flew in groups on the distant side of the valley beyond the ridge. This allowed the survivors to seek shelter under the humid canopy to gain some semblance of safety. They needed to hide though, since the dragons had an uncanny way of finding them out in the open despite the dense trees. They assumed it was scent because they couldn’t even stay in one place for too long lest they wake to a massacre of massive dragons devouring their friends and burning everything they own.

As the group approached the cave, a sound of wooshing air reached her ears, stirring her hair all around her face. Another roar, an all too familiar precursor to attacks, sent her heart into a state of panic. The dragon’s arrival was heralded by a massive shadow blocking the sun pitting their patch of forest into darkness all around them. An icy chill ran through her veins, propelling her into a frantic sprint toward the cave with the other survivors. Several people began to cry and scream while others left their gear behind on the forest floor to lighten their race to safety.

“It’s here!” Someone shouted. “Get inside, now!” 

Inhaling deeply, she surged forward pumping her arms with determination to the cave’s entrance. Another abrupt, ear piercing, roar caused her to stumble forward, fear making her limbs freeze up. Even one second of time loss meant death, she knew this. On the ground, she instinctively covered her head with her arms, bracing herself for the potential inferno that was sure to come. 

Only one set of wings flapped, which was odd. The dragon was alone despite them always traveling in packs. When there was no breath of fire to barbeque her alive, she hurried to her feet and began her sprint again. The rush of air from its flapping wings seemed to propel her forward along with a surge of adrenalin. She glanced around looking for the other survivors only to find herself utterly alone. Panic raced through her anew as her desperate gaze continued to seek someone, anyone. 

Betrayal cracked her heart into pieces. Being abandoned was practically a death sentence in these perilous times. The panic from the dragon's proximity must have sent people rushing in all directions, leaving her behind.

Tossing her heavy bag on the ground, she opted to take her chances and bolt toward the cave. She hoped that some survivors managed to make it so she wouldn’t be completely alone in this world. Her calves screamed in protest as she gained on the rock formation. A resounding thud behind her along with the earth shaking made her trip and fall again. She hissed as tree roots scraped her knees. Her teeth clamped on her lip to stifle any noise she may have made as a result of the fall.

The deep booming exhalation sound behind her caused her lungs to seize. The colossal presence loomed just at her back making its very existence feel like a weight on her shoulders. The entire forest fell into an eerie kind of quiet as if the very trees were holding their breath.

She remained immobilized by fear, unable to glance back at her soon-to-be killer. Her hands pressed against the ground began to tremble as the beast made a huff followed by a long sniff. She’d never encountered a dragon this close before. Her imagination conjured up an image of the creature, approximating its snout alone to be the size of a car. 

With a menacing snarl, it beat its colossal wings. Leaves whirled in the air and branches broke off the trees, falling and cracking when they hit the ground. She swallowed over her parched throat, her hands growing numb from holding her up in the same position for so long. 

Silence stretched for a long moment. She decided that now was the time to steal a glance at it. If these were her final moments, she wanted to quench her curiosity of what one looked like up close even if she wouldn’t be around to tell the tale. Yet, the instant her gaze landed on the creature, a wave of regret washed over her. 

The dragon was massive, much larger than her brain anticipated. A muscular, spiked monstrosity shrouded in sharp garnet scales loomed behind her. A single talon, the size of her entire body, was more than enough to eviscerate her. Her stomach twisted as her head slowly moved up its towering body, straining to see its face. A gasp escaped her lips when she locked eyes with its large slit-shaped pupils, their attention laser focused on her alone. Its eyes were a deep red, piercing through her very being with its intense gaze. They seemed to be set ablaze, glowing brighter, the second her eyes met them.

She recoiled as its maw parted, a plume of smoke unfurling from between its fierce jagged teeth. All in less than a second, she accepted her fate. There was nothing she could do, no maneuver she could pull to save her now. She knew without a shadow of a doubt that she was about to be blasted with the hottest blazing fire known to man. The very same fire that had wiped out entire cities in less than a day. She refused to close her eyes and instead stared down the gaze of the monster, facing death head on.

And yet, even after what felt like an eternity, the infernal blast did not come. She blinked a few times, disbelief etching her features. The dragon exuded an air of disinterest as it stared at her. Her brows pinched in confusion as it sat still, its massive spiky tail lashing behind itself. 

Its breathing was a low hum, in and out, filling the quiet forest with its resounding vibration. It moved its head to the side slowly, one eye focusing all its attention on her. It didn’t move much more than that and seemed to be waiting for her to make the first move.

After a long stretch of time, she relaxed her shoulders and took her first deep breath in a while. However, her body tensed right back up as the dragon began to stir, as if it were… shrinking? Her eyes widened in bewilderment as she watched the dragon change before her very eyes. She hadn’t ever seen this before. The only form the beasts had been in was that of a four limbed winged creature that breathed fire and craved the destruction of all that humankind had built. 

Her jaw was on the floor as the creature shrunk into the humanoid shape of a man. He ran his claw tipped fingers through his silver hair and blinked several times until his slitted pupils were round black dots. Slowly, he lifted his gaze to hers, an amused expression playing on his face. 

He took a step toward her and she took a step back, keeping her distance. The dragon was undoubtedly a ‘he’ made obvious since there was not a stitch of clothing in sight. She averted her eyes above the waist, observing red scales on his arms and chest that dissolved as he continued to transform, giving way to pale unblemished skin.

Tilting his head at the way she kept backing away from him, he unfurled his now considerably smaller scarlet wings. They were still massive compared to his size, which was also abnormally large for a human man. The veined wings were tipped in tallon-like claws. The light of the sun could be seen through the thin leathery skin, highlighting the many bones and veins running through them. His muscular arms opened like he was presenting himself to her.

After a long moment of her heart pounding in her ears, the shifted dragon took another casual step toward her. She, again, took a step back. His brows scrunched up, a look of confusion on his face. His wings stretched wider, looking more like a warning than anything else. It reminded her of male birds in the wild having bright obnoxious colors to attract a mate. It was almost funny to her, with that in mind, how he strutted over to her, confidence radiating off of him like steam. Almost. The reality of the situation still gripped her with fear preventing her from reacting.

She wanted to run, but didn't, knowing damn well that she’d never make it anywhere without him catching her in an instant. She kept her eyes glued on him, taking steps back as he approached.

His legs were much longer than hers, making him close the gap between them faster than she was able to move away. The closer he got the more obvious their size difference was. His human-like form was much larger than any average male. He towered over her, surpassing her height by several heads.

She took another step back but a tree halted her, causing her to startle. Jagged bark pressed into her back as she tried to shrink away from him. The dragon shifter eyed her quizically, looking up at the tree and then back down to her with a hint of his silver eyebrow rising.

“Um,” She cleared her throat. “Hello.” She said, breaking the silence in the forest. There wasn’t much else she could do at this point but try to communicate with it. 

When she spoke, his ruby eyes fixated on her lips. 

“Do you… speak English?” She tried again, her voice wavering.

The adrenaline rush that she’d been having was finally subsiding allowing her to feel the throbbing pain in her knees from when she fell. 

Amusement colored his features each time she spoke. His attention seemed to linger on her mouth as if he were intrigued. She pressed her back harder into the tree ignoring the poke of its texture. She quickly realized he had no interest in trying to speak with her. He didn’t even attempt to make a noise or respond in any language he knew. 

The method of communication among the dragons had confounded people ever since they arrived. It became evident that dragons separated by vast distances could still coordinate attacks or migrations despite never being observed having ever interacted with each other before. This mystery perplexed everyone leaving their communication methods shrouded in secret even after all these years since the invasion.

His breathing was deep as he drew closer to her. He leaned down and inhaled through his nose, then exhaled with a long pleasant sigh. As he got closer, his outstretched wings blocked her view of the forest. Her heart raced at the realization that she was essentially a mouse caught in a trap.

She swallowed over her dry tongue. “Hi.” She said a bit louder than before. With a wave of her hand, she recaptured his attention.

He reached out and snatched her hand, his brows furrowed as he examined her fingers. A crease formed on his forehead as he twisted her hand this way and that. She watched as his perplexity grew. 

“What?” She asked, hoping he’d finally speak.

The dragon lifted his own, much larger hand in comparison. It dwarfed hers by a considerable amount. His fingers were tipped with short clawlike nails. Her mind raced, wondering what he was thinking. Would he strike her down now? Perhaps a razor sharp nail to the throat where he would leave her alone in the forest to bleed out. She discarded that thought. He could have easily killed her 5 times over by now with even more efficient methods.

He glanced at her hand then back at his own then released her with a huff. His gaze shifted, moving leisurely up and down her form. She moved her hand back to her side and watched him. A thought occurred to her and she wondered if he was sizing up their differences. 

She decided to do the same, noticing that they had a lot of differences actually. Like the fact that she lacked garnet scales tipping her shoulders and fading into her chest. His scales disappeared nicely into his pale skin, fading out just before his abs began.

The wind picked up and wafted her hair around her face, making the dragon groan. He inhaled deeply once more, his face moving closer to her head. He was so close she could smell a dried rain and crisp leaf scent coming off him. He must have traveled far today since there had been no rain on this side of the forest for days.

His hand lifted, gently capturing a lock of her hair, being very mindful of his claws. She froze in place, watching him as he inhaled the scent of her hair. A contented sigh escaped him and he nodded. Dropping her hair, he moved his head to inhale directly by her ear. A shiver ran through her and she could feel the faintest graze of his tongue on her neck. She jerked away, but the man already looked pleased with himself. 

“That was, uh, something.” She said, her hand coming up to wipe the saliva trail off her neck. 

She opted to play nice since this man was literally holding her life in his hands. He was obviously made to kill, an apex predator above and beyond what her planet had ever produced. She wondered if they were at the top of the food chain from wherever the hell the dragons came from because, if they weren’t, she didn’t want to see what a dragon's natural predator looked like.

She jumped when his hand landed on her waist. Startled, she took several strides forward, distancing herself from him and the tree. 

“Woah, hah-” She struggled to contain her reaction, trying to avoid offending him. “That was,” She shook her head and buried her face in her hands. She couldn't wrap her head around what was happening. The shock had overwhelmed her ever since the dragon's incredible transformation before her very eyes. She wondered just how long these dragon invaders had been able to do that. Were they born with this ability? Could they all shift, or just a select few?

He frowned at her as she moved away. He faced her with new determination in his eyes and walked toward her again, slowly. She didn’t move, allowing him to approach as slowly as he was. It was less intimidating this time since his wings were mostly relaxed and weren’t wide open like before.

He reached out a massive hand to her face and paused before he met her skin. The warmth of his palm radiated onto her cheek as he narrowed his gaze down to her. He moved his hand closer, then away again, an expectant look on his face. It took a moment of awkward silence before it dawned on her that he was silently asking permission to touch her. 

She wasn’t sure if she had a real choice in the matter. He had all the power in this exchange and could easily kill her before her brain even registered that he moved. To keep the peace, she nodded and leaned into his touch. Once his hand met her cheek, he quickly tilted her face up to look at him.

A small smirk played on his face as his fingers began to travel down her neck and shoulder. She shivered as his clawlike nails gently scraped down her arm until his hand found hers. Heat radiated from his touch, leaving a lingering warmth in its wake.

His touch was very gentle… until it wasn’t. A shocked gasp escaped her as the world suddenly tilted and her cheek met the ground. She huffed into the dirt, leaves, and particles swirling around her.

His palm pressed on her head, keeping her face to the ground. She kicked out, but the motion came to an abrupt halt when he pressed his hips against her raised backside. Gulping, she gripped the earth tight in her hands.

“What are you doing?” Her voice was low, her squished face muffling the sound.

The dragon shifter huffed, drawing her hips back with one large arm and grinding against her. Her worn jeans were the only barrier between them. It wasn’t enough to dull the sensations, she could feel every contour of his growing erection. 

She yelped when his body folded over hers, his breath tickling her ear. He rutted against her while she pinched her eyes shut.

“What the fuck is going on?” She asked rhetorically, knowing the dragon would not respond.

He took another deep inhale from her neck and his heart pounded fast against her back. The more he ground against her, the harder he became. His massive frame swallowed hers. Muscular arms caged her in while he pressed his face into the crook of her neck. 

After a moment of her being frozen in place, the dragon finally pulled back. She turned her head to look back at him, wondering what he was doing. His eyes were half lidded as his chest rose and fell rapidly. He raked his fingers through his silver hair and huffed. He then gestured to her, then to himself, and waited while sitting back on his knees.

She didn’t move, cheek still pressed to the ground as she looked back at him. With a pointed finger, he indicated himself, then her again. He waited patiently, a juxtaposition to the unprompted grinding he’d just been doing.

Silence stretched between them, only broken by their heavy breathing. The dragon frowned, reiterating the gesture, jabbing his finger into his chest before carefully pointing at her from head to toe.

“I don’t get it… You…. and me?” She gestured to herself and then to him.

His eyes lit up then his gaze intensified. He grasped her pant’s waistband and, aided by his claws and strength, ripped the fabric away.

“Hey! Those were my only decent pair!” She yelled at him. “What are you doi-” Her words were cut off when his mouth went straight to her cunt. A long lick from top to bottom made her try to worm away from him. He yanked her back into place and continued his taste test of her most intimate place. 

“Oh!” Understanding struck her like lighting. “Oh no… we can’t. I-” 

Was the dragon shifter in heat or something? Did he just want something quick before flying off to wherever-the-fuck’s-ville? 

His hands carefully parted her cheeks as his tongue delved between her folds. “Holy hell… What is happening!? Do you want a hook-up? Is that it?” A yelp escaped her as his tongue circled her opening.

She wondered whether she should allow him to have his way, let him satisfy his desires. Maybe, when he is done, he will leave her here and fly back to whatever scorched patch of earth he came from and she can find her group again. The group that abandoned her… She rolled her eyes inwardly. 

“Fine.” The word was more of a moan. She bit her lip to stifle any sounds. “At least it's not death,” She groaned to herself. 

The cool breeze sent a shiver down her legs. He had pulled back, abandoning his ‘meal’ to point at himself again, then to her.

“Yes, yes! Go ahead.” She indicated, pointing at herself and then at him. “Might as well. It’s not like I'm busy or anything.” The fear was waning, being replaced by desire within. She was still scared of the unknown, but her brain was no longer focusing on an impending demise.

When she pointed at herself and then back at him again to reiterate, an actual smile graced his lips, and he appeared... quite attractive.

“Let's get this over with, yeah?” She exhaled, her body scraping the ground as he removed the remains of her torn pants and then her shirt.

He let out a low growl and placed his mouth back on her center. Years had passed since she last experienced the pleasurable touch of a man. A slap or a punch during a resource battle? Sure. But nothing that sent delightful shivers up her spine and caused her eyes to roll back.

“Damn,” She huffed, stirring up dust that settled on her face. She attempted to brush dust off her face but was caught off balance when he spread her legs further.

She thought of the cities and entire valleys that had been decimated by hoards of dragons and their molten flames. Her own town had been among the first to fall victim to the invaders many years ago, forcing her and her friends to become refugees, constantly moving from one place to the next to stay alive.

She squeezed her eyes shut, feeling like a traitor as the very same enemy licked up and down the entire length of her pussy. Damn, being a traitor felt incredible. Of course, she was only doing this to create an opportunity to escape once he was finished... yeah... that was the plan.

His hands gripped her thighs and he pulled her legs apart. He purred against her slick cunt, vibrations making her squirm. How long was he going to do this for? This was looking less and less like a quick fuck and more like he was attempting to genuinely pleasure her.

“You can get on with it, you know.” She muttered, digging her nails into the forest floor. Predictably, he paid no attention to her words. After all, he hadn't uttered a single syllable, only making moans and groans of pleasure with his mouth.

His long tongue slid inside her entrance, the thick muscle stretching her out. She moaned and so did he, the vibration making her legs quake. His sounds of pleasure caught her off guard. She looked back at him, watching his silver hair catch the sunlight as he buried his face between her legs. She squinted against the sun's brightness, then shifted her gaze back to the dim expanse of the forest ahead.

It was maddening how pleasurable it all felt. She let out a soft whimper, her cheek pressed against the ground while his groans reverberated through her, setting her body on edge.

“No one is going to believe this.” She whispered to herself. Her legs were trembling and she felt the orgasm on the horizon. “Fuck,”

His tongue moved dangerously slow, swirling around her sensitive clit. His thumbs dug into her skin, holding her core open obscenely for the taking. She exhaled deeply, her muscles taut as the tension built.

"Alright!" she declared, pulling away before the inevitable and detaching his lips from her core.

The dragon growled and pulled her hips until his mouth met her clit again. He sucked hard, running his tongue in circles, ravishing her fiercely.

“Ah!” She moaned as the intensity of the orgasm throbbed in her cunt and spread over her body. “Oh fuck, oh fuck.” She whimpered, pushing herself back into his face, grinding eagerly. His hum echoed deep in his chest as his licking became sloppy.

The dragon moaned against her core, licking lighter and lighter until the touch was barely there anymore. Her legs quivered and her limbs shook as he released her, causing her to crumble onto the ground. Panting heavily, she tried to collect herself.

The dragon repositioned her hips, pulling her ass back into the air. Glancing back, she noticed the dilation of his pupils, his once red eyes nearly engulfed by the expanses of black. He pushed his knuckle against her core, keeping his claw at bay as he pressed into the slick hole. She moaned, voice strained when his knuckle entered her, stretching her so pleasantly.

His gaze narrowed, eyes locked on the wet mess in front of him. A blush colored her cheeks and she moved away again as a wash of embarrassment came over her.

She began to turn around. “Okay, okay,” She uttered. The dragon grabbed her hips, moving her back into place, on display for him. "Alright, fine! I'll stay like this," She huffed, rolling her eyes. "You're obsessed with this position, you know that?” 

For the first time, the dragon shifter took himself in hand. He pumped his length keeping his eyes on her spread pussy.

Glancing over her shoulder, her eyes went wide. “You're not putting that in me, are you!?” She blurted out. He was massive, much larger than any ordinary male should ever be. “It won't fit.” She added, starting to crawl away. “There’s no fucking way.” 

He grabbed her hip with his free hand, holding her in place. He pressed his cock against her pussy, coating her slickness all over the tip. The sensation of his warm tip over her entrance sent a rush through her. The intimate sensation was enough to fill her stomach with butterflies.

“That’s not going to help. You’ll need a miracle.” She pleaded. He pressed the tip against her opening and started to push. “There’s no way!” She yelled “There’s no-” The tip popped passed the tightness of her entrance and she squealed. Okay, maybe there was a way.

The look of determination on his face told her he wasn’t stopping at just the tip. His teeth were clenched, both hands holding her hips in a bruising grip. He was moving slowly, carefully, as a sweat broke out on his brow.

“Please be careful!” She moaned, feeling the intense stretch of her insides. “I can’t, I can't…” She whimpered. Yet, she could. Her pussy betrayed her, taking more and more of the dragon's cock until he was fully seated inside her. The uncomfortable stretch soon turned delicious and she cursed the pleasure sounds coming from her lips.

He groaned, thrusting into her until she took him as deep as she possibly could. Tears brimmed in her eyes. Her panting grew louder with each passing second. “It's too much… but…” She conceded, loosening her grip on the grass. 

He wasn’t moving after sheathing himself inside her. Instead, he breathed deep, hands gripping her hips tight like she may flee at any moment. A small groan escaped him when her body flexed around the intrusion. 

She felt utterly full, stuffed to the brim, unlike anything she’s ever experienced. It was overwhelming yet strangely addicting. He wasn’t moving, allowing her to accommodate his size. Despite her worry, her body accommodated him alright, faster than she’d like to admit. Her mind and body were definitely at odds as she wiggled her backside, pressing herself to his hips. She bit her lip, but that didn’t stop her from uttering soft whimpers.

He inhaled sharply, folding over her smaller frame once again. A low rumble resounded in his chest, vibrating against her back. She dared another wiggle, encouraging him to move. Instead, he grazed his teeth, no, fangs, over her shoulder to her neck. His skin had the warmth of a heating pad, making her break out into a light sweat despite the cool spring air. 

She took a deep breath, her inner walls tremoring as he stayed seated deep inside her. His lips moved down her neck and nipped at the skin just below her ear. 

Clearing her throat, she broke the silence. “I guess you could call this romantic," she attempted to joke. “But, we’re on the literal forest floor. Maybe if we were in a bed or-”

The sensation of sharp teeth grazing her skin sent a shiver through her. Her eyes widened when she felt them a second time. They were razor-sharp and far more pointy than his claws were. She wondered what he was doing. Should she be warning him that her skin was not as thick as a dragon’s was? She didn’t know how to warn him, but his peppering of kisses with his soft warm lips eased some of her anxiety. His hands slid up under her, holding her chest firmly and pressing her back against his chest in a tight embrace.

Pain suddenly erupted from her throat. A piercing scream tore from her as his fangs penetrated her flesh. The noise sent nearby birds scattering, their wings fluttering and carrying them away from the scene. Tears filled her eyes as her legs kicked. He held her tighter, keeping her in place below him. 

Betrayal washed over her despite having no idea what to expect from this chance encounter with a monster. She kicked again, so he bit down harder warning her to stay still. She stopped moving, fearing that if she kept moving it may cause more damage to her neck. And, if she were to survive this, she wanted to be intact.

He could easily tear out her throat or crush it in an instant. For the first time, limp and powerless between the jaws of a monster, she realized just how helpless she truly was.

A searing sensation like molten lava surged from his bite. She pleaded and begged for him to stop, but the scalding fluid seeped into her veins, causing her vision to blur. Her entire body slowly became a fiery inferno from within.

The burning sensation soon reached her heart. In her panic, the pounding muscle shot the molten lava out to her extremities. As it made its way up her neck, her lips tingled and burned. Soon, her hands were engulfed, feeling as if she’d placed them atop a red-hot iron. A confused whimper escaped her as the sensation reached where the two of them were carnally connected.

A sigh of relief resounded as the painful searing sensation began to dissipate. The heat felt comforting, almost natural, as it made its way to the tips of her toes.

All at once, his body stopped feeling like a furnace. The dragon shifter at her back felt normal, almost cool to the touch. Her sweat evaporated and the breeze in the forest became exceptionally refreshing. A deep inhale calmed her, and her flushed cheeks cooled. The bite felt… good.

With the utmost care, slow and steady, he unlatched his teeth from her vein. His lips engulfed the wound as he licked at it apologetically. He began to release her from the iron clad hug he had her in and allowed her to slope back to the ground.

A distant male voice reached her ears and she jerked her head to look in its direction. She wanted the help, sure, but what would a group of humans do in this situation? Also, her predicament was bizarre. The dragon’s cock was still seated inside her, she was naked, covered in dirt and the winged man licked at the wound he’d just given her.

She didn’t see anyone in the forest as she scanned the trees. Another male voice, much closer, caught her attention and she swiveled her head in all directions.

“Hello?!” She shouted. The dragon didn’t react to her outburst.

Someone was near, and she wondered why he was not on alert. Was he not worried about them being found? Or did he simply not hear them? With the keen senses she knew the dragons to have, the ladder sounded less plausible.

Heat rushed to the spot where she was bitten and the blood stopped trickling. She tried to look, only seeing one of the punctured holes from her view. It was mending itself and at a remarkable rate. Her eyebrows rose in astonishment. Even the scrapes on her arms and knees numbed, sealing back together in a flash.

"What was that just now?" She gazed into his eyes. His pupils were slits again, but he blinked until they were circular black holes.

The man's voice came again and it was right behind her. She jerked and instinctively turned her head, finding no one there. Fantastic, she must be losing her mind. Going insane seemed plausible, especially with how the current situation was playing out. Could this all be a result of hitting her head? 

The dragon shifter ran his finger down her neck and sighed happily. Her body had very well acclimated to the size of his cock by now. She felt a rush of endorphins race through her originating from her core.

“...like you were made for me.”  A male voice, clear as day, echoed within her mind.

She slowly turned her gaze toward the shifter. “Did you just speak?”

“I have been.” His lips didn’t move, but she heard his voice clearly. His red eyes went from meeting her gaze to flicking down to her lips.

There was a long silence as she gawked at him. “H-how are you talking without… your mouth?”

He grinned and pressed a kiss to the spot he had bitten. ”The Draconian are a telepathic species. You don’t need to worry.”

“What!?” Her mind raced. “Why couldn't I hear you before?”

His eyes shifted between hers, sporting an amused smirk. ”You are human.” The word “human” wasn't exactly what he said. But the image in his mind linked to the word conveyed its meaning. ”Humans aren’t telepathic by nature.” He adds.

“Then how can I hear you now?” She murmured.

”I gave you my fires. You have been changed from within. Transformed.”

The words ‘You’re mine.’ Weren’t explicitly stated, but it was heavily implied in his heated gaze.

Her walls fluttered around the intrusion inside her. “Oh…” She was too stunned to speak, her mind struggling to grasp the reality of it all.

“What are you called?” He asked, lips brushing against the shell of her ear.

A hiss escapes her as his fangs graze her sensitive skin. A surge of fear courses through her, yet nothing comes of it. He didn’t bite her again.

“Why does it matter?” She says between clenched teeth. Her body trembled beneath his, ensnared like a bird in a cage by his powerful arms. Despite herself, memories surface of her mother using her full name when she was in trouble, juxtaposed with the nickname her friends had coined, a name she much preferred.

”That’s a beautiful name.” His voice filled her head.

“What?! I didn’t say anything. I just… You can’t read my mind, can you?!” She looked back at him in disbelief.

The dragon chuckled, a deep and reverberating sound. Yet another noise he could make with his mouth. ”I like how feisty you are. Yes, of course. You have my fires, I can read your mind.” He inhaled deeply against her neck. ”You smell fantastic… I could sense you from miles away.”

His words were accompanied by images that filled her mind of flowers, dewdrops on crisp green grass, and flakes of ash floating from a raging fire. Those weren’t her thoughts.

“Can I read yours too?”

He vocalized a hum and spoke in her head with a low whispery tone. ”Only if I let you.” He smirked, eyes half-lidded as his gaze moved over her facial features.

“How can I keep my thoughts to myself?”

His eyes softened, and he finally pulled away. ”I’ll teach you… maybe.”

“Maybe? Teach me now” She encouraged.

”I will teach you, in time.” He pledged, his hand gliding down her spine.

She was quickly growing accustomed to his voice resonating in her mind. She glanced back, capturing his face illuminated by the sunlight streaming through the canopy. His fangs were only slightly longer than his regular teeth. Funny, they had felt much bigger when they pierced her skin. His eyes, a deep jewel red, were piercing in the best way. His face was striking. An angled jawline framed his perfectly symmetrical features. 

He smirked. ”You think I’m handsome?” His brows arched playfully.

She averted her gaze. “I’m not going to get used to the mindreading anytime soon.” Thoughts of how the mindreading would ruin her escape plans weighed heavily on her mind.

“Sylus,” His voice washed over her mind, drawing her away from her thoughts.

“What?” She scrunched her face.

”That is what I am called. Sylus.”

“Oh…” A tinge of remorse settled in for not asking.

”It’s all right.” His hands slid down to her lower back, breath quickening. ”Are you ready now? You aren’t making distressed sounds anymore.” He pressed his hips forward against her ass, pushing his cock that much deeper.

“Ah! Hold on," She gasped, pressing her forehead against the ground. "Maybe I should turn around first? Lie on my back, perhaps? This position... it's hurting my knees."

Sylus narrowed his eyes. ”But this is how you mount a mate to claim them.” He said, tilting his head in confusion.

“A what!? I am not your, your mate!” She spat, attempting to pull away but failing as his hands tightened on her hips.

"You are. Your scent is perfect, just what I've been seeking all my life." The voice in her head took on a soft tone. "And, you did agree."

“When!?” She asked, utterly flustered. A mental image that was not hers flashed before her eyes. She saw herself, dirt-covered face, hair clinging to her skin, pointing at him and then to herself. “The pointing? That was… it?” Well damn, it was her telling him to just fuck her already. But she hadn't exactly signed up for being mates! “I didn’t want a full-blown mate! I just thought-”

He sighed. ”I see what you thought. But, why would I want to do this…” He emphasized with a hard thrust. ”...with you only one time?” Despite the layer of disappointment he had with their miscommunication, she could feel his shining confidence bursting through.

She let out a soft whimper, her head spinning. “Okay, okay. How long do ‘mates’ last?” She asked.

The dragon let out a deep chuckle, leaning forward and trailing kisses up her spine while his hands moved up her stomach to cup her breasts. His fingers lightly caressed the soft skin, rubbing her nipples gently in small circles.

She pressed her forehead down to the ground, the scent of the earth filling her nose, and let out a long sigh. She just wished he'd started already. Her body was no longer throbbing at the intrusion and instead had prepared with extra lubricant for just the occasion.

”You’re so impatient.” His sensual tease echoed. ”But I'm ready to provide you with everything you desire, whenever you want.”

With a firm grasp on her hips, he withdrew and thrust his cock into her.

“Ah! Oh my fucking god.” Her moans vibrated into the earth.

“I love the noises you make with your mouth.” His voice sounded even but his vocal breaths told another story. He panted, pumping into her with slow deep thrusts.

”Feels so good… I’m so full.” She thought in her mind. She sensed the words extending, stretching like tendrils in the void until she visualized Sylus’s face. She recognized the instant the words reached him, slotting into his mind like two puzzle pieces finally clicking together.

He moaned, thrusts getting sloppy the faster he went. His red wings beat, creating a gust of wind that tousled her hair around her face.

An image of flying took shape in her thoughts, a sensation she’d never experienced before. Lush rolling hills filled with thousands of green trees, mist filling the canopy and rising toward the morning sun. 

Soaring high into the sky and the rush of diving back toward the earth, catching oneself on the wind with outstretched wings. With the rush coming from these visuals he was sending her, she knew he was growing close to release.

“You're too perfect.” His words touched her mind.

“Can we try the other position? Please. As much as I’m enjoying this-” She asked, knees pressing hard against the ground. “If you hate it, we can change back.” She sent him a vision of her on her back and him close enough to kiss her.

He said something explicit in his head she couldn't attach to an English word, pleasure washing over his mind at the idea of being so close to her. He pulled out, slowly, carefully.

”Show me.” He breathed heavily, waving his hand and gesturing for her to roll over. ”I will entertain my human mate’s request.” He added with a proud smile. The wonder of human customs accompanied his words. She realized he was more than curious about her kind now that he was mated to her.

She did, rolling until her back met the ground, feeling the tickle of grass and crushed wildflowers against her skin. She adjusted until her feet were pressing down, legs spread in front of him. 

“Okay, now… do it.” She urged, red coloring her cheeks.

He gazed at her with wonder. An image of herself flooded her mind. Seeing her own reflection through his eyes was otherworldly. It was as if he had a lens that made her look ethereal, illuminated by the sunlight, her hair cascading behind her. The line between his thoughts and hers blurred, and she marveled at how she appeared. She had never considered herself more than ordinary, yet in this vision, she appeared divine, like a goddess. Her breath was lost at the realization of how he truly saw her.

He carefully grabbed her thighs, lifting her legs off the ground as he moved closer to her. His gaze fixed on her with a sense of wonder, like a starstruck fan. He moved slowly, deliberately, lining his cock up with her entrance once more.

”Radiant, beautiful, gorgeous.” His thoughts enveloped her consciousness, painting a vivid portrait of admiration, sliding back inside her with minimal effort. “All mine”

She closed her eyes, his cock sliding and pushing against all the right spots. She tilted her head back and slid her hands up his muscular chest, loving the way he eagerly leaned into her touch.

”I like this position.” He thought. ”I like the human way.”

She let out a sigh, watching his face drawing nearer to hers. "Kiss me," she whispered. His gaze wavered, and he blinked in surprise. When he didn't respond she asked, "What? Draconians don't kiss?"

She projected an image into his mind of two people locked in a passionate kiss, followed by an image of him leaning down and meeting her lips. He blinked a few times and followed her vision, leaning down until their lips met. His movements were somewhat rigid and awkward.

She snickered, arms encircling his neck. "I suppose not. Here," she whispered, pressing her lips against his and repeating the gesture. He drank in the sensations and swiftly reciprocated the kiss. 

When her tongue ventured between his lips, he drew back, his gaze locked onto her mouth.

"Too much?" she inquired, concern filling her mind. She worried she’d offended him in some way.

"No." He shook his head, drawing a deep breath. ”I was surprised. Let’s try that again.” His heated gaze was back as he cupped her face with a massive hand.

As their mouths met, he immediately slid his tongue passed her lips. He rolled his hips, sliding deep, and pulling moans from her that he promptly swallowed.

She kissed him back passionately, fingers digging into his silver hair. He braced himself above her, his claws sinking into the soil. He thrust faster, rocking her entire body with the movement.

As his kisses became sloppy, their teeth collided, and she felt the sharpness of his fangs. She broke the kiss, her heart racing. But he lunged forward again, his lips meeting hers with urgency.

”I won't hurt you.” His reassurance echoed in her mind.

Using her mental voice since his lips were on hers, she responded with a mental image of the bite mark and the words ”You already did!”

”I had to do that, so my mate could survive this claiming.”

"What!" She pulled back from the kiss, breathlessly. "What does that mean? What are you saying?" She asked him to explain.

”You needed to be the same body temperature as me, otherwise I'd scorch you.” Lines creased his forehead. ”I won't let you die in my arms.”

“There you go saying ‘mate’ again. I- Okay we will circle back to that later. What would cause me to get scorched?” She kept her hands on his shoulders, fingers just grazing his lingering scales, holding his kiss at bay.

”My body, my fluids. Your body is incompatible with me unless we share my fires. Any injury I may cause would heal more quickly with my fires coursing through your veins.”

“Fires? Was that what was in the bite you gave me? I have so many questions…”

She let her hands drop from his shoulders to rub down over his defined abs. 

”We have all the time in the world. I'll happily answer your questions day and night. I promise. But for now-” He punctuated his statement with a thrust of his hips.

She held back a moan and nodded. "Fine, but I want answers. All of them. Deal?"

”Deal” His thoughts brimmed with amusement aimed at her. ”After.”

Shaking her head, she draped her arm over her eyes as he quickened his pace. He breathed heavily, peeling himself from her body and sitting back on his bent legs. He held her legs up, pushing his torso against her thighs.

”Do you like this? Am I fulfilling your human custom?” He teased, yet his gaze scanned her face with sincerity.

She peeked from under her arm. "Yes. Oh, yes. It's amazing." she whimpered.

Her legs trembled as he held them tight. She sucked in air through her teeth, hissing as he hit her in all the right spots to make her see stars. The slick wet sounds filled the air mixing with his low grunts. Every thrust, every pump pushed her body with such intensity that she felt like a ragdoll.

“So, so good.” Her feet dangled in the air while he supported her legs. Her stomach muscles tightened, and she reached out, clutching his forearm. Her nails dug in, and despite his humanoid exterior, she discovered his skin was much thicker than a human’s was.

“You’re enjoying this.” The mind speak drifted into her head. She was dazed, barely registering what he said. Her mind was fried as he pounded her senselessly.

“Close- I’m- Ah!” She moaned, core muscles flexing as her pussy throbbed around him.

”Yes. That’s it.” The voice in her head encouraged. He moaned, pumping faster while the orgasm had her gushing out onto the forest floor.

“Holy shit!” She exclaimed, locking eyes with him in a heated exchange. His eyes were mesmerizing, like precious gemstones reflecting the purest hues of a ruby.

”You look so beautiful under me, losing yourself.” He said affectionately, fingers pressing into her thigh, and sharp nails scraping lines on her skin. “You're so gorgeous. I’ll never get tired of looking at you.” He praised.

She wasn't attempting to escape out of fear anymore. She pulled away because he was buried so deeply within her, and her inner walls felt fatigued and overstimulated. “It’s too much.” She groaned, her entire body trembling like a leaf. 

”I’m close, hold on.” He warned. ”I’m so close” He kept the same intense rhythm, lowering her legs. He leaned over her form, his arms bracing on the ground on either side of her torso. His face hovered just inches from hers.

She stopped her escape and instead, let the overstimulation become her. Gasps and grunts passed between them, his face close enough to kiss if he wasn’t fucking her so fervently. Her eyes pinched shut as a second, weaker, orgasm pulsed in her core. She whimpered, almost crying as the friction became too much. If he hadn't wrapped her in his arms, the force of his hips would have pushed her away.

Sylus praised her for keeping up with him, whispering sweet words into her thoughts. His teeth gently grazed her neck, and his tongue traced along her skin. With a single flap of his wings, a gust of wind swirled around them. Sylus then thrust to the hilt, his body stilling. He held his breath for a moment, then his cock throbbed inside her. A searing heat filled her deep and she pinched her eyes closed, teeth gritting. His cum was like lava.

She gasped as the sensation rippled through her, her fingers digging into his back, cautious of where his wings protruded. She desperately pulled him closer, longing for the space between their bodies to disappear. His forehead pressed against hers, muscles twitching as his searing cum filled her to the brim, seeping out, and dripping onto the ground. He panted, arms holding her to his chest as he breathed through the last remaining throws of his orgasm.

“Sylus,” She moaned. No matter how she tried to relax, her muscles were forced to their limit with him still inside her. Her ears rang as her heart pounded in her skull. She was drunk on his scent, on his touch, on his cock. Her mind was full of just him.

He placed a trembling hand on her lower abdomen and pressed down. She gasped, feeling just how deep inside her he was. A whimper escaped her when he pressed more firmly.

“You're mine.” He nipped at her ear. ”I’m yours. And nothing-” he growled possessively ”will ever come between us.”

She cried out when he removed himself from her body. She choked on a sob, feeling her core muscles finally relax. Her thighs were covered in slickness from their combined fluids.

Sylus claimed her lips in a heated kiss, his newfound hobby. She kissed him back, sounds of pleasure still slipping passed her lips. His strong hands cradled her face as his tongue dipped into her mouth.

“Mm, wow.” She sighed, finally catching her breath.

Their mouths met with ferocity, lips pressing hard, vanishing the air from her lungs.

His hands moved all over her body, cupping her breasts with his massive palms. His thumbs ran over her nipples and she arched into his touch.

“I’m really sensitive right now.” she whimpered, placing a few soft kisses on his lips. His stamina was truly remarkable.

He smirked ”I see that.” He trailed kisses down her neck to her collarbone. ”I did that to you.” he stated proudly. 

"Yes, you certainly did," She agreed breathlessly.

“And, I’ll do it again and again and again,” He kisses her anew with each word. She giggled as his hair tickled her face. Sylus pulled back with a genuine smile.

She believed his promise since his mind was now filled with fantasies of her. 

”Time to head home soon.” He said, planting one final kiss on her lips before moving his head between her legs in a swift motion.

“What? Home? What do you mea-!”

His tongue ran down her slit, gathering their mixed fluids. He licked and sucked between her folds, cleaning up the mess he’d made. He hummed, burying his face as close as he possibly could.

“Ngh! What are you doing?” She gasped, a moan escaping from her increasingly raspy voice.

”Cleaning you up so I can take you home.” He assured her in his mind, tongue moving up and down her wet thighs. It was a mix of ticklishness and sinful pleasure. She indulged in both, relaxing back on the soft grass.

He focused on her entrance next, moaning into her cunt, devouring her essence. She could sense his immense pleasure from the delightful thoughts that floated through his mind. His tongue repeatedly brushed against her clit and she shuddered.

Her exhausted stomach muscles contracted, and she cried out, “Okay! I’m spent! I can’t… not another one. Please.” Her hoarse voice carried a pleading tone as she pushed down on his head, trying to move him away from her center.

He smirked, taking one final inhale before leaning back. His eyelids were relaxed, silver hair falling over his brow while he sported a very contented look on his handsome face. His wings folded against his back as he stretched his arms upward and to the side. He closed his eyes, savoring the stretch for several long moments. 

She shut her eyes, taking deep breaths to regain her composure. Her legs closed, and she could already feel the onset of soreness in her muscles.

Sylus reclined next to her in the grass, his arms behind his head and a contented smile on his face. “You're the most beautiful mate.”

“We’re going to need to have a long conversation about that.” She remarked.

Sylus chuckled and effortlessly pulled her onto his chest as if she weighed nothing. He brushed hair away from her face, allowing her to nestle into his larger frame.

His scent was comforting like a warm blanket and his presence put her at ease. Taking a deep breath and then exhaling slowly, her eyes fluttered shut, exhaustion taking over. 

“Do you ever use your voice to speak?” She asked, unintentionally yawning in his face. He appeared unfazed by her less-than-polite action.

She watched him as the silence stretched. His eyes squinted like he was about to sneeze before his lips formed the sound “Sshur,” He looked pleased with himself, smug even.

“That wasn’t a word.” She struggled to hold back a laugh.

”But I spoke it with my mouth.”

“Do you even speak any language?”

”I didn't know human mates had so many questions. I will be happy to answer them all but I can’t all at once.” He stretched, keeping her nestled against his chest. “So curious.”

“But you will answer them eventually, right?”

”Of course, sweetie.” 

“Do you know anyone else with a human… well, 'mate'?”

Sylus pat her back with a small smile. “That is another question.”

Amused, she chuckled. “Oh, sorry. Okay, I’ll zip it for now. I promise. I need some rest, now anyway.”

”First, home, then rest. After that, I will attempt to satisfy your curiosity. Though, it seems to know no bounds”

“Where is-” She paused. “Never mind. Another question.”

”This is our home.” He projected images into her mind. A mountainside with a massive cavernous opening in its flank appeared, shrouded in darkness from a large overhang from the mountain above.

“That's… high.” She gazed up at the sky, the images from her mind blending with the real world.

”Those humans you were with, they abandoned you.” His words were laced with annoyance. ”I will not do that. I won’t leave you here alone. Especially since you don't have claws to defend yourself.”

“How did you know there were other people?” She asked curiously.

”I could smell them nearby when I found you.” His eyes moved about the trees. “They are long gone now, leaving before I even transformed.”

Her face scrunched in annoyance. They were close by, after all, just hiding like cowards and leaving her to die. She honestly couldn’t blame them, unsure of what she would have done in that same situation. Still, it hurt that they didn’t even try to help her.

”I promise to take care of you.” His fingers tenderly followed the curve of her jawline. ”I will provide you with anything you could possibly need. And, I will strive to give you everything you want.”

Through their mental bond, she believed every word he said. He fed his fires to her veins, binding them mentally, emotionally, and physically. Now, their connection was complete, making her just as much his as he was hers.

With care, Sylus helped her sit up. He followed suit, rising to his feet. ”We both need to freshen up and have a warm meal.” He brushed dirt off himself and then off her.

The thought of food made her stomach rumble. “I’m starving.” She didn’t know the last time she had a proper meal.

His smile widened. ”I know. I've seen your thoughts full of bread and cheeses.” He extended a hand to help her stand. “We have plenty of that back home.”

“My clothes…” She looked around at the tattered cloth. “They’re unsalvageable.”

Sylus furrowed his brow. ”I will get you more.” He assured. ”Now, I must transform to take us back. Will you be comfortable riding in my hand?”

She looked down at his humanoid hand with uncertainty. “Um,”

Sylus's laughter resonated in his chest. ”My Draconian hand is much larger than this. You will fit in the palm of it. Don’t worry. Can I shift now? Will you be okay?” He shifted his weight to one leg, his gaze heavy on hers.

She could feel his worry clouding her mind. There had been a load of anxiety the last time she saw his dragon form.

She nodded finally. ”Yes. I’m ready.”

Sylus took several steps back, pupils changing to slits before his skin erupted into gleaming garnet scales. With a resounding roar, his body expanded, reshaping itself into the colossal dragon that had previously frightened her.

Fear gripped her, but words drifted into her mind.”You're safe.” He reassured her mentally. ”It's still me.” He took one large step toward her, the ground rumbling with the weight of his limbs.

She willed herself to stand her ground, reminding herself that this was Sylus, the man, or rather the dragon, who had claimed her, who had promised protection and care.

Sylus extended one massive, claw tipped hand, waiting patiently. His breathing was much louder, punctuated by intermittent gruff sounds.

Summoning her courage, she stepped forward, hand gliding over thick red scales until she nestled within his palm. He patiently waited for her to find a good position, securing herself in place by clasping onto one of his massive digits.

Sylus gradually closed his fingers, cradling her against his chest as though holding a precious jewel.

”Hold on tight.”

”Okay.” Poking her head out of his hand, she watched as he limped on three limbs to a clearing.

As the dragon prepared for flight, his wings unfurled with loud wooshing sound. Sylus’s wings stretched out with an astonishing span, each membranous expanse flexing as he eyed the sky. With a powerful thrust, he launched himself into the air. Each mighty flap of his wings sent shockwaves through the air, leaving behind a whirlwind that ruffled the trees. She held onto his digit, feeling safe and tucked away against his hard chest.

He broke through the canopy, leaving the spot where they met behind. In flight, his wings pumped fiercely, propelling them forward as his body cut through the air current. The wind howled in her ears the higher they rose. He adjusted fluidly, tilting to catch currents and riding the wind with ease. His body cast a massive shadow on the ground below.

As she peaked out from under his claws, she looked down. The height they soared at made her stomach drop. She gripped his fingers tightly, a chill rushing through her that had nothing to do with the wind whipping past. He sent her images of his home again, a large cavern in the mountainside. She saw a room with a large bed made out of piles and piles of blankets, a desk with books and quills, and a bookshelf stuffed with more trinkets than books.

The wind roared in her ears as they cut through the clouds. Pressed against his chest, she could feel Sylus’s muscles working with each flap of his wings, each beat pushing them into a forward surge, propelling them higher and higher. The landscape rolled and undulated beneath them. It looked fake, like something from a movie.

She felt weightless, suspended in his palm with every powerful stroke of the dragon's wings. A smile grew on her face as the rush of freedom overcame her. 

Gazing forward toward the mountains, she felt a sense of unity with Sylus in addition to the bond they already made. It felt like it was them against the world, and she was certain that the two of them would always win no matter what it took.

She marveled at the view. This was most certainly a perspective meant for the extraordinary. It hit her that this was a moment that would forever etch itself into her mind. There was uncertainty about the future, but she had lived in uncertain times for years now. It was easier to roll with the punches and adjust anew to what the world was presenting her at any given moment than to struggle against it. Sylus hadn't made that hard for her. She relaxed in his grip and smiled wide as the landscape rushed by them in a blinding blur. 

[lena-in-a-red-dress]

Alternate Series Finale - Protective Lillian AU

When Lex takes Lena, he's quick to lock the anti-magic device around her wrist. Lena immediately feels the effect-- a weight on her chest, her energy sapping away. But she pushes through it, refusing to let her brother see any weakness. Thus contained, he's confident enough to thrust her into the chamber where he's stowed Esme without further restraint.

"Lena!"

Esme flies into Lena's arms the moment she lays eyes on her aunt. Lena bundles her close, carrying her to sit on the bed as Esme sobs. She soothes her, closing her eyes against the drain of the device on her wrist.

"It's okay," she promises. "I won't let anything happen."

In that moment, Esme's relief is so great, and she feels so loved, that the love totem transfers to Lena. Neither of them notice the change, until Lex comes to check on it, and finds the totem is no longer on the back of Esme's neck. He quickly puts the pieces together.

"You will always fall into the light," he echoes, smirking at his sister.

When it comes time to make the trade for the allstone, Lex does bind Lena's hands, lest she try anything foolish. Regardless, Lena still hoists Esme into her arms, whispering for the girl to hold onto her, and not let go.

At the rendezvous point, Lena stands with Lex and Nyxly, watching the rest of the team gather at the far end of the bridge.

"Release them," Kara orders, her voice stern and fierce as Supergirl.

Lex smirks. "You can have the girl," he allows. "As a show of good faith."

He nods at Lena, who regards him for a long moment before deciding that chances were good he'll honor his word. After all, Esme is no longer of any value to him, now that the totem has chosen Lena.

Lena crouches, setting Esme on her feet. "Go on, sweetheart. Your moms will keep you safe."

"What about you?" Esme asks, her chin wobbling.

Lena gives a reassuring smile. "I'll be okay. I promise."

She presses a kiss to Esme's head, before giving her a gentle push towards the center of the bridge where Alex and Kelly wait. Esme walks hesitantly towards them, then sprints the rest of the way until she's swept up in Kelly's arms and shuffled to the back of the group, out of the line of fire.

"Now the allstone."

"Lena first," Kara demands.

"I don't think so." Lex lifts a small remote in his hand, and clicks a button. In an instant, electric fire arcs through Lena's body, making her scream as she falls to her knees. When it passes, Lena is left gasping, and nearly rolling her eyes.

Of course the device on her wrist would serve a dual purpose.

"The allstone," Lex repeats.

"Supergirl, don't--" Lena's plea comes too late.

Kara reluctantly opens her fist, and the moment it comes into view it flies through the air to settle into Nyxly's palm. She and Lex share a mutual grin of triumph. With a twist of Lex's watch, a portal opens behind them.

When Lex hauls Lena back to her feet, Kara cries out. "You have what you want! Let her go!"

"And let you have her?" Lex tsks. "You should know me better than that, Supergirl."

With that, Lex and Nyxly step back through the portal, dragging Lena with them. The last thing Kara sees before the portal winks out is the fear in Lena's eyes.

----

They shove Lena back in the same room as before, but this time, without Esme to put on a brave face for, Lena falls into the bed, exhausted. With her magic dampened, part of her life force is no longer accessible, and she declines quickly.

By the time Lillian comes to speak with her, she finds Lena feverish and pallid, her sallow skin slicked with clammy sweat. Her eyes barely flicker open when Lillian cups her cheek, smoothing the damp hair from her face.

Lillian is livid. She takes Lex to task when he comes in to visit, but he remains unfazed. "You should know better than anyone how dangerous magic can be," he says. "Isn't that why you hid all those talismans around the house?"

"She's your sister," Lillian reminds her son.

He shrugs. "And my murderer, remember."

When he leaves, Lillian remains. Because what Lex doesn't know is that his mother has pilfered Lena's signal watch. Gazing at her daughter for a long moment, she makes her decision.

She activates the signal.

[shinynewboots]

Sweet Nothings: An Alastor Story (18+)

Summary: Alastor loved his wife. His beautiful, angelic wife with the perfectly imperfect chip in her front tooth. His poor wife, who whispered sweet nothings into his ear as he killed a man.

Warnings: DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT: Angst, assault, implied sexual assault, murder, blood, gore, mutilation, death, corpses, hallucinations, decomposition, Alastor before Hell

AN: Definitely one of the darkest things I've ever written. I hope you all enjoy it!

AO3

Alastor entered the house, discarding his shoes as he always did lest his wife playfully scold him about the dirt and mud he was liable to track into the foyer. She was right, of course, as Louisiana found itself stuck into the crevices and empty spaces of his shoes, skin, and soul. His mother used to scold him for the same thing (never his father however, and so she spent most of her days sweeping the house free of the bayou rather than face his wrath). 

He dutifully went to the kitchen and began to prepare them a pot of coffee to wind down and discuss their days over. The kitchen was tidy, as his wife preferred it that way. 

“What if we have guests, Alastor? I can’t have them thinkin’ we’re livin’ in a pig stye.” She replied whenever he felt she was working too hard on the housework and expressed as much to her. They never did have guests, but he appreciated the sentiment 

He grabbed the two mugs of coffee, his black and hers a creamy tan color (5 sugars and 2 dashes of cream). She preferred the sweeter things in life. He had no idea why she had chosen to marry him, as his soul was as bitter as the black liquid he held. 

“Here you are, darlin’,” He said, dropping the ‘g’ like a sticky southern night as he set the coffee beside her chair. She sat quietly, watching the fireplace. The radio that sat on the side table played gentle static. 

“How was your day, cher ?” He asked, dropping in the chair beside her and facing the fireplace. He looked over at her and took in the delicate softness of her face, the gentle lines that crinkled when she smiled at him. Her wispy blonde hair glowed against the fire and it took everything in him not to brush it behind her ear just as an excuse to touch her. 

She didn’t answer him. She rarely did when they were alone anymore. Not that this bothered Alastor, he could talk enough to appease the both of them. She preferred it that way anyway, listening to him talk. She was always more reserved, a bit of a wallflower. 

“Well, the show went well, darlin’, as always. Though I know you listened to it. I did play a new song by that Ellington fellow.” Alastor said, taking a sip of the bitter liquid. “ Mood Indigo. A tad somber, but I found I quite liked the mystery of it.”

She didn’t respond, but he could tell by her expression towards the fireplace that she agreed with his assessment. 

“I did also run into Mimzy, oh don’t give me that look,” He jested as he thought he saw her expression drop. “You know she adores you. She asked why she hadn’t seen us at the club in a while.”

Another sip. “Oh course, I gave her your condolences and alluded to your health. I hope you don’t mind darlin’.”

Of course, she didn’t mind. She would be up in arms if she had. 

Alastor smiled at her, a bright brilliant smile, more genuine than the one he wore around town. He reached across the table and grabbed her hand, his large hand completely covering her small, bony one. 

“I do so enjoy our evenings together, darlin’.”

His enchanting wife had been eager to accompany him on his unsavory nighttime activities. She always had an eye for finding his newest victim. Her preferred targets of choice were men who harassed women on the street. Men who got a little too handsy with a young lady who was too far deep into the giggle water. Men who found pleasure and little shame in antagonizing the women of New Orleans. 

Alastor found he agreed with his wife’s choices. Even if she hadn’t egged him on, he would have come to the same conclusion of victim himself. He could still remember the day he had saved her from being a victim of an unsavory character himself. 

He had heard her call out from a New Orleans sidestreet and by the grace of some divine being, he had managed to find her with a man’s hand around her throat and his hands under her dress so far that he could see her cotton slip. She had screamed and struggled against the assailant, her cherubic face contorted into terror. 

The noises, the high-pitched scream she made as the man attempted to violate her in the most unimaginable way would visit Alastor in his sleep. It was the worst noise he had ever heard in his life and they haunted him. The fact that he was almost too late to save his beautiful mourning dove haunted him (in an even worse way than the way his mother enduring his father’s abuse stuck with him deep in his bones).

She had been radio silent since the assault, except when she went with him on the prowl for their latest victim. Alastor relished these moments when his angel of a wife would whisper her sweet nothings in his ear, goading him into murdering these dregs of society. 

“Slit his throat, my love,” She whispered, her breath sweet like muscadine wine as she stared at Alastor with the reverence reserved for a saint. “I want to watch’m bleed.”

And what could Alastor do but oblige when his wife asked him so sweetly, her doe brown eyes afire with blood lust. 

“Please,” The pathetic man begged in front of him. Alastor stared down at him, his smile wide and maniacal. How he loved when they begged for their worthless lives. She never said as much, but he knew his wife loved it as well. “Please don’t kill me.”

The man in front of him had followed a girl, no older than 17, as she walked down the street in the moonlight, out of the safety of the street lights. The man had approached her, leering at her as he pulled the girl closer to him, his hand cupping her breast as she cried fat tears and let out panted breaths.

“A perfect victim,” His wife had said as she pointed out the man. And that was all it took. 

“You’ll have to beg better than that,” Alastor laughed, his knife teasing at the man’s throat. Alastor had already cut at the man’s thighs, striking him down to save the poor girl. Blood seeped through the man’s trousers, and he could swear he could smell piss as well. 

“Please, please sir, let me go,” The man cried. 

“Alastor, please,” His wife asked. And like a good husband, he did as he was told, and slid the knife across the man’s throat. Blood poured from the man’s neck as he let out a distraught scream and tried to fight against Alastor who moved to stand before him like the devil himself. 

The man struggled, crawling towards Alastor while he held at his slit throat. His efforts were in vain as she crumpled to the ground, his eyes turning glassy as he stared into the New Orleans night sky. 

“Stand back darlin’, wouldn’t want to dirty that pretty white dress,” Alastor said, moving towards the man to gather the body and take him to their dumping grounds. His wife smiled sweetly and moved so that the blood pooling in the alley wouldn’t dirty her. 

Alastor’s brown suit was utterly stained, but his wife had been good about teaching him how to get out the best of stains. She would accompany him on his kills but never clean his clothes of their evidence.

“Your mess,” She would say with a teasing shrug. 

Alastor gathered the body as his wife stood in the shadows and the two made their descent into the bayou to gut and dispose of their latest victim. 

Like the skilled precision of an untrained surgeon, Alastor would lay the victim in the mud of the bayou and begin extracting the organs. He had always been fascinated by anatomy as a child, and perhaps if his family had enough money he would have gone on and become a surgeon. But as it were, he was a radio host and so he would have to make do with the diagrams he learned from in the anatomy books. 

“And what’s that, my love,” His wife would ask, bending down while he worked. The victim’s abdomen had flayed open (with the use of a midline vertical incision from the xiphoid process to the pubic bone). Alastor had gone to work, taking stock of the organs at his disposal. He had learned that he typically had about 2 hours before the body began to stiffen, so he would make work as quickly as he could. 

“That, mon cher, is the liver,” He said, pulling the large organ from the abdominal cavity. “It’s the largest solid organ in the body.”

“Well now, you’re just showing off.” She said, laughing with her mouth open wide enough so that he could see the small chip in her front tooth that he loved so much. She had always been self-conscious of it, and would rarely smile with her teeth out as a result. But he loved that endearing imperfection that added character to her features.

Blood coated his arms, his legs, and his abdomen as he laughed along with his wife. Blood had spattered on his face, drying with the air and beginning to flake. 

He and his wife would continue their morbid trivia, her asking about a particular body part and he answering until the man had been completely gutted and buried beneath the bayou.  

The truth of the matter was that he did not save his wife that night.

No. 

He had found her body splayed out for all of New Orleans to see in an alley when she had been on her way home from the butcher while buying ingredients for dinner. 

Her doe brown eyes looked up at his with no thought, no emotion. Glassy and dead. Her throat held angry purple bruises as he realized she had been choked to death by an unknown bastard who deserved the eternity of hellfire. 

The beautiful white dress she had worn was filthy with blood and dirt. She would have hated being found in such a state. Embarrassed. Full of shame.

And the blood. The warm, copious amount of blood that had poured down her legs told him everything he needed to know about what had transpired. And so he had gathered his beautiful wife in his arms and cradled her close. 

His heart was broken when his mother died. His heart ceased beating as he held his precious wife. His large tears began to coat her face as he sobbed against her body. Blood coated her mouth, trailing down to her chin and dripping on the beautiful white dress. 

He leaned down and kissed her bloodied masterpiece of a mouth, and felt her taste upon his tongue for the last time. The iron and copper taste filled his senses as he tasted the last evidence he had of her being alive at one point in time. 

The last tears fell from his cheeks before he wiped his eyes and cleaned the blood from her mouth. He shrugged off his overcoat and used it to cover her body, gathering her in his arms to take her home. She would want to be at home.

With her covered and his arms, it was as though she were asleep. 

Of course she was asleep. 

He had carried her in such a way many times when she had fallen asleep in front of her beloved fireplace. This was no different. 

He had gotten her home with none the wiser and ran the tub. He knew she hated being dirty and so he would remedy the situation. 

“My day was rather subpar, darlin’. You know Night & Day by Fred Astaire has been one of the most requested songs even this year, and I must confess I tire of it, my darling.” He said as he scrubbed the blood and dirt from her body. Her head had fallen back against the head of the tub, as though she lay in relaxation while being pampered. 

He took great care to clean under her fingernails, scrubbing until the blood was gone. Bruises dotted the inside of her thigh in the shape of handprints. He chose not to see that. He cleaned the dried blood from her wispy blonde hair, already fretting about the styling that would need to be done once she was out of the tub. 

Perhaps she could fix it later. 

He continued to tell her about his day as she gently cleaned her. The water ran a rusty color and the dirt collected at the bottom. He would have to scrub that out once he was done. She despised a dirty tub. 

He pulled her from the tub and dried her off. Her body was already beginning to stiffen and so he had to work fast. He grabbed one of his favorite dresses of hers from the closet, a beautiful red number that paired beautifully with the rouge and red lipstick she wore. 

He set to work covering her body with her undergarments, the brassiere covering her perfect pale breasts, and the bloomers covering her unmentionables. He had even been proud of his attention to detail as he slid the stocking and garter up her legs. He threw the slip over her before finally finishing the outfit with the red dress and red heels to match. 

He tried his best to apply the rouge and lipstick as he had seen her do a thousand times. He was somewhat proud of himself, though he knew she could fix any imperfections.

He sat her in her chair in front of the fireplace in the family room. She loved to relax in front of the fire when he came home from work and ask him about his day. 

She would be happy there. Content. 

Alastor never did know who had broken and murdered his perfect wife. However, the week after finding his wife, he came across his first victim, a piece of shit man harassing a woman on the street. And his wife had appeared for the first time and begun to whisper her sweet nothings in his ear. 

“Maybe this was him, my love,” She said, her words tickling his soul. 

And he would kill every man in New Orleans if it meant he avenged his beautiful wife.  If it meant he could see her one more time. 

On the night Alastor died, he felt more at peace than he had felt in months. 

He stood in the dark of the bayou, shoveling to make a hole deep enough for his next victim. His beautiful wife stood to the side, watching him with a peaceful smile.  He had killed fourteen men since the death of his wife. 

The news outlets had started catching wind of the disappearances, especially when Alastor became particularly sloppy with one fellow and had buried him too shallow.

The Bayou Butcher, they called him. 

The notion caused his wife to tease him in his hallucinations, and laugh at the moniker. He could only grin at the sound of her laughter. Her voice had started to fade, become distorted like the lost signal on a radio broadcast.

His memory of her voice had begun to fade, and he found himself growing more brutal in his kills just to hear that twinkling sound once more. She always talked to him more the bloodier he got. But the sound of her voice still began to fade. 

He had been rather surprised when he was shot in the head. The gunshot rang out through the trees, quickly followed by the sound of hunting dogs. 

Alastor’s eyes widened as blood began to drip into his eyelashes, distorting his vision. But he could still see her. His beloved wife who had driven him to madness.

“Alastor,” She whispered, her voice fading and her small smile turning into a frown.

“My love,” He tried to say but the words wouldn’t come out. His vision grew black and he could no longer see the ghost of his beautiful wife.

“Goodbye, Alastor.” The wind whispered as he fell into the half-dug grave of his last victim. 

The Bayou Butcher had a total of fifteen victims, according to the newspaper. Once the police had found the identity of the despicable man, they raided the house and found the horrible sight of his last victim, his wife. 

The corpse sat in front of the fireplace, the decomposition of her body pooling around her as she rotted into the chair. Her body was dry, almost mummified as she was positioned in such a way that it looked as though she were simply staring towards the fireplace.

Her eye sockets, the eyes long gone, stared forward as though to gaze at the wedding photo of her and her husband, Alastor.  In the photo, Alastor stood brightly at the camera, his grin wider and more genuine than any could ever remember on the man. And to his right stood his beautiful wife whispering sweet nothings into his ear. 

[mysticwolfshadows]

Taken - Zutara - Part 1

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So, as far as I know, we don't know much (if anything) about Azulon's wife. And I have a soft spot for fics that set up her as the origin for much of Iroh's (eventual) kind nature. Knowing a bit about world building and government structure (thanks DND), Azulon being a very militaristic leader means that the Fire Nation, to survive, would need a second in command (Fire Lady) that kept things stable on the home front. I love fics that include this, too. And we do see hints of that in ATLA. The polluted river? What smart leader puts a factory shooting chemicals into a river right housing a floating town???

Anyway, the fic that I was working on had Azulon's wife (who I called Ilah) as a main character. Basically, Fire Lady Ilah has fallen ill, and out of desperation to keep the balance of their power, Azulon managing the war front while Ilah kept the mother land alive, Azulon searches for something that can be done to save her. The only thing that was suggested that could work was a water bending healer. Of course, the Fire Nation had no access to any water benders. They executed all of the prisoners after Hama's escape, and an assault on the North would take to long to be effective. Thankfully, word had just come that there was a new waterbender spotted in the South.

Some worry its the blood demon (Hama) returned to rally dark spirits. Others hope it is a potential healer for their ailing leader. Either way, an investigation must be made. They must find the waterbender in the South.

When the ships arrive, led by Iroh (maybe Lu Ten, or with Lu Ten aboard), the tribe is helpless. Hama is not there, and hasn't been in decades. No warrior, no matter how many there are, could stand to the well equiped soldiers of three high class cruisers. So when the leader steps out, wanting to see the waterbender, the village can only cower. Hakoda tightens his grip on a spear that will be useless against so many. It's when an officer mentions a rumor that waterbenders instinctively save themselves from drowning, and suggests holding each tribesman under water until the bender is found that Katara, only 8, screams out that its her, so the Fire Nation won't hurt her family.

She's taken, her family screaming, onto the ship. There, she's kept by Iroh and/or Lu Ten, who sits with her and gives her tea. Iroh or Lu Ten explain why they came, how his mother/grandmother is ailing, and needs a healer. He tells her that, while she may be young, she's their only hope of a healer. Katara has no choice but to promise to do her best, knowing her village would take the punishment for her failure.

They dress her in Fire Nation clothes, which she hates, and as they sail back to the Fire Nation, Iroh and/or Lu Ten do their best to trian her. They have her practice on soldiers that are injured either from training or work accidents. She becomes surprisingly competent in a short time, all because she had a master (even though a firebending one) to guide her.

When she finally reaches the Fire Nation, she's taken by how bright and colorful everything is. She's amazed by how load and plentiful the people are. And when she's taken into the Fire Palace, she's shocked by how big everything is.

When she's brought before Azulon, the Fire Lord rages. A peasant child? This is the hope of the Fire Nation?! Iroh asks his father to trust, and they take Katara to the Fire Lady.

And, by some mix of sheer force of will and some miracles, Katara succeeds.

Ilah is able to recover, at least partially, and Katara is placed as her 'ward', always at the Fire Lady's side, lest the sickness return. But Ilah is a gentle soul. She won't have a child acting as a nurse full time. Whenever there is a moment, she makes sure to be where Katara can be around others her age will be. In the Fire Palace, that is anywhere Zuko and Azula will be.

Katara spends a lot of those first weeks stiff and cautious, hesitant to go near the Fire Nation royals. But Azula constantly pokes at her with Mai and Ty Lee. She bites back, snaps when Azula sneers. It is only because Ilah is there that Azula doesn't try to burn her. Later, Zuko starts to come by. He's awkward and kind of rude, but it's not meant in a mean way. Ursa encourages Zuko to be kind, to make friends with her, so Zuko does his best.

After a couple months, Katara isn't skittish or cautious. She surrenders to the fact that she's never going home. Ilah doesn't need her as much, so she is mostly locked in her room, a small room attached to the Fire Lady's personal chambers. With little to do, Katara begins to despair. It's Zuko, still trying because his mother asked and he would never disappoint her, that becomes her ally.

He brings her snacks, books, even trying toys and things, to get her to brighten. Eventually, she opens up, relying on Zuko as her only friend. It brings out more of Azula's spite, and Zuko becomes worried about safety. He asks if Katara would maybe like to come with him to practice instead of sitting around in her little room, hoping to keep her closer in case Azula tried anything.

It's at these firebending practices that Katara starts to learn combat bending. She mimics and mines certain moves when she thinks no one is watching, slowly learning what does and doesn't move the water. She learned, if she loosened her stance, made her body just a bit more fluid as it moved instead of sharp like firebenders, she could waterbend. Slowly, she adapts, teaching herself to fight by changing firebending moves to fit her needs.

It's about a year after Katara arrives in the Fire Nation that it happens. The sickness returns with a vengeance, and Fire Lady Ilah needs full time care again. Katara, attached to this woman whose life she holds in her hands and has been at the side of for over a year, weeps when she realizes she's not enough to save her. At 9, Katara must tell Fire Lord Azulon that she is weak and can not do the one thing that they kept her around for. She cowered as the Fire Lord raged, knowing that it could be the last thing she ever sees.

"It is only by Fire Lady Ilah's will that you live," Azulon tells her after the funeral. "It is her memory that stays my hand. Do not sully it, lest I forget why you are here."

Katara is put into Ursa's care, and is placed in lessons. She attends private classes, learning Fire Nation history, math, and literature. Her life becomes so busy, she barely has time for anything but her studies. Zuko is her only reprieve, and they share their wants and desires. Zuko wants to become someone that his mother and father can be proud of. Katara just wants to go home. Zuko promises that, some day, some how, he'll make that happen for her. Katara thanks him, but she knows that it's impossible.

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[lucygxybaird]

a spooky season AU sequel to my shootout fic

The wind is whistling around the house, sneaking frigid fingers inside wherever it can find purchase — under the door, in between the boards of the walls, even boldly finding its way down the chimney. It’s been a surprise to him to watch the mornings thaw slowly into sunny afternoons, the sun gathering strength again, as if he can’t quite believe that so much time has passed. The seasons changing, especially from winter to spring, has always seemed gentle to him, a reminder that things will come good again. 

But now, it saws at him like a knife, the edges serrated and hungry, severing the time when his life mattered — the time when you were with him — from the rest of it, however many years he’s forced to eke out before he can be with you again. 

“Billy?”

It’s not the first time he’s heard your voice since you left him — it has infused his dreams since the moment he laid you to rest, weaving in the way smoke will cling to clothes, to skin and hair, to any and everything it touches — but it’s the first time he’s heard it like this. Which is to say, wide awake, staring at fingers of moonlight slide across the planks above his head. 

“Billy…”

It sounds so clear, so pleading, and God help him, it sounds so close. As if you’re just on the other side of the window, instead of resting beneath the tree in the yard, the willow whose branches cast their protective shadow over you. He hopes you like the place he’s chosen for you, the marker he carved himself. It has your name and the day you were born, but not the day you died, because he can’t bear to set that day down in his own hand — 

“Billy!”

His eyes have drifted shut without his own permission, but now they fly open as he sits upright, as if someone has pulled him up by the collar. Billy’s hand steals under his pillow, where he keeps his gun, but he doesn’t draw it out. 

He would know your voice just by the way it travels on the air, without even having to hear it, a silent song to which his own blood would cry in kind. What he doesn’t know is how he could be hearing you so clearly right now, when he’s all too aware that you’re just one more person who has been dealt the ultimate punishment just for trusting him. For loving him.

Tick, tick, tick—

The sound, like a rapid-fire series of pebbles hitting the window, draws his eyes over to it. He can’t make sense of what he’s seeing at first — not just because it’s impossible, but because he’s wanted it so much that his mind rears back from the sight, like a frightened horse bucking in panic. He cannot lose what he does not have, and so he is afraid to grasp this possibility at all.

He shakes his head, his eyes blank and staring as he fights the urge to blink.

When he was a little boy, he had a recurring nightmare, where he would cry out for his mother and she would come to him, sitting on the edge of his little cot. “Don’t blink, Billy,” she’d urge him, grasping earnestly at his hands. “Don’t blink.” And he would try so very, very hard, his eyes burning, but every time, he would fail. 

And every time, she would disappear, a wraith melting into the air. Billy would wake up crying, stuffing his fist into his mouth lest Kathleen hear, afraid that she truly would disappear if she actually came to him. The dream was so vivid that he’d never been entirely sure if he was awake or not, and so he would lay awake, staring at the ceiling until he saw the shadows flee to the corners as the sun began to rise.

His eyes are starting to burn now, tears gathering, as he stares at your face framed in the window. Surely, if he blinks, you’ll disappear like his mother did.

“Billy,” you say again, and you put your hand against the windowpane. 

Your voice is muffled, your face swimming behind the warped, frostbitten glass, but you're here.

You're here.

He’s out of bed in a moment, nearly tripping over his feet in his haste to cross the room. Wrenching the door open, ignoring the cold, he stumbles around the corner of the house, grabbing at your shoulders. He expects to grasp at nothing except wintry air, but he finds you, solid and real, if not chilled to his touch.

He doesn’t think anything of it, except to immediately draw you into his arms, trying to warm you up. The snows have melted by now, but spring is still weeks away, if not longer; cold lingers long, and it sticks, turning the skin to marble and soaking into the ground. You’re both in bare feet, but you aren’t shivering; instead, you’re still, staring at him as if you’re trying to drink in the sight of his flushed, shocked face.

“I don’t…” Billy croaks, burying his face in the crook of your neck. It’s as if he has to assure himself through every sense he has that you’re really here, even if it doesn’t make any sort of sense. He can feel you in his arms, he can smell you as he grips greedily at your waist, although — 

You don’t smell like you. 

He remembers your perfume of lavender mixed with orange water. He knows, because he bought it for you himself, and you wore it every day since then. Or you had.

But now you simply smell like…well, earth. Dark, rich, ancient, shot through with cold. 

“I’m sorry,” you whisper. “Oh, Billy, I’m so sorry. I…I want to tell you everything, but I’m…” 

He lifts his face to look up at you, and your face is white, your eyes rimmed with red and filmed with fear. “Baby, if this is real, if I ain’t dreamin’, you can tell me anything,” he says. “I just…I…god, honey, I missed you so much…”

His voice cracks, and you immediately take his face between your hands, as if you can hold him together. “I missed you, too,” you say. “You have no idea.” 

You hesitate, looking at the house. “What’s wrong?” Billy says, and you look back at him, taking a deep breath.

“I need you to invite me in.”

Billy’s startled into laughing, looking between you and the house as if he expects to find another structure standing there. “What are you talkin’ about? Baby, this is your home.”

“I know,” you say, smiling tentatively at him. “But things are different now. I’ll explain it all, I promise, but I just need you to invite me inside.”

“C-come in?” Billy says uncertainly, as if all the manners his mother instilled in him have simply flown out the window, and you smile. 

“That’s fine,” you say.

He smiles back at you, still utterly stunned, not fully able to believe that this is real and not some strange, beautiful dream. “I love you,” he says, as if testing the waters. Surely, this is where a dream would fall apart; you’ll disappear, too, or you’ll laugh at him, or you’ll fall to the ground, your wounds bleeding fresh. 

Instead, you reach out to cup his cheek in your icy palm. “Oh, Billy, I love you so much,” you say. “Please don’t forget that.”

His brow furrows. As if he could ever forget. 

Billy takes you by the hand, leading you inside, and he immediately pulls you into bed. In part, he just wants to get you warm, but he also doesn’t know what else to do. Even in the midst of his joy, he feels unmoored, uncertain. This bed, with you in it, has always been his safe haven. No matter the hellfire he walked through, no matter if he bent under a hail of bullets or over the grave of a friend, as long as he knew he had you, waiting in the warm oasis of blankets and your arms — he could withstand anything.

“Billy,” you whisper, nestling into his chest just as you always did. He closes his eyes, his arms looping tightly around you. It helps, laying here, like he thought it would. He can pretend, at least for a moment, that none of it happened — finding you too late, your body little more than a shell, broken, everything that made you you spilled out into the air. Gone. Burying you, wishing he could be with you. 

You’re here now; he doesn’t understand why, but as long as the two of you are laying here, entwined, peaceful, he can tell himself it doesn’t matter. None of it happened. It wasn’t real. This is real, this moment, right now. Before and beyond is meaningless. 

“Love,” he says softly, as if it’s your name. And it might as well be. 

You burrow into his arms, and despite pulling the blankets up around the two of you and holding you as tightly as he can, Billy can still feel how cold you are. You aren’t shivering, but it’s as winter itself has rooted in your skin. He rubs at your back, and he feels you press your face against his neck. You do shiver then, once, but then you’re still, pliant in his arms. 

“Billy, I…I have to tell you something,” you say, and you sit up, propping yourself up on your elbow to look into his face. “I just — I’m afraid. I don’t want you to hate me.”

“I could never,” he says, immediately, without a whisper of hesitation. 

Your mouth trembles. “Or you’ll be disgusted by me.”

“Never,” he says again. 

Another tremor of your lips. “Or you’ll be frightened of me.”

This time, he just mutely shakes his head. He can’t imagine being frightened of you, or disgusted, or anything except so in love with you that he wears it like a second skin, as vital and intrinsic to him as the skin he was born with, beautiful and fragile and apt to bleed him dry if it’s ever torn away from him again. 

“Just tell me,” he says. “Whatever it is, it can’t be as bad as losin’ you. It just can’t be.”

You rub at your eyes with both hands, and you speak with your eyes covered like that. “I can’t die, Billy,” you say. “Not really. I can be hurt, and badly, yes. That’s what you saw, that day.”

He grits his teeth. Your words aren’t sinking in yet, not fully. I can’t die. But he saw you. He’ll never forget that moment for the rest of his life. 

“I lost so much blood,” you whisper. “We can bleed, you know. It’s just…it takes so much more for us to really be injured. I was just a husk by the time you found me.”

That much doesn’t surprise him. He remembers how light you felt, how empty. He’d known then, at once. 

“It was good that you buried me where you did,” you say, and he feels a spark of happiness, absurdly pleased that you like where he lay you down. “I can’t be buried in sanctified ground. It was a lovely place to rest, Billy. I liked hearing the wind in the branches.”

He’s so glad that he’s done right by you that it takes him a moment to understand what you’re saying — sanctified ground — and then it all rushes over him at once. What you’ve been trying to tell him. He sits up, and you flinch. 

“Billy…”

“Wait,” he says, holding up a hand. “Wait. Just gimme a minute.”

You press your lips together. 

He tries to run his mind over what you’ve been saying, trying to connect the pieces in a way that fits, that makes sense. He looks at you, your beloved, perfect face, and he shakes his head. “You don’t gotta tell me any more, unless you want to,” he says. “I understand. I don’t need to know anything else. If this is is how you came back to me, that’s all I need.”

Your lower lip wobbles. “Billy…”

“I don’t care,” he says softly, gently. Trying to offer you a promise, hoping you’ll take it. “Baby, I love you, just as you are. As whatever you are. All I need to know is you love me, too.”

“Of course I do.” You smile at him, but then you shake your head. “But I need to tell you, at least once. I need to say it.” 

Billy feels a weight settling on his chest, but far from driving the breath from his lungs, it just makes him feel steady, like a ship dropping anchor. He nods. 

You fold your hands together in your lap, a posture of prayer or perhaps penitence. “I’m…” You worry your lower lip between your teeth, as if you’re chewing on the word before you say it. “I’m a vampire, Billy. I don’t drink from humans unless I’m suffering and need the extra sustenance.”

“Like now?” he asks, and you nod. He hesitates just for a moment. “Who?”

You smile thinly. “Let’s just say Jesse and his gang are going to need a few fresh graves of their own.” 

He feels a savage leap of pleasure in the pit of his stomach at the thought. He doesn’t ask — it feels oddly intimate — but he hopes you got the man who took you away from him. 

“It’s why I was gone for so long. I needed to get my strength back, so I had to go slowly at first. I wanted to come back to you at once, but I couldn’t risk being around you when I was so…” You pause, grimacing. “So weak. So hungry. You wouldn’t have recognized me. I’m so sorry to have kept you waiting.” 

“You’re here now,” he says, giving voice to the mantra that has been carved into the metronome of his heart since he first saw you in the window. Here now — here now — here now — everything else is just lilies in springtime, when all he really needs is the warming, fertile earth and the sun on his face. 

He smiles at you, and it seems like you take solace from it. You clear your throat and go on. “I was born in Beverly, in the Massachusetts colony, in 1674. I’m…” 

You pause again, although this time it just seems as though you’re calculating. He can tell already that you feel easier just having actually said it. 

“I’m 204…no, 207 years old,” you say, and he nods, as if this isn’t entirely mind-boggling information. You look at him for a moment, as if bracing yourself for an adverse reaction, but he just offers you a grin.

“Good thing I like older women,” he teases, and you laugh. 

“Since when?”

“Since now.”

You smile and shake your head fondly. “Is there anything else you want to know?”

He hesitates for a moment. “Would…would you ever…” 

It doesn’t surprise him that you guess what he’s about to say before he actually says it. You’ve always been good at that.

“If that’s what you want,” you say. “But I want you to really think on it, Billy, alright? I know tonight has been…”

“Tonight has been the greatest night of my life,” Billy interrupts firmly, and he watches you try — and fail — to fight a smile.

“I was going to say a lot,” you answer, and you both laugh. 

“That’s true, too.”

You frame his face between your hands, looking at him earnestly. “I mean it. Think on it. I want to be with you forever, but you’re asking to give up a lot. More than you know right now.”

“But not you,” he says. “I don’t have to give you up.”

You smile softly. “Not me.” 

That’s all he needs to know, but he promises you he’ll think on it, because he knows that’s what you need to hear. He isn’t sure you understand that he simply does not care what he would be giving up, not as long as he gets to keep you in the bargain. If you asked him about heaven, about God and his immortal soul, all he would say is that he would throw the keys to the pearly gates over his shoulder without looking back if it meant he could stay with you forever. 

You reach for him, and he moves into your arms, laying his head against your chest. You’ve never held him like this before, and now he understand why. Your chest is still, and there is no drumbeat beneath your skin, no pulse of life. But he knows your still heart belongs to him, just as his beating one belongs to you.

“Sleep, Billy,” you murmur, carding your fingers through his hair. “Sleep. I’ll be here when you wake up.”

He closes his eyes, softening in your embrace. Melting.

For the first time in months, he sleeps, deeply and sweetly, and without dreaming. All his dreams have come true, anyway. 

You’re here. 

[yourdeepestfathoms]

Whumptober snippet

we’re still several days off from Whumptober, but i thought i would post some snippets occasionally to tide y’all over. this is what y’all are in store for!

this is from day one!

—————

Perrine had a nightmare about freezing to death once.

It was the first winter with the Lark as a group, and she didn’t know if they, a bunch of very young children without adult supervision, could survive on their own.

In the nightmare, there was a blizzard raging outside, making it impossible to get more firewood. Of course, there was no need to get more, as they had stocked up generously the day before.

However, they went through the firewood surprisingly quickly, and soon, there were only a few logs left.

Panic began to set in.

Clémentine said they would brave the wind and snow outside and go get more firewood from the pile they kept in the small shed just off of the side of their cottage. While they were gone, Perrine, Cole, and Kingsley started to hack up any piece of wooden furniture they could- chairs, tables, shelves, even parts of their couch. They tossed it all into the fire, watching it burn, but they were still rapidly running out of fuel, and it was only getting colder. Worst of all, Clémentine had yet to return.

It had been thirty minutes.

Perrine told Cole and Kingsley that she would go find Clémentine, so she suited up in her thickest furs and stepped out into the white abyss waiting outside their door. With one hand on the house to keep it in sight, she began to slowly trudge around its perimeter. She was soon facing the direction of the shed, though she could not see it, even though it couldn’t have been more than fifteen feet away. It took all of her courage to pull her hand away from the house and fully embrace the whirlwind.

She found the shed with surprising ease. Or, more accurately, it found her, as she bumped right into it. Regardless, she had reached her destination with only minimal difficulty, and she peeked inside.

Clémentine was nowhere in sight.

She saw the collection of firewood, chopped by herself the day before, dusted in frost. And she saw the shuffled footsteps in the snow, a telltale sign of someone having been here. But she didn’t see Clémentine.

“Clém?” Perrine had called out, but her voice was quickly swallowed up by the storm. Even still, she tried again, “Clémentine?”

No response, aside from the howling of the wind.

Perrine was worried. Where was Clémentine? Were they okay? She was starting to panic, but she pulled on the reins of her composure and chomped down on the bit, choking back her rising anxiety. She needed to stay calm.

Maybe Clémentine had already gone back to the cabin. Maybe they just missed each other; it wouldn’t be surprising in how limited the visibility was.

Perrine collected as many logs as she could carry and started back toward the cottage. For a terrifying moment, she thought she had gone in the wrong direction, but then the wooden walls swam up through the pelting sheets of white. Home.

She shambled her away to the front door and heaved it open against the wind. Scrambling, she hurried inside.

It was dark. The air was cold and silent. Her own breath formed a cloud in front of her face, even though that shouldn’t have been possible. She was back inside, she was safe, they were safe.

And yet…she was cold.

The logs in her arms fell from her grasp, clattering to the floor. She began to look around, desperate. Her mind was foggy, and she didn’t know why. Anxiety, she thought. That was all.

It wasn’t difficult to locate her friends.

Cole and Kingsley were huddled together in front of the hearth, but it wasn’t their own desperate need for warmth that had them pressed so close, rather the frost that had accumulated over their bodies, freezing them together in their final moments and making it impossible for them to pull away, lest they tear the skin of the other with them. Their flesh was faded to a horrible blue color, rime clinging to their hair, and their faces… Oh, their faces…

Cole had their eyes screwed shut, tears still frozen on their cheeks as they had been sobbing until their last breath. Kingsley’s eyes, on the other hand, were impossibly wide, glued to the front door, like he was waiting for her to come back.

The fire was burned out into embers. Dead, just like Kingsley and Cole.

Perrine was in shock. How did this happen? Had she really been out in the storm for that long?

She tried to rouse them, but it was futile. They were long gone.

Strangely, she didn’t remember crying. She wasn’t sure why. But she did, vividly, remember the terror.

The cold was coming for her next.

Putting the corpses of her friends out of her mind, Perrine scrambled to start a new fire, but she couldn’t feel her hands. Her fingers fumbled clumsily, unable to grasp the match no matter how many times she tried.

Perrine slumped back, panting. She felt so tired…

She thought about Clémentine. They weren’t here, so they must have been outside somewhere still, most likely lost. She liked to think that they were rescued or found by someone, brought into a nice house and given some hot tea, but that was just wishful thinking. They were probably dead. Just like Kingsley and Cole. Just like she would be.

Perrine died, alone and afraid, and it was only after having to sit through and feel the slow torture of freezing that she finally woke up in a cold sweat.

Living life is a lot like playing dominos. Each new day is a new domino set up. And at any moment, any one of those dominos could fall, causing an unstoppable chain reaction until there were no more dominos to tip over. The end of the line. The end of a life.

For Perrine, her first domino fell exactly one year later.

[hismercytomyjustice]

I AM POSTING EARLY AGAIN BECAUSE I AM EVEN MORE SAD THAT THIS IS THE LAST CHAPTER. ｡°(°.◜ᯅ◝°)°｡

Happy Wednesday-eve-eve, my fellow Mind Flayers to-be!

Time for a sneak peek of the eighteenth and final chapter of my Bloodweave fic Ancient Books and Horror Stories!

Hope you enjoy!!! ദ്ദി ꒦ິ꒳꒦ິ )✧

—

He made another few of the pancakes before offering the pan and spatula to Astarion, who gingerly accepted them. This time Gale poured the batter in, forcing himself not to chuckle at Astarion’s rigid posture or how closely he watched it for any changes. He’d seen him more relaxed on a battlefield with impossible odds than he was right now.

“...is it ready to flip?” Astarion asked, holding the spatula defensively.

“Almost. Just wait until you see the bubbles.”

“How many bubbles? There’s one right now!”

“A little longer.”

Astarion worried his bottom lip. “...is it easy to flip? If it’s not cooked enough, won’t it just fall to pieces?”

“It’ll be fine,” Gale insisted, wrapping his arms around his middle from behind.

He absently rubbed soothing circles into the vampire’s side and some of the tension gradually eased from his lithe frame.

“Gale! There are more bubbles!”

“Almost there. You see how the sides are starting to firm up and the bubbles are popping? Now you can flip.”

Astarion took a steadying breath as he eased the spatula under the edge of the pancake with the same precision he dedicated to disarming a trap. He carefully turned it over, sighing in relief when it settled once more in the pan.

“Gale!”

“Hmm?” he prompted, resting his chin on Astarion’s shoulder.

“...how do we know when it’s done? There are no more bubbles.”

He hummed as he considered the question. He didn’t think Astarion would appreciate a ‘practice’ or ‘you’ll know’ answer. “A bit of trial and error? You can lift the edge of the pancake up to check underneath to see if it looks done. This side cooks much faster.”

Some of the tightness returned to Astarion’s shoulders.

“I won’t let you burn it. Or catch my mother’s house on fire,” he said, pressing a light kiss to the side of Astarion’s throat. “Why don’t you check it now?”

He slid the spatula under to study the opposite side. “What do you think?”

“I’d say it looks done! Now we just put it on the plate with the others.”

Astarion lifted the frying pan from the fire, lest he drop the pancake en route otherwise. He carefully extracted the pancake and set it down on top of the others.

“...gods that was stressful…”

Gale chuckled, stepping back. “Not many people can say they got it right the first time!”

Astarion shot him a sultry look. “Well I do have an excellent teacher.”

“And I, an excellent student! Thank goodness because I would hate to have to cull you!”

They met one another’s eyes, expressions growing serious, before simultaneously intoning, “What a perfect sacrifice you would make.” They barely made it through the words before they were both howling with laughter.

“Whatever is going on between the two of you, I’m glad you’re having fun,” Morena said with a shake of her head, shooing them away from the cooking fire so she could finish the last of the pancakes.

[residentficdm]

By Morning’s Light: Part 1

Charred wood crackles and bursts beneath his feet as David treads through the once-familiar Hollow. Beneath the thick shrouds of blackness lies a town he almost recognizes. The soft shape of the house he was born in peeks through the shadows—an invitation beckoning him. It’d be invisible if it weren’t burned into his brain.

He reaches a hand out into the darkness, finding grasp on the front door handle. Inside, lying face-down on the floor, is a woman. It’s almost too dark to see the brown curly hair he gave her, but despite the obscurity of the night, he knows who she is. He’d know her without touching his shaking hand to turn her over, know she’s dead without feeling her empty pulse.

He does it anyway.

Help them, Dae’valdin, is the last thing he hears in his mind before his vision goes white.

David shoots up from his bed, chest rising and falls rapidly, sweat on his chest glistening in the moonlight.

Third night in a row waking up this way. Third night in a row with the same dream.

Third night in a row having his mother’s dead body flash through his mind.

You cannot keep ignoring me, Dae’valdin, a voice sighs through his head, though no one is actually speaking.

David squeezes his eyes tightly. He’s felt inklings of this presence before, almost-thoughts lingering in his mind, but never with this much presence.

“It’s David,” he corrects the voice, dragging his palms down his sleep-numb face. A quick glance out the window tells him the sun is about to rise. No point in going back to sleep now. Might as well get an early start on the day’s chores before Snyder decides to chew him out. “And I can ignore you as long as I damn well please.”

You’d be wise not to speak to me like that, lest I revoke your gift.

“Fine by me,” he retorts, slipping into his work trousers. The so-called gift has caused him nothing but trouble.

Though, the voice is right. It’s more than simply unwise to mouth off to a goddess, it’s downright stupid. But David can’t find it in himself to swallow down the bitter ball of Why me? Selune has hundreds of devout servants across Faerun, maybe even thousands. Dutiful followers who can afford to sacrifice half their dinner plate into a fire as an offering to the moon goddess, clerics all but raised in the purest of monasteries.

And yet she has decided that David—a poor farmhand who can barely afford dinner most days—must be the one to shoulder this burden.

Trust in me. I have a plan for you, comes Selune’s voice through his mind, as if she can detect David’s thoughts.

“I would love for you to get out of my head.”

And I would love for you to show me a hair more reverence. And yet here we stand.

David’s plan of getting an early start on chores proves more difficult with a voice ringing in his head all morning.

Selune’s nagging accompanies him as he collects eggs from beneath sleeping chickens, mends some boards of fencing in the goat’s pens. By the time the sun’s properly risen, he’s collected six pints of goat’s milk and two dozen eggs.

He keeps two—for Sarah and himself—and stashes them in the kitchen while he goes out searching for kindling.

The stars are still out, perforating the navy early dawn sky like dollops of precious stone. Sinking down into the horizon, the moon is still visible. Selune’s domain.

Radiant, isn’t she?

David startles and drops the pile of wood he’s gather. “Holy fuck, I forgot you were there.”

Such divine language in the presence of a goddess.

“Apologies. It will likely happen again.”

I only jest. I have much more pressing matters than monitoring, much less caring, if my devouts swear.

David bristles at being called one of her devout. There are clerics, out in the city temples, who have dedicated decades of their lives to Selune’s cause. He doesn’t think he’s earned the right to be considered at the same level as them.

A full ten minutes pass by without the goddess intruding into David’s thoughts. In his reprieve, he sets the kindling he found ablaze and starts a breakfast for himself and his sister. Because he’s nothing if not a good brother.

“You didn’t wake me,” Sarah’s groggy voice calls behind him. The porridge he’s whipped up falls into the two serving bowls with a splat.

“Couldn’t sleep,” he says, taking the bowls to the table. It’s not a complete lie. “Thought I might as well put my insomnia to good use. Get an early start to chores.”

He digs a wooden spoon into his breakfast, careful to avoid Sarah’s studious gaze. A single strand of her unbrushed hair falls in front of her face, and she tucks it back behind her shoulder, but David still isn’t free from her scrutiny.

“No,” she finally decides. “There’s something you’re not telling me.”

David releases a labored sigh from his lungs. If he brings up his dream—the Hollow, their mother—Sarah will never let it go. David isn’t sure he wants to deal with that just yet.

On the other hand, if he lies to her and she finds out—and David trusts she will, either through her uncanny ability to read him or some twin telepathy—she will be equally as insufferable.

PLAYING AS: David

[patheticbatman]

My 55th Win A Commission contest was my adaption of the classic Norwegian tale, Tatterhood! If you would like to see my art in context with my version of the story, please

Thousands of years ago, on the very southernmost island of the land we now call Tierra de Fuego, there lived two Yamalim, a man and his wife.

The man had been married before and had no children. When his previous wife died, he quickly took her sister’s hand, as was the custom, and continued to have no children.

Unable to face the most likely reason, that he was the tumdgnnaka, the barren one, the man made his new wife’s life miserable, screaming at her and promising that life would be a lot better if she gave him a child, especially a son. But if she did not provide, then he intimated that her youngest sister would be next.

Her fear of her husband now far outstripping that of her fear of curses, she visited the local wizard, the Yekamu. Fingers fumbling, she presented as tribute a beautiful necklace of canelo, bone and abalone strung across its length.

The Yekamu emerged from his dwelling of grass and wood, and solemnly took her offering. “Watawineima knows what you seek,” he said, though she had not yet made her request known. “When your husband returns, you and he must accomplish three deeds. If you do, you will surely have a child before summer returns. First, take your coptdun, your canoe, out to sea on a clear hautvo-kipa night, a clear full moon night. Then, while you dive for a clam bearing a black pearl, he must catch you a fish. Swallow the pearl covered in its fats, and you shall be with child. But you must finish these tasks three before any clouds cross the moon, lest it all be for naught.”

Thanking him profusely, the woman returned to her home, and waited for her husband to get back, so she could explain it all. A full moon was tonight, and it was clear.

Unfortunately, he returned with his elder brother and wife in tow. The woman gently pleaded with her husband for privacy, so that she may tell of the solution without exposing the problem. But her husband, brash and belittling, did not heed her wisdom, and so loudly proclaimed that the news could be shared with all.

Hesitatingly, the woman shared the Yekamu’s words, embarrassing the husband when his brother intuited their troubles.

However, the brother-in-law rejoiced, for he and his wife were also struggling with conception.

So both couples set out and just one canoe that night.

Once in the water, the men turned to fishing with hook and line as the women dived for shellfish. It was night, but the women were used to diving in the dark, when the day was long and the sun unforgiving. It was early autumn, and so they were still in practice. The two quickly discovered a shellfish colony, and harvested there.

The brother-in-law was soon lucky, and caught a toothfish the size of a man.

The husband, eager to catch his own, did not help his own brother. He did not even help when the fish nearly dove back in, when its tail nearly extinguished the fire in their boat, or when it nearly knocked his own brother into the water.

But finally, the brother-in-law slew the creature, and began searching for a vein of fat.

The women were bringing in great amounts of shellfish, but when they took time to hop in the boat and open the shells in each of their piles, there were no pearls to be found.

But forsooth, she found a conch with two pearls! Ecstatic, she turned her husband – only to get pushed back into the sea.

The sister-in-law plucked out the only black pearl, leaving the other, a pink pearl, and quickly took it to the brother-in-law – who had not noticed the scuffle. Desperately, she coated the pearl in the toothfish fat, and popped it into her mouth, swallowing it whole. She felt no remorse, and convinced herself she was doing the woman a favor – for surely no child should be born into such a terrible house.

Gasping for air, the woman clawed her way back into the canoe. Shaking with fury, she turned her sister-in-law – only to notice a cloud drifting towards the moon.

“Husband,” she cried instead. “The clouds approach! Have you caught a fish?”

The husband’s impatience had gotten the best of him. Envious of his own brother’s luck, he had not held the line steady enough for any fish to be caught. He cursed, and turned to his hunting dog, who laid quietly beside him in the canoe. Violently, he grabbed it, hooked its nose, and threw it in the water. As he dragged it back, he said, “There! Cannot a dog be a fish, if caught in the ocean by a hook?” With that, he slew the dog.

No one dared argue, though the woman shivered. How had her sister died? The woman had only briefly looked upon the body prior to cremation.

She cast her eyes to the remaining pearl. Surely a pink one found next to a black one would be magical, too, for twin pearls were rare indeed. Somehow, she kept her husband from seeing the pearl was pink, coated it in the fat of the dog, and swallowed it down just as the clouds covered the moon.

And with that, the group returned to the shore.

Nine months later, just before summer, both women entered labor at dawn.

At noon, before the woman’s child had even crowned, the sister-in-law easily gave birth to her own baby, a son. As it is ill luck to speak the dead’s name among the Yamalim, the boy shall be called Tdngiin-taalitas (or Itas for brevity), meaning Beauty, for he was a gorgeous child.

It was nearly sunset when the woman’s daughter was born.

The babe was tiny, even for their people, with a large head, swollen ears and small limbs, one of her legs ending in a club foot. Her dark eyes were serious but sweet, her hair wispy and soft, and she grasped her mother’s finger as soon as the woman reached down.

The woman, now the mother, loved her immediately, and brought her close to clean and nurse.

The husband, however, was no father. He raged, and screamed, and cursed the Yekamu’s faulty advice while he grabbed at his left arm. “A hautvola!” He cried. “A dwarf!” He knocked over the mother’s drinking water, necessary for recovering from such labor, and hit the walls of their house, causing the fibers to shake and separate, blades of grass falling upon the babe. Shaking off a blade that fell on his nose, the husband advanced, making to snatch up the child.

Weak but infuriated, the mother pushed his hand away. “We have what is promised,” she stated. “A child born before summer’s return. Let us thank Watawineima for his blessing!”

A vein bulged in the husband’s head. “How dare you-“ He raised his hand to strike the woman.

The woman held her babe with one hand, and grabbed a burning stick from the fire. “Get out,” she said, teeth bared. “I have given you all that you wish, and you dare to treat me this way? I am Yamana too! I am your equal!” She brandished the stick.

The husband‘s face began to change color, and he lunged towards her.

She thrust the fire straight into his face.

Howling, the husband stumbled out of their house, clawing at his eyes.

Other people, far enough away that they could not see the struggle - for Yamalim villages are spread out - but close enough to hear the screams, came running to see about the noise.

But just as the husband neared the woman again, he grabbed his chest, and fell over, dead.

Nobody liked the man much, so they helped the mother move into her brother-in-law’s house first, as was the custom.

The mother sat out of the funereal mock battle between the men and the women, nursing her daughter. Her sister-in-law also sat out, nursing her son, Itas. Neither looked at the other.

Finally, the husband was cremated, and rarely spoken of again. The mother was fine with that.

Her daughter grew to be close with her cousin. Before the age of seven, they were inseparable. Due to her short stature and clubfoot, the girl could not run and play as much as the other children, and so would spend more time at home, helping with the daily catches and making beads for necklaces. The boy would stay also, and his hands became nearly as nimble as hers.

The Aunt fretted, but it made her son happy, so she did not interfere.

The girl was even better at staying warm than the others in her family, despite the consistent sharp winds blowing off the ocean, because of her height. As such, she would rarely wear her cloak in the correct style. Combined with her odd gait, her cloaks often dragged at the bottom, often becoming tattered. As such, she was given a gently teasing nickname, Dop-agiiramma (Gii for brevity), or Tatterhood.

When the two were seven, the cousins split up for their education, after completing the Ciexuas rite. But while both had friends outside their family, they still were each other’s best friends. Gii’s aunt always had a strange look or an off remark to make about the girl, despite both Gii and her mother pulling their weight within the household. Her uncle was kind.

Gii was not the strongest or quickest swimmer, but she could swim deeper, hold her breath longer, and fit in smaller places. Her shellfish haul was always the best. It was no wonder that all the people in the village who liked shellfish kept on her good side.

Meanwhile, Itas soon became a skilled hunter, fisher, and gatherer. He trained a pack of dogs to help him catch aiapux, or otters.

Inspiration struck one day when one of his dogs became blinded in one eye during one such expedition. It could no longer keep up with the others. Itas told Gii, and she was ecstatic.

With permission from her mother and assistance from her uncle, Gii trained the dog to stand by her side.

This took some time, as the dogs that lived with the Yamalim had not descended from a pack canid, like the wolf, but from a more solitary sort. They were not prone to loyalty, but time and trust certainly helped.

Still, as soon as that dog, who shall be called Aki (a shortening of Yoaiaman-aki, meaning firstborn), was trained enough, Gii started training a pup – she did not want to be left in the lurch when the adult dog passed.

She and her uncle then took measurements of Aki, and carved a standing harness. Canes were often unwieldy or sometimes too heavy for Gii, especially due to her leg and foot pain. It did not bother her in the cold water of the ocean, but when she had to support herself on land, life became tough.

So one day, after two years of training and weeks of perfecting the harness, Gii was able to pull herself up, stabilize herself and walk with less pain with Aki’s help. Everyone rejoiced, even her aunt.

When Gii and Itas were adults, Aki now long gone, both were contemplating marriage. So they went on a trip in his canoe, as an excuse to talk things through. Both had people in mind, and wanted to get the outside perspective from their best friends.

As they talked, they became distracted, and the canoe floated south - more south than they had ever gone before.

But strong and confident, Itas just grabbed his oar and paddled north towards home.

It was summer, and so the days were long, warm and bright, and there was hardly any night at all. When she could, Gii would jump down and push the boat, to help speed things along.

Eventually, the two came to a small island, one that marked the edge of the horizon from the view of their current village site, for they moved often. As per usual, it was only visible during low tide, but today there was something on it.

“Wow!” Itas exclaimed. “A Kupat-enakamorana! A humongous whale!”

The Yamalim ate many marine animals, but rarely did they get an actual whale. The last one happened years ago, when someone had found an tosdg-unuina, a small toothed whale, with a chunk bitten out of its dorsal fin.

“Father will be so proud of me, bringing in a whale!” Itas said. He pulled the canoe up to the beached animal.

“Shouldn’t we go get the rest of the village, to help bring it in?” Gii said, eyeing the enormous animal. “I don’t think even you would be able to pull that thing by yourself.”

Itas laughed, and tied its tail to the boat. “No matter! I will tie it to the canoe, and when the tide washes in, we will both float to the cove via the current.

Gii was not convinced, but unable to do much else, returned to the boat. From that vantage point, she saw the whale’s blowhole expand and contract. “Cousin!” She cried. “It still lives, though barely. Should we really remove this noble creature from its chosen place to die?”

From the tracks still left on the sand, it was clear the whale had intentionally beached itself. Whether that was its own choice or some gift from Watawineima, Gii did not want to interfere.

But her cousin, usually so levelheaded, was enamored with the adoration he (and Gii) would receive from their family and possible fiancées if they brought such a bountiful harvest home. “It will be dead soon enough. And look! There is the tide!” He finished tying the whale to the canoe, and jumped in.

As he predicted, the currents carried them off the island and back to the cove. Itas paddled, and Gii kept a suspicious eye upon the whale, waiting for anything bad to happen.

Just as the canoe was about to cross into the village cove, Gii saw the whale thrash. “No! Itas, look! It it’s awake!”

But Itas was aware, and already struggling against the whale. “Gii! Grab the other oar and help me row!

Gii ran up and did her best. But the whale, awake and furious, was too strong. Slowly, but surely the canoe was headed out to sea.

“Itas, grab your knife! We must cut it loose, or we shall both be lost!”

Itas dithered for a moment, but as he watched their home cove get further and further away, he knew that they must at least make it home with the canoe. It was a work of countless hours, and the gift of a tree’s life. He grabbed his knife, and started sawing away at the rope.

But it was too late. With a splash and a ker-PLUNK, the whale pulled itself underwater and flipped the canoe.

Gii being the better swimmer, she dove out of the boat in time, but Itas, caught by surprise, did not. Instead, he hit his head on the now-roof of the boat, burned his face with the embers of the boat-fire, and fell unconscious.

When Gii did not see her cousin rise from the water, she dove back in, frantic. She found Itas floating face up in the water underneath the boat. She tried to grab him, but the whale, still attached, moved it away. Gii barely ducked in time for the canoe to pass over her head.

Gii returned to the surface to see both the whale and the boat pull her cousin south. Despairing, Gii grabbed a fallen oar, and swam to shore to get help.

Her aunt raged and screamed insults while her uncle and mother wept. The rest of the village prepared to hold the funereal traditions.

Upset, and unwilling to give up on Itas, Gii visited the Yekamu. She asked him what she could do, and offered all her previous day’s catch.

The Yekamu - a new one since the old retired - consulted Watawineima, and then said, “Gather three strong paddlers and head to south. Your cousin will be within a mountain of great ice, unable to leave due to the shifting of the long tunnel to the outside. Make him a bag full of air, and you should be able to guide him out.”

“How can I make a bag that can hold air?”

The Yekamu pointed a finger outside. “Like that.”

Gii stepped outside, and saw a child playing with a seal bladder, tied on the ends and filled with air.

And with that, Gii set off to tell the village the plan. Many thought her ridiculous, and refused to join her strange quest. But her mother, her uncle her crush, both she and Itas’s good friend, agreed to join. Her aunt was beside herself, and did not believe that she would get her child back, so opted to stay behind.

“Do not worry, Aunt,” Gii said, who was kinder to her aunt than the woman had ever been to her. “We’ll be back with Itas soon.”

And so the four set off, Sola (a shortened form of Yekaia-sola, or Pup) the dog riding along as well.

All had seen icebergs before, but none quite as huge as the ones they saw as they traveled further south. The Aurora Australis, bright in the short-lived night sky, and so much more common the further south they went, gave them light when they chose to paddle through the night.

At last, when it felt like they had reached winter again, the party arrived at a strange land, windy and bright with snow and sun at the same time.

None had seen land in their month-long journey down south, so when they reached the rocky shores, everybody jumped for joy at the feeling of earth beneath them. Sola immediately rolled in the pebbly dirt, which made everyone laugh.

The party soon caught some upoc-i, penguins, of similar varietals as they found at home, and ate their fill. Even seafaring people can tire of fish.

Gii stretched her legs – swimming regularly was not the same as walking regularly – and looked further south, where floated a large ice mountain in the middle of a little cove.

The party agreed that they would not bring the canoe there this late in the day, for they wanted to eat and sleep on dry land. Additionally, they feared those strange waters - they knew not what dangers lurked beneath.

Gii did not allow herself to express her fear. She had practiced swimming in these waters over the past few weeks, so frigid in comparison to those of her home. She was as prepared as she would get.

The next day, after an incredibly short and half-hearted spurt of darkness, her mother helped Gii grease her body with the fat from the penguins, to give her speed in the water and to keep the cold at bay.

“My brave girl,” Gii’s mother said. “I love you and your cousin.” She bent to whisper in Gii’s ear. “But if it comes down to saving yourself or him, I want you back.”

Gii nodded solemnly, hand tightly gripping Sola’s harness. Today of all days, her legs felt especially poorly. “I will, Mother.”

Her uncle fashioned a balloon out of their dinner’s bladder, cleaned with ocean water. “I weighed it down slightly with some rocks, so it does not tug away so easily or float as much. Is the weight all right?” He asked, holding it up by the string attached to one end.

Gii tied it to her arm. “You’re so thoughtful, Uncle, thank you. It’s perfect.”

They rode to the northern edge of the great ice mountain, which they discovered to be two icebergs, constantly crashing, bumping and floating together.

Both Gii’s mother and uncle looked stricken and afraid, but her best friend laid hand on her shoulder. “You’re the only one who can do this,” he said simply. “Bring him out.”

Gii laid hand on his shoulder. “I will.” Then she pulled him down and kissed him.

Before she lost her nerve, Gii patted Sola on the head, and dove down, down, down, into the blue.

The underside of the ice mountains were even more daunting, but she soon spotted a gap in the ice that felt just right.

She came back up for air, waved, dove back down, and entered the cave.

The ice groaned around her, and Gii was positive she had never been more cold in her life. How could water be surrounded by ice, and not freeze? And were the walls getting closer together? And was she going the right way? It was so bright, and the ice was endless – would she ever know if she had gotten turned around?

But with nothing left to do except block out the burning in her lungs with more swimming, she went on.

At last, the tunnel led up, and a strange sort of shimmering danced across her vision. The surface! Gii her way up, and with a gasp, survived the swim.

There, upon a small outcropping of ice and bone, laid the carcass of the whale, fashioned into a crude structure with the boat.

“Gii?” Itas crawled out of the structure, emaciated, left eye burnt, voice cracking from disuse and thirst, but alive.

She leapt up and hugged him, ignoring her aching legs and foot. “I’m here to rescue you!”

He laughed and seemed shocked by the sound. “But I’ve tried swimming out. Oh cousin, it is long and tight for a swimmer such as I. As a man, I never learned to hold my breath as a woman does.”

“Fear not!” Gii held up her bag, full of rocks and air. “You may take a breath along the way.”

“I will warn you then, that my strength may be diminished. I was confined in this small world of ice.”

Gii squeeze his hand. “We’ll make it through, especially since you’re so skinny now. What are you, an eel? Now, how about we put the last of this fat to good use?”

The cousins slathered themselves with the whale fat and jumped into the water.

The tunnel through the ice seem to have shifted a bit. Overhead, Gii heard a crack and everything shook for a moment. She nearly paused, afraid to go on, but then shook her head. Waiting would only waste more air, and they needed to keep going.

When they were about halfway through, maybe a little less, Itas tapped her foot, for he was behind her, and gestured to his mouth. She turned around and held the bag out to him. He sucked in a breath, and went on ahead. Gii took the meager remainder, and dropped the bag. It had served his purpose, and she didn’t need any more drag.

Itas was struggling by the time they reached the tunnel mouth. Smirking slightly, Gii pushed off the ice wall and sped for the surface.

When she breached, he wasn’t there. Panicked, she dove back down.

A alqfin-oma, a leopard seal, had Itas by the leg.

Blood was spurting into the water, and the beast was shaking him wildly. Gii was sure he’d pass out any moment.

“Mother!” She called, breaching the surface once more. “A huge seal has got Itas! Help!”

Without a second thought, her mother grabbed the two men’s spears and dove down into the water, stopping only to hand Gii one.

Itas was definitely unconscious, and the seal looked like it was about to swim off, perhaps to its lair. Gii’s mother burst towards the beast, and stabbed it in the tail.

It let go of Itas to snap around and go after her mom, so Gii tried to stab it as well. Her thrust lacking strength, it merely skittered along the side.

But all the same, the beast turned to snarl at Gii, teeth sharp and bloody.

Gii’s mother took that as an opportunity to grab Itas by the armpits and toss him up to the surface. He had lost so much weight in the cave, he had been sinking into the depths, no fat to buoy him up.

Gii did her best to hold the beast at bay in the meantime. It did not like her spear, but did not seem too afraid – perhaps it did not know to fear humans. Its teeth grew ever closer.

Heart beating nearly out of her chest, Gii kicked off the face of the approaching seal, flipping briefly out of the water and into the air. Its eyes opened wide in anger and surprise, and in that moment, Gii took a chance.

Grabbing onto its whiskers for leverage, she drove the spear down and in – right through the seal’s eye.

It thrashed wildly, and Gii got out of its way, though she was nearly tumbled by its force. She went back up for air.

Her uncle and friend were hauling Itas into the boat, her mother pushing him up. He had yet to regain consciousness, but she saw him breathing. She called, “Come help me. Seal’s back on the menu, boys!”

The party spent the next three days on land, resting and preparing the canoe for the long journey once more.

The group ate the leopard seal, and stored what they could as rations in the baskets that held food at the beginning of the trip. The men had discovered that the snow and ice on the land was freshwater, so they also packed much snow for the trip across the ocean. The canoe looked a little worse for the wear, but it would take them home.

And with the wind on their backs as they headed north, the trip was even faster.

Once the party arrived home, the village held a great celebration. They enjoyed the feast, but avoided fish and seal for quite some time after that, preferring land cuisine like birds, mushrooms, berries, and occasionally guanaco and otter.

Itas married the girl he had been contemplating that day they discovered the whale, and Gii married the brave friend who accompanied her on the quest. And they all lived happily till the end of their days.

Tatterhood Explanation

Ooooof! This one! I think this might be the one I had as a concept longest, and avoided the hardest. I wanted a story that featured the Yamala (which is plural for Yamana, and which is mistakenly called Yaghan in many English texts), the southernmost peoples of the world, located in what is now called Chile and Argentina, and that would possibly also feature Antarctica - the one continent this project had not yet visited. And I also wanted to have a story about Tatterhood, an ‘undesirable’ child turned hero. Eventually, I resolved myself to write it. I do not think it is the best representation of Yamana culture, and it is once again an European tale adaption, but I had fun making it. No excuses.

The Yamana people live on very windy and cold islands, but due to their use of animal fats as skin insulation, strategic sleeping arrangements, and placements of their homes in the lee of the wind, they did not have to wear many clothes. During the worst of the winter, or on especially windy days where they were required to be out, they wore capes, but that was largely it. European colonization took away this practice, nearly extinguishing their culture and language over the centuries, but the Yamana are back on the rise! Many kindergartens in the area are fostering new native speakers, and many are becoming scholars and preservers of the culture. I wish them well.

As for my story, I wanted the mistreatment and betrayal of Gii’s mother by both her husband and her sister-in-law to be clear and relevant. It takes cowardice to steal another’s chances, and to mistreat another human. The husband is like many other fairy tale fathers, and does not consider that he is the cause for childlessness - I had fun killing him. But I also wanted to acknowledge that many women betray other women, and so the sister-in-law stole the ‘right’ pearl. However, I also make it clear that while the events surrounding her conception and birth were troublesome, Gii was a gift all the same. She is her mother’s Gii’, and unlike the traditional Tatterhood, she is treasured and does not have to transform to be loved at the end.

I probably made Gii too-overpowered when talking about her swimming and food gathering skills, but I had fun making a person with diastrophic dysplasia a protagonist - I have wished to do so ever since reading the novel ‘Jepp, Who Defied the Stars’ by Katherine Marsh, featuring a dwarf man who struggles against fate, and drawing Snow White years ago.

The title picture was something I imagined years ago. As most of the Yamana were traditionally reliant on the sea for food and other necessities, I thought a conch was a fun idea. This one includes three languages, as all Yamana today speak Spanish, and because I still needed some English in there.

I drew these pictures after finishing the illustrations for Chantha Rasphone (hint hint wink wink for next month) so I knew to make a base picture on which I could reference Gii’s face. You can see it in the pictures on the next page. The Yamana wore facial makeup quite often, but the exact practices of markings have been lost to time. As such, I based her makeup off some pictures I found on the internet - they might not be super accurate but it's done now. Also I had to get really inventive with the cloaks and scenery to cover up Gii and Itas in the spots that are socially unacceptable to show in our culture. I personally would not be bothered, but as I post these stories to tumblr and show them to kids with parents of varying proprieties, I played it safe.

The second picture, of Gii and Aki, was the first I really drew outside of her title and the reference picture. I think she ended up looking a little same-facey with my other drawings - I may redraw her one day. Her proportions for dwarfism are off - I probably should have drawn her shorter and with shorter limbs. However, she does clearly look different from her cousin. I nearly forgot her clubfoot, but I did catch that in time. Her dog is based on an actual Fuegian dog - the Yamana actually domesticated a whole other type of canid, a jackal, to make their dogs. It is so cool! We made dogs twice! Unfortunately, they were hunted to extinction by colonizers, but they existed.

The third picture was drawn next. I had trouble conceptualizing the angle of the boat and the knot, as well as the fire pit - it is almost certainly inaccurate. However, I am satisfied with how both Gii and Itas appear. His makeup is definitely more accurate - I saw several different men with those stripes across his eyes.

The fourth illustration I drew last - my interest was waning. It was originally supposed to be the coolest picture, but I really like how the next one turned out. Yes. Ita’s facial burn looks similar to that of Zuko from Avatar: The Last Airbender. I wanted to show a pretty boy who stays desirable after a scar. In real life, scars are neutral, but in fiction and thus some people’s minds, they signify evil. Instead, its just the result of an innocent accident. Also, I wanted to pay homage to the fact that in the original story, Tatterhood’s sister (Itas’s equivalent) gets her head chopped off and her body stolen.

My last picture is definitely my favorite. I took a bunch of pictures during the process of drawing it because I think I really got the body and angles right. Sadly, I ended up deleting her love handle - I could not get the angle right. Still, I love this one. The fish are Antarctican toothfish.

Anyways, I hope you enjoyed Tatterhood!

[myriamas]

who: @devanitoland when and where: during the lann's day festival, the newly-wedded and pregnant myriam allyrion finally seeks out an interaction with the infamous devani toland.

it were impossible to not have heard of the name devani toland in recent months: her return shortly followed by the reveal of lord dante uller as being the one responsible for the death of her former husband, lord mors martell, seemed to mean that the lines blurred and responsibility was placed on the other. she did not know devani toland enough to dislike her, and whilst myriam's temper was known throughout dorne, she was also not one to look down upon another woman of dorne lest she make her own judgement of her.

the recent months had been blurry, as had devani in the faces of sunspear's courtiers - incident after incident seemed to occur, and she continued to feel a sense of burning pride in the face of jaehaerys targaryen's actions.

the last the rest of westeros had seen her, she had been the princess regent of dorne; standing before the dragon king, and their altercation had resulted in a greater conflict between dorne and the era of new valyria. she was a widow, a mother of a three year old princess with a new political landscape to learn - that had been what her life had been shaped for her as. myriam had all but set fire to the path that had been paved for her; not again, she remembered telling herself.

now, the continent saw myriam once again; newly wedded to the sword of the morning, and judging by the light swell of her stomach, reinforcing a permanent link between house martell and house dayne by making their heirs half siblings. she had tossed aside the expectations that a rouyal widow was not to remarry, and instead she were here; adorned in dornish outfits and gold in the conservative land of the west, her thick hair straight on either side of her.

she saw devani toland speaking to some westerman as she walked by her, and decided now would be the time she would finally meet with the woman of house toland. as she walked by her, they briefly made eye contact; and the princess mother pulled a slightly taunting face and lowered her thumbs in the direction of the man behind his back. she continued to walk, a hand resting proudly upon the curve of her bump; knowing all seemed to wonder how it was she was married and pregnant again.

[ravendruid]

Food, Friendship and Comfort

This fic is part of the @critter-genfic-events Bingo to fulfill the Comfort and Cooking slots. [Check my bingo card and other works here.] Set post-Campaign 2 and Mighty Nein Reunited. Read on AO3

Beauregard Lionett’s days as a Cobalt Soul Expositor are either dreary and dull with endless paperwork or exhausting with back-and-forth trips to Rexxentrum to track the Cerberus Assembly. Today is one of the latter days where she trades a warm, sunny Zadash for a gloomy and cold Rexxentrum. 

Beauregard scheduled to meet her friend Caleb for breakfast this morning, so as soon as she steps out of the teleportation circle connecting the Rexxentrum and Zadash archives, she speeds past the guardians and archivists without a word and exits the dimly lit library onto the bustling street of the capital of the Dwendalian Empire. The feeling is immediate as the cold hits her uncovered skin and makes her curse between her teeth. Beau doesn’t have time to linger, so she follows the familiar cobblestone streets, ignoring the people rushing to and from work, the colorful buildings, and the heavy presence of crown guards in the more seedy areas.

The cottage that appears when Beauregard turns on another crossroad is a sight that makes the corners of her lips curl and her skin tingle in anticipation of warmth. She should have known better by now and brought a warm jacket along. The two small planter boxes out front are still full of tall, green plants, possibly kept alive in the cold by some arcane means from the owner of the cottage, and as Beau approaches, she notices that it either has recently been harvested or is yet to produce green beans. 

Beau knocks at the rustic door, and where the motion would usually be followed by the sound of a chair scraping the wooden floor, it is now followed by silence. Weird. Caleb knew she was coming. Even if he is still in his arcane tower, he would have certainly set up alarms that would have triggered by now. Beau knocks again, louder this time, but still, no answer comes from the other side. She tries to peek in the side window through the small gap in the curtain but can’t see anything out of the ordinary. The house is intact, with no signs of a struggle (or worse, an attack). Beauregard doesn’t want to expend the single use of her sending stone yet, lest it be needed later. However, the cold is bothering her right now, so she does what any good friend would do if they suspected their friend might be up to something or in a difficult situation: she picks Caleb’s lock. What are the chances that he has arcane wards against thieves? Highly, Beau tells herself as the lockpick clicks. Too late now. However, the door opens with a creak, but nothing explodes in her face. Beau sighs in relief as she steps into the musty interior and relocks the door behind her.

“Caleb?” She calls out to the empty house. It’s cold inside. The hearth is full of ash, and there is a layer of dust on every surface as if someone hasn’t cleaned in weeks. Beau inspects every room, each darker and emptier than the one before until she finally reaches the back room where she knows Caleb often tutors children who didn’t get accepted to the academy. This room, too, is empty and dark. Dust covers the desks and chairs, a few pieces of old parchment are spread out, and empty and dry bottles of ink sit forgotten. At first glance, this would be an average room. Messy, yes, but ordinary. But Beauregard knows better. She knows what to look for and finds it in a corner, slightly obscured by a tall bookshelf, a shimmering door that leads into Caleb’s tower. 

Beau is welcomed by a lit fireplace in the study, a spectral Bengal cat rubbing at her legs, and a mess of Caleb lying on the soft, plush couch by the fire, reading a book about Dunemancy. He is alive but looks almost as bad as he did when they first met. Caleb’s shiny red hair is full of knots, although still in a ponytail, his beard is shaggy and unkempt, his clothes are wrinkly, and there are a few coffee stains on his shirt. Caleb is indeed a mess, which can only mean one thing.

“How long?” Beauregard asks in a harsh tone that means she will take no bullshit. Caleb lifts an eye from his book, finally acknowledging his friend’s presence, but he doesn’t reply. “Caleb, how long has it been?” Beau presses on. She strides confidently to where the man lies on the couch and effortlessly removes the book from his hold, closing it with a thud. Caleb stares at her for a moment, then finally greets her with the hoarse voice of someone who hasn’t spoken in days, “Hello to you too, Beauregard.”

Beau does quick math in her head. It hasn’t been that long since they last saw each other, perhaps two months, not even that long. She remembers Caleb saying then that he was waiting for a visit from Essek, but those were usually short and never resulted in a depressive mood like this. Something must have happened during their Xorhasian friend’s stay, and if the empty look in Caleb’s eyes is any indication of it, then Beau is determined to help and comfort him in any way she can.

“Clean up before I message Jester to tell her you smell and look like a hobo again. Just when she was starting to let it go away…” Beau threatens, scrunching her nose at him. Caleb nods and rises from his nest of pillows and blankets with the groan of someone whose joints are stiff from being in the same position for a long time. Beau shakes her head in displeasure and stares at the back of the man’s head as he lifts through the arcane elevator and disappears above the central iris.

Caleb meets Beauregard an hour later, freshly clean and bear-trimmed, in the dining room, where they plan their day over eggs, pancakes, and pocket bacon. Caleb doesn’t mention Essek, and Beau doesn’t ask questions about the state she found her Empire friend, so the only names said aloud are those of the Cerberus Assembly, particularly Ludinus Da’leth, who is up to no good. Caleb shares with Beau the detailed information he gathered since their last time together, information that cannot fit the 25 words of the sending spell they use for their daily reports. Beau is glad he took the official position at the Soltryce Academy, not for his proximity to the Assembly members, but for how much happier Caleb has been since he was allowed to teach and shape young minds.

When they separate hours later at the gates that lead up to the school, Caleb’s shoulders are lighter, and his smile brighter. Beau knows whatever happened is still lurking in the shadows, but she won’t pull unless he wants to push. So, before she turns her back to him and returns to the archives to fill out report after report, Beau throws her friend an invitation, “Why don’t you stop by later to have dinner with Yasha and me? She would love to see you.” 

“I’ll think about it,” Caleb says, but from the look in his eyes, Beau knows he will knock at her door with a bottle of wine and apple tarts. So be it. She waves him goodbye and leaves.

—   

Caleb is happy to find that Zadash isn’t as cold tonight as Rexxentrum. The smaller city’s lights are already sparkling against the dusky sky, and the aromas of food and burning wood fill the residential area around him. He knows he could have teleported directly to Beauregard and Yasha’s house, but he would hate to intrude on them, so Caleb teleported into a narrow alleyway not far from the center of town and strolled to their friends’ abode. The house is just as he remembers it. Not large, but cozy. The garden that Caduceus has been teaching Yasha how to care for is dormant as the first signs of winter approach, but the ivy growing up the front of the house is still there, larger and taller than the last time Caleb saw it. He stops at the iron gate, peering through the open curtains to see Yasha stirring a pot on the stove. He knows she has been learning how to cook from a neighbor, not always successful, according to Beau’s reviews in the few words they share about their day. Meanwhile, the tall Aasimar’s wife is just finishing setting the table for three people. How Beau knew Caleb would show up, he doesn’t know. Maybe she hoped? Perhaps she just… knew. Either way, Caleb is here now, crossing the iron gate, walking down the pebbled path towards the ivy-framed door, and knocking twice.

Beauregard opens the door with a smirk. She is wearing different clothes than Caleb saw her wear in the morning—more casual, comfortable clothes—her hair is still up in her signature bun, and she is still wearing some of her golden jewelry. The woman in front of him is not an Expositor of the Cobalt Soul anymore, but his friend from adventures that have been almost forgotten in time.

“Hello, Beauregard,” Caleb greets her sheepishly. Beau’s smirk gives room to a bright grin as she greets him back and steps away to let him in the house.

It’s a cozy, lived-in house (although a bit too messy for Caleb’s tastes) that smells of stew and sweets, where a small fireplace crackles in front of a comfy couch and a shaggy rug. The walls are adorned with art, paintings done by their tiefling friend of the Mighty Nein and their allies. Caleb’s favorite piece is definitely the large painting above the mantelpiece of their group of misfits, one that includes Mollymauk at one end, Kingsley at the other, and Essek smiling next to Caleb. Caleb has the same painting in his office in his small cottage (Jester painted one for everyone so they wouldn’t forget about them. So they could look upon it and smile, remember the memories of what they have been through, and soothe the sorrow of missing their friends).

“I’m glad you could join us, Caleb,” Yasha greets him, bending to give the man a bear hug. Beauregard must have told her wife the situation she found him in that morning because he sees compassion and comfort in Yasha’s eyes. Caleb merely nods and drapes his coat over the back of the couch. He produces a bottle of wine and a plate of apple tarts—not homemade today, though—that he kept in his private pocket dimension and hands it to Beau, who tuts at the wine label reprovingly but promptly uncorks it nonetheless. 

Dinner doesn’t take long to be served, and it’s not half-bad (a vegetable stew with harvests from Beau and Yasha’s garden with a side of rustic bread also made by the latter). The conversation flows nicely between the three, sometimes pausing to sip on wine or to change the subject. Caleb listens attentively to Yasha’s tales about their neighbor, Martina, who has been teaching her new recipes to use their produce (she was, apparently, the one who taught Yasha the stew recipe they are eating). The conversation changes again to Beau and Caleb’s work tracking the Assembly, and the three discuss and share theories about Ludinus’s plans. Through it all, no one mentions the name of their drow friend, the war criminal who has been running from both the Empire and the Dynasty, which makes Caleb relax. 

Essek doesn’t get the opportunity to visit often, and when he does, it’s in disguise, so Caleb has learned to cherish those fleeting moments. However, things seemed to have calmed down for a while, and Essek’s stay was extended to over a fortnight before chatter began, and the man departed again under the light of the moon. He hasn’t heard from his Xorhasian friend in weeks, which is not uncommon, but this separation has taken a harder hit on him. Beau clearly saw it that morning. She guessed from the state she found Caleb’s house in but didn’t ask, and neither did Yasha. Caleb knows the women will wait until he’s ready to share, and he’s thankful for that. He makes sure to give them a smile to convey his gratitude, and, in response, he is offered a place to stay overnight so he doesn’t have to return to his empty house and empty cold bed. Here, surrounded by two of his dearest friends, chatting happily about vegetables, fertilizer, and power-hungry mages, Caleb is still far from healed but on the mend, and the dark loneliness in his starts to vanish.

[merryfortune]

Last Winter, I Gave You My Heart

Written for 12 Days of Yuri-mas

Dec 27th: Lyric from a Christmas Song

Title: Last Winter, I Gave You My Heart

Ship: Dorothea/Manuela

Fandom: Fire Emblem Three Houses

Rating: T

Word Count: 1,470

Warnings: Choose Not to Warn

Tags: Age Difference, Love Confessions, Getting Together, Angst with a Happy Ending

   The love confession that Dorothea had professed was not her finest hour.

   Not for lack of effort, rehearsal, or eloquence, however. Her audience simply did not feel the same. There was nothing Dorothea could do about it. If Manuela was unreceptive to her words, of course they would fall on deaf ears.

   Dorothea could understand. Manuela's exchange after such a performance was logical. Rational. Cold…

   It was just when Dorothea looked deep inside of herself, she yearned for the warmth of love. Material, ephemeral things like youth, beauty, and wealth paled for Dorothea against the measure of a love that could transcend time and give her something more substantial than gold could.

   Manuela disagreed. That was talk for the old, the decrepit and ill. That Dorothea was still young, that she should continue to strive forward for a more glorious future that sets her up for life rather than have her settle for less, in the snow and in the melt of it. 

   With that, Dorothea knew when to bite her tongue even if it broke her heart. 

   Afterwards, that was the last time that Dorothea saw Manuela. Or anyone, really. The world was big, so were the cities, and so was life in general. It just happened and Dorothea tried to forget it but she couldn’t.

   Everything about that moment, when she had poured her heart out to Manuela, it was all for naught yet Dorothea could relive that memory vividly inside of her head. From the way the cold wind kissed her face and turned her cheeks ruddy, to the way the stars had twinkled overhead in a frigid, indigo night. The carols that they had sung together, the taste of the eggnog which lingered and chocolate eaten with naughty gusto.

   It had been perfect and within that perfection, Dorothea found the courage to expound her feelings towards Manuela.

   She wasn’t a little girl anymore - nor was she a student, either. It was a rare high amid the war that was brewing, Edelgard’s uprising and the chaos that ensued. Truly a mid-winter miracle to be able to find joy in between such fractured and fraught circumstances.

   So, Dorothea confessed.

   Manuela had listened.

   And turned her down.

   Manuela’s expression had been so bittersweet. She did not cry, nor mourn, lest it became an icicle upon her cheek in the middle of the freezing cold night but her lips… They quirked uncomfortably. Her voice, it strained and there was little Dorothea could do to change Manuela’s mind.

   “You deserve better than me, sweetheart.”

   Manuela simply could not see what Dorothea saw in her. Rose-coloured glasses and all that, even if roses could not survive the winter but Dorothea was certain she knew exactly what she saw in Manuela was true and clear. She saw a vivacious performer who commanded the stage, a wizened instructor with a quick wit. There was nothing that Dorothea could not admire about Manuela.

   And she tried.

   Dorothea legitimately tried. She saw the cracks, the flaws. Too much drink, too short of a temper. Things like that. She tried to hold onto those like holding onto broken glass but not once did she cut herself.

   Not once did she find a distraction from the pain of rejection.

   And she tried.

   A year had passed after all. A lot could happen in a year and even more did happen. Dorothea met many people, some within an interest in her and some without. She got to know them, professionally or platonically, had a couple flings but nothing truly caught her attention. Hooked her like a song and turned into an unravelling inspiration like Manuela had.

   Towards the conclusion of the Red Wolf Moon, Dorothea was approached by an organiser of the winter festival that took place towards the end of the Ethereal Moon. He wanted to know if she would join the carolling, dress up and generally entertain the children of Enbarr.

   How could Dorothea possibly say no? She was the last to be a stooge given her charming nature. Even if she was immediately reminded of her now soured experience from last year but no matter. Replacing the old with the new would do her a little good. That was the lesson she was meant to have been taught by the experience of rejection.

   Not to mope around and hold onto it for no good reason.

   Thus with a gracious smile for the opportunity, Dorothea accepted and began to put together an outfit. She practiced the songs she would like to sing on her own time and generally looked forward to hopefully having a better year. She might finally be able to shift off the frigidity with another year behind her with something brighter to look forward to.

   Yet, it was just Dorothea’s luck, that the first person that she would happen upon at the agreed time and place per the organiser’s instructions was… none other than Manuela Casagrande.

   To be fair, Manuela was just as deer before a hunter’s bow as Dorothea was as their eyes met across the road. Widening, fearing the worse, as they mutually came closer despite all instinct screaming otherwise and to flee. They couldn’t help themselves. They were the only ones here, dressed to the nines in jolly reds and greens. Not even the organiser nor any of his staff were here yet.

   To the side of the plaza in the middle of Enbarr, with that fateful fountain frosted with snow and frozen over on the inside. It had snowed heavily throughout the day and even the night before. The evidence of it blanketed the city streets, the snow sullied with people walking to and fro so it was neither pristine nor romantic as tensions flared.

   Dorothea felt her stomach knot and her palms sweat despite the cold. There was a gentle breeze and not a nary cloud in the sky. Already, the night had taken hold of the sky, turning it a deeper blue with twinkling, silver stars. It was quiet but not sleepy, like a breath before an operatic tune expelled instead. Twenty minutes or less, Dorothea would bet, there would be more people and more of a jovial atmosphere but for now.

   It was just her and Manuela and all the baggage that entailed.

   “Dorothea…” Manuela breathed, in disbelief, taking the initiative to break the ice.

   “Manuela.” Dorothea greeted her curtly.

   “Hello to you too.” Manuela replied with a flinch. She should have expected that, or at least that’s what Dorothea was thinking through a barely withheld glare.

   The tension between them was thick. It was exactly one year since they had last seen each other and once again, it was the same circumstance but now, shattered. How could they have fun, go their separate ways, knowing the other was here and her voice was reverberating through the cold snow, illuminated by candles and the cheer of children expecting a gift tomorrow morning. They were here to share joy and jubilance but now…

   It faded upon their gaze being met.

   “How have you been, dear?” Manuela asked. 

   Dorothea scowled. A scolding went unspoken as she kept her lips pursed together.

   “You’ve grown so much since I’ve last seen you.” Manuela gently corrected.

   “You are as radiant as ever.” Dorothea returned the compliment but it was cutting.

   Manuela flinched, “I’m sorry.”

   “Don’t be.” Dorothea said. “I’m behaving like a child. I know I am.”

   “No, I mean it. I’m sorry.” Manuela tried again.

   The wind blew softly, spritzing them with stray snowflakes. Dorothea tucked a curl of her hair behind her ear, displaced by the breeze and she bundled up with a hug in front of her, putting her guard up. Still, she was available to listen.

   “It’s ridiculous, I know but… there is something about the absence which makes the heart grow fonder. I’m sure you are aware.” Manuela said.

   “I am.” Dorothea replied. She fidgeted, kicking her boot through the snow beneath the pavers of the Enbarr street. It skidded and crunched.

   “I am, too… Now.” Manuela continued. “Because of you.”

   Dorothea blinked. Her blood ran cold.

   “I’m sorry.” Manuela tried again for the third time. “Last winter, you gave me your heart and I… discarded it. This time, may I… can I give you my heart? Though I would understand if-”

   Dorothea lunged forward. Her hair flailed majestically, she reached out. She touched Manuela’s face, red with the cold rather than wine, and then she kissed Manuela before she could even finish her sentence.

   She couldn’t help herself.

   She had held on for so long, the ice and the roses, for a reason. This was it. This had to be it.

   Dorothea kissed her passionately, “Please.” she breathed. “I would cherish it, your heart.”

   “I’m glad.” Manuela replied as she kissed back, warmed by Dorothea’s love.

[the-genius-az]

Back at it again with the Ludwig XIV- I mean Azula absolutist fic

====

The thick robes of the Firelord flew behind her as she marched down the cold halls of the Palace. Maids scattered and hurried out of Azula's way as quickly as they heard her heavy footsteps approach. On a good day, the Firelord might only lightly punish them for taking up space she so rightfully owned. And on a bad one...the public would get another execution to watch.

Azula stomped into Katara's bedroom with a loud call of the waterbenders name.

There was no answer, yet Azula could feel the irritated energy of her soon-to-be radiating from the windows.

Stepping onto the golden-railed balcony, Azula took a look around. And sure enough, Katara was leaning against the shimmering railing on the far edge of the tiled balcony, her face stubbornly facing away from Azula. Katara didn't even acknowledge her Lord. Azula bit back a scowl that threatened to crease her features before she stepped closer.

"Katara."

No answer. Not even an annoyed huff.

Azula glared as she stood next to her. Katara refused to cooperate even further. She was dead set on staring at the horizon of the city. Azula's eyes narrowed, the snarl finally engulfing her face as she loomed over the waterbender.

She was The Firelord. The most powerful being on the archipelago and even beyond the bounds of the borders. She, Azula, should be bowed down to, not ignored, and dismissed without a second glance. Her anger bubbled and burned her insides while she stared at Katara.

How dare she... Does she not care that Azula is Agni personified?! That Azula the Sun itself? Her inner flame raged as Azula grabbed Katara's face in her own crushing grip. Ice cold blue eyes met white-hot mad amber ones, each fighting for dominance over the other.

"I will not have this disobedience present in my Palace! You answer when you're called to. You are at my beck and call, and you will obey."

Azula stepped right infront of Katara, blocking any escape. Her anger heated the air around them, turning the warm evening into a blistering sauna.

"Or have you forgotten what happends when you refuse?"

Azula hissed out, her other hand gripping Katara's still healing wrist. The waterbender had snuck out of the Palace a while ago, determined to escape the power-hungry Azula. But she underestimated Azula's devotion and need for control.

A fully fledged search was carried out for weeks with Azula refusing even a minute of rest for her search parties. In that time, everyone suffered from Azula's nerves snapping, having a chance to get close and personal with her scorching fire. The Palace reeked of charred and burnt flesh for days after.

Katara was found in a insignificant coastal village trying to board a boat to the Fire colonies in an attempt to escape Azula. Safe to say, she failed and got immidiately taken back to the Palace.

After she was returned to her rightful place, she got branded by Azula's iron grip as soon as the Firelord had her back in her grasp. She now sported two big burns in the shape of a handprints on her wrists and sores down her entire body from Azula's harsh bedroom treatment.

"...what do you want? Here to give me more useless junk?"

"No."

Katara raised an eyebrow, clearly taken off guard at Azula's words. But...Azula only really interacted with her while trying to win her over with overly expensive gifts and to spend the night in her bed. What could she mean? The piercing glare of the Firelord's golden eyes sent a chill down Katara's spine. Whatever it was, Azula meant it seriously.

"I came here to put you under strict house arrest. You are not to step a foot outside your room, you are forbidden from talking to any of these peasants-"

Azula gestured out towards the maids scurrying around the Royal grounds, doing their chores as fast as they could lest they be met with the wrath of the Lord they served.

"-and you are to have constant supervision."

Kataras brows furrowed once the words settled in. Having guards follow her around the Royal Gardens was humiliating and annoying enough...and now they will guard every entrance her room...the complete loss of freedom that Katara so loved made her eyes widen in bewilderment as Azula's words sunk in fully.

"W-what...?"

Azula could practicaly smell Katara's turmoil. Oh, how she loved having this affect on people. The level of uneasiness and fragile calmness surrounding Azula's aura was strong. Strong enough to set off even the most cruel and stoic of politicians and ministers and convert them into sweating, stuttering messes.

The Firelord's perfectly manicured finger came to tip Katara's head backwards, the nail digging into the soft skin of her neck.

"I will know everything you do. Every move you make. Ever word you mutter. If you wish to help those low-lives, why don't you live like them as well?"

A dark, sadistic smile stretched across the previously harsh Lord's features, her sharp teeth glistened in the evening sun and making her appear all that more malevolent. Katara knew better than to speak again while Azula's hands were anywhere close to her neck. So she held her tonge.

Clearly taking Katara's silence as a win, Azula leaned closer to her ear, her crushing grip loosening around Katara's face. The Firelord leaned closer, her warm breath brushing the shell of Katara's ear. It felt less like a normal exhale and more like a warning from a dragon right before it spewed fire.

"I would think twice before refusing me again..."

Azula whispered in Katara's ear, her hand placed heavily on the others shoulder. There was no space left for arguing. With one last warning glare, Katara was standing alone on the balcony, left to listen to the lock on her door scratch and creak closed.

=====

Kinda hate how it turned out, but whatever

-Squid

Bro, I think you accidentally posted your fic here!

I love it, although it bothers me that Azula abuses her girlfriends, she wouldn't do it! She is so devoted that she would die before hurting them. 😭