#those chapters round out to 20K words half the time

[xo2dee]

thinking about posting my oneshots on here,,, idk what do yall think

[faerievampling]

Killing Time

Chapter 4: The Hunt

Chapter 1. Chapter 2. Chapter 3. Chapter 5. Chapter 6.

Pairing: Soft Ascended Astarion x Spawn Female Tav

Word Count: 4.8k

Link to Ao3!

Warning: 18+. Explicit. Vaginal Fingering. PiV. Dom Astarion. Violence. Blood. blood drinking. Possessive behavior.

A/N: Posting early. can't believe this story is already at nearly 20k words. I hope you all enjoy. <3

Screenshot by: @cheekylittlepupp <3 <3

If you weren’t a vampire, you knew you would have been sore as all hells when you woke up. But lucky for you, the only thing that was aching was your fangs and your swollen, slick cunt.

Your night with Astarion was so sweet, tender, but now you were both craving each other. Your stomach growls as you nestle further into Astarion’s arms. 

“Are you ready for what the day will bring?” Astarion reaches out, gentle as ever. You knew he had bad news for you, so he would treat you tenderly. 

You sigh. “Just tell me what you’ve decided on.” Your voice is but a whisper because of your still sleeping servant, Cynthia. Your internal vampire clock tells you it’s rather early in the morning, just before the rest of the crèche will awaken. 

Astarion turns on his side, pushing his hardening cock against your abdomen, rutting into you ever so lightly. He just wanted you to know he’s interested, is all.

“We must keep the feedings to twice a day. You will eat human food between those feedings.”

You move to meet his gaze; his face is still, but his eyes are round, open, and you sense his uncertainty. You place a hand to his chest, eyes widening to a girlish stare you knew he loved.

“Don’t look at me like that,” Astarion quips at you, but his tone is hushed, tender, loving, and you know he very much does like when you beg. “I’m serious, Tav.”

You bat your eyelashes. “Then don’t be serious. Tell me you're joking.”

“Be my sweet girl and don’t fight me on this, love.” Astarion pleads before pressing his lips to yours. 

When he deepens the kiss, you catch his lip with your fang, lapping at the crimson that flowers from the wound before healing. Astarion grabs your jaw, his grasp firm, your cheeks between his fingers and thumb.

Behind his ruby eyes is a burning furnace of passion for you. His consort. His wife. His eternal lover.

His movements are quick, his fangs gently sinking into the taunt flesh of your neck. His cock is begging to be freed, but Astarion can only rub it against you as he drinks you in.

He’s only sipping on you, just wanting a taste of what is his.

When he pulls away, his eyes are wild, and he swiftly re-adjusts to nestle you to his own neck, where you waste no time sinking your fangs into him.

You bite down rather hard, causing Astarion to gasp, which only excites you further. Your hand has mindlessly found its way to his cock, and you’re stroking it through his clothing as you drink him in. 

With one hand settled into the root of your hair, Astarion grips the curve of your hip, nails digging into your skin. 

“Be quiet.” His voice rings out so fast in your mind that you barely register it before you feel Astarion’s hand between your thighs.

Instinctively, you lift one leg, draping it over Astarion’s hip as his fingers move past the waistband of your panties, stuffing a finger inside you effortlessly. Your hand flies to cup his jaw, your senses on fire.

He inserts another finger into you on his next stroke, and your body is already vibrating at the sensation. Astarion already knows where he wants to be and reaches into your depths, behind your throbbing clitorus, to that sweet tender spot inside you.

You mewl a bit before Astarion hushes you. When his thumb begins to circle your swollen nub, he has you creaming around him almost instantaneously, and you feel absolutely fucking incredible between your orgasm and his blood.

As you’re seeing stars, clenching around Astarion’s handsome, dexterous fingers, his half of your shared connection envelopes you: he’s savoring your orgasm, riding along the folds of your mind as you feed and come. Sharing in your exhilaration only makes him adore you more. 

“Oh, my darling…” Astarion presses his cheek into you, his hands continuing to explore your body as you gently hum against him, careful not to tear his skin with your fangs. 

When you finally unlatch, you both begin to sense the stirring of the crèche.

Astarion’s imagination is going wild at all the ways he wants to fuck you. His cock still rocking against you, desperate for release. 

“Don’t worry about me, my love. We will find time for you to fully satiate me soon. You can count on it. I’ll be buried in your cunt soon enough.” Astarion is teasing, still touching your sensitive folds as you try to squirm away from him, the overstimulation of your clit being too much. 

You certainly felt better after your orgasm and feeding, but you’re still upset at the sudden reality of the prospect that you wouldn’t be able to feed whenever you wanted or sip on blood and wine all day.

You knew this would happen, of course, when you accepted Lae’zel’s quest.

But still, actually living it was different than knowing it was going to happen. There has been no real way to prepare yourself, so you do your best to gather your thoughts and stay focused. 

Cynthia wakes as you are helping Astarion with his complicated camp gear, which he insisted on wearing. He looked absolutely stunning in his black, fitted ensemble that boasts his gorgeous, muscular arms.

You went for something more simple, but more modest than the strappy camp clothes you arrived in.

If the gith warriors were to act like that around people of different races, then you felt it was up to you to change their perspective. But you wouldn’t let them gawk any longer. No, you would dominate and evolve their perspective of your race and vampires like yourself with your raw power, talent, and dark beauty. 

And, you say to yourself, wanting to continue this little pep talk, I will dominate my bloodlusts. 

“You look lovely, my lady,” Cynthia says to you genuinely, and you almost smile. 

“Thank you, sweet Cynthia,” She looks crestfallen at your reply, like a woman mad from her unrequited love. She dare not speak to Astarion directly, but you’re sure that she thinks him lovely as well.

You and Astarion walk to the War Room, down the twisting halls of the spire. Astarion takes your hand in his: he’s already thumbing a ring as you begin to share in the pit in his stomach. 

“Why are you nervous?”

“You shouldn’t worry about it.” Astarion would say no more, which you were ultimately fine with. He always told you about the important things.

The two of you make it on time, finding seats next to each other at the rounded table in the center of the room. You swear Astarion is puffing his chest out, his broad shoulders seemingly wider than usual.

Elan began the meeting, but you could hardly focus as Astarion’s hand was gripping yours. Elan speaks for a while before addressing the two of you. 

“Ancuíns, you will have the pleasure of meeting your warriors today…” Astarion’s pain begins to seep into you through your bond. Elan kept talking to the both of you, unaware of the inner turmoil. You’re now gripping Astarion’s hand back; he half-heartedly tries to tell you not to worry, but it’s hardly your fault.

“…the hunt. It is a tradition of this very crèche, and its boon will allow us to properly prepare for the beginning celebrations in the coming days.”

Astarion simply nods before the two of you meet each other's gaze simultaneously. The issues of the crèche fall away as the pain suddenly subsides.You see a flicker of wetness in Astarion’s eyes. Blinking it away before anyone else could notice, Astarion confirms what was just felt: “One of our spawn is dead.” 

The rendezvous went on for some time; Astarion kept his hand in yours, his fingers musing with your jewelry and your nails. 

“So refined. So beautiful.” Astarion is trying to decide what to do. He wasn’t scared, but a silent terror was building inside you. You tucked it away, imagining that’s what Astarion would do if he felt fear: you simply don’t. 

***

The gith warriors you were set to command stood before you: ten young women and men. All traditionally trained in the art of war.

“They are yours, Tav.”

You look to Lae’zel, and then to Astarion, who is standing before his own ten soldiers. Astarion considers them only for a moment before his mind shifts back to lewd thoughts of you: you, bent over just enough for him to see the sweet, pink folds of your inviting cunt and your tight ring of muscle. He loved the way your arousal smelled, and your scent in general, which was distinctly of him.

He was a part of your very essence, your very birth, and you knew your darling will always be part of you: he had connected the two of you in the most intimate way, and had never regretted it. You were his. Your future was his to decide, and there were only two rules that you were truly beholden to, with a few minor provisions, of course.

The words Astarion first heard so long ago ring out in your shared mind matter: thou shalt not leave my side, thou shalt know that thou art mine.

There was once a time where Astarion mocked Cazador for stealing Vellioth’s rules. 

“Tav, attention!” Lae’zel spats at you, breaking you out of your brief trance. You can tell a few of your warriors are trying not to smile. “They are expecting an introduction.”

Astarion is watching you, anticipating what you will say.

“I need not. They already know who I am.” You look away from Lae’zel, deciding to put on a cock show for your beloved. “Are there not statues of me throughout the realms? Famous poems, songs, smut?” You’re posing a bit, a seductive smile on your face as your vampiric charm graces the room: this was the easiest way to get them to obey. The more exposed to the charms the mortal is, the weaker they become. You and Astarion called this vampire insurance. 

Your warriors are young, already blushing from your charms.

“You are a natural, my love.”

“Tch. Insufferable.” Lae’zel leers, clearly well protected from your manipulations, prompting Astarion to commend her for trying to protect herself. He always found a way, if compulsion was required. “You agree to come here, to help me, and yet you refuse to take this seriously.” 

“It’s ten warriors, Lae’zel. My darling can manage just fine.” Astarion said confidently, because he knew you were more likely to eat them alive than anything else. 

“Just say something, Tav.” Lae’zel is practically begging you now. “Go on.”

“Alright,” You say with a sigh. You’re silent for a while. “I was never good at doing this formally. Uh, at ease, please.” You smile awkwardly at your little rhyme, but it doesn’t translate well on your terrifying face. 

You poke into the mind of the young lady standing in front of you. She’s scared of you, more so than she is of Vlaakith’s army. 

You take a deep breath, moving your fingers and toes as you try to animate yourself. “I’m sorry if I frighten you.” You weren’t all that sorry, because you liked it. But if Lae’zel wanted you to take this seriously, then you needed to level with them, to know them and be a team. 

You realize that has never really left you: that natural leader within. 

“You can call me Tav. Lae’zel will insist on Sarth Ancunín, which sounds awful to me. My husband,” You look over to your gorgeous darling standing next to you, a smile on his pretty face as he gives you his undivided attention, which you loved. “Will likely insist on calling me Lady Ancunín, at the very least. But I insist you call me Tav.”

The warriors visibly relax, but you still sense their lingering fear. 

You breathe again, and also remember to blink. “We are to participate in the hunt today. I, uh, welcome any comments or questions you may have.”

“Tav,” A boy speaks from the back, behind the still trembling young lady at the front. “I am Zii’ro. They say you are thousands of years old.”

“Yes. I am.” 

Zii’ro stifles a smile. You can sense he has questions, which you aren’t opposed to answering, but the look he was getting from Lae’zel ensured he kept his mouth shut. 

They look so young.

“They don’t appear any older than you, my love,” Astarion muses, the thought bringing you a fair amount of pleasure. Who wouldn’t want to be young and beautiful forever?

Astarion is so glad you agree. 

“Ah. No wonder so many of the gith think that I’m just your young little plaything instead of your wife.” You respond to your husband; Astarion looked nearly fifteen, maybe twenty, years your senior, a fact he did not like upon first realizing. 

You had forgotten just how young you were when he turned you. 

“It wasn’t long after your coming of age year, my love.” Astarion spoke, answering the question that was on everyone’s mind. 

Lae’zel snorts. “Practically an eternal teenager.” 

“We’re all adults here, Lae’zel. Including these little warriors,” Astarion sweeps his eyes over the twenty gith standing before you. “Don’t be fooled by her appearance. My darling is an ancient vampire. The two hundred years between us hardly mean a thing, anymore.” Astarion has a big, menacing smile on his face. 

“Nothing could ever stand against us, Tav.”

It wasn’t until Lae’zel told you that the two of you would be separated when you started to feel a silent panic. Lae’zel wanted you to leave his side, to command your soldiers alone, to see your capabilities in the field. 

Astarion immediately begins to protest. He quickly becomes angry with Lae’zel for even suggesting that he’d ever leave his consort alone on a strange continent with even stranger people. 

“This is out of the question!” Astarion sneered. “You’ve not known me recently, Lae’zel, but do you really think I would be okay with this? Abandoning my wife?”

“It would hardly be abandonment, Astarion. The man I once knew was one who would’ve let Tav choose for herself.” Lae’zel crossed her arms, her gait wide, relaxed. She wasn’t afraid of Astarion: not in her domain, anyways. 

Astarion really doesn’t like this. His eyes narrow, his stare intense as he tries to unnerve the gith woman.

But Lae’zel is looking to you. As they’ve been arguing, you’ve been squaring yourself with having to actually leave Astaron’s side. You’re scared, but you remember why you’re here. 

Fear never stopped me before, you think to yourself before directing your thoughts to your pale lover. “Is this not the very reason why we have our connection, Astarion?”

The two of you have now blocked out all others: any notion of the outside world has been lost to you. Locked in an intense stare, you can only wonder what the two of you looked like to mortals. 

You go back and forth. Someone gasps when the two of you show fang at one another.

“You’re my wife. You do as I say. I know you’re strong, darling, but we can't risk it. I won’t allow that much distance between us. We’ve never been so far apart.” Astarion’s excuses were endless. You never realized how quickly Astarion’s mind would jump to isolating you in the boudoir whenever there was a disagreement between the two of you.

You hadn’t ever argued this much before. 

You hiss, but Astarion has an intense look in his eyes, nearly making you cower. But you don’t back down. After what feels like a lifetime to the mortals, Astarion comes to a decision.

“You will take Ruth with you.” Astarion says, frustrated by his lack of control of the situation. He’s trying to brush it off, but it’s hard for him. Between this, and the death of the spawn that he was decidedly ignoring, Astarion was doing his best to keep it together. 

You tried to comfort him, to go to him and wrap your arms around him, but now was hardly the time. 

“Just come back in one piece.” Astarion’s voice is as intense as his stare.

***

The enchanted forest was ethereally dark, beautiful and scary; nonetheless, your warriors followed you into the thicket. It took you a while of hiking before you could see the crèche in its glorious entirety.

The Crystalline Spire was far more gorgeous than what you or Astarion could have imagined. Jutting from the ground, the crystal stood straight from the ground, the outside of its walls smooth and milky. It glittered and towered far beyond what even seemed natural, only adding to its ethereal nature. 

“It could almost hold a flame to you, my consort.” 

“It is breathtaking.” You say. 

“We take great pride in its beauty,” Zii’ro replied from behind you. When you turned around, your group was admiring you, admiring the spire. 

You could sense Astarion was already on the hunt: his senses greater than yours, he had a wider radius and quicker reflexes. But you aren’t so inferior to the Vampire Ascendant: you were a formidable vampire yourself.

Your senses perk up: you hear the rustling of the leaves, the faint beat of a heart, and you zip away faster than your warriors could keep up. Ruth stayed close, silently lingering behind you, eyes never leaving you.

“Hey!” You hear, already in the distance, one of them calling out to you. Shit. You had to go back. 

“We’re supposed to do this together,” Zii’ro explained. 

Chae shook her head. “We can’t even hear what she’s running for.”

“Oh,” You say, having to stew on this for a little. “Well, follow me then. I’ll go slow, so you can keep up.” 

They follow, and you take them running through the thicket. You can hear the rise of their heartbeats, unable to really become a plateau from a brisk jog; the forest was untamed, the ground having no clear path, and you were practically jumping.

You consider taking your bat form, but that would be against the spirit of the game. You think Astarion has done this, or something similar; because if this was a contest (you weren’t even sure, you hadn’t listened or asked, realizing maybe your lack of attention was becoming a problem) Astarion was going to win.

Maybe he’d let you win, if he was feeling generous. But you decide you’re determined to get something more out of this than a win. 

That light in you still remembers.

It wasn’t until you came upon your prey that your human mind, your conscious mind, was forgotten: gone is any pretense that you’re anything but a vampire. A monster. A natural hunter in the night.

One of your archers, Quinel, draws the first blood.

You feel yourself slip away, but it happens so quickly it makes you writhe with frustration. Your warriors engage with the monster: its large, snake-like body towered over you. You notice it has feathers, despite its reptilian appearance. 

You claw, you bite, thick hot blood dripping down your chin and neck, but the monster doesn’t go down. It bites at Chae, who drops her weapon with a yelp, crying as she realizes she’s stuck in its jaws. 

The fear on her face makes you want to devour her next, but something about her reminds you of an old friend, an old lover, Lae’zel, and it brings you back to reality just enough to grab onto the monster's jaws.

Each hand is jutting into the teeth of the monster, your blood flowing freely in its mouth, but you don’t care; you’ll heal almost instantaneously, anyways. 

The monster is strong but no match for your determined strength. After a moment of you using your might, the monster's jaw is wretched apart, cracking at the joints as the monster howls in pain. 

Zii’ro has plunged his sword into the mouth of the creature as Chae is pulled out of its jaws. One last yelp of life is screeched from its stinking maw before it hits the ground. 

You already hear another beast, and you’re back in the hunt, ready for more.

***

You couldn’t begin to tell Astarion and Lae’zel what the hell happened on your hunt. But you return to the spire drunk, drenched in animal blood, having gorged yourself on a variety of wildlife. The hot, sticky crimson wasn’t nearly as delicious as intelligent blood, but there was a lot of it, which you are a fan of. It drenched your leathers, your throat and jaw, even your hair.  

Astarion, standing at the entrance to the spire, looked immaculate as he narrowed his eyes at you. But you can only laugh at his handsome, pouty face.

Your warriors followed you, equally covered in blood and guts. They prattle and grunt behind you, Chae hobbling along despite her injuries. You were too incapacitated to focus on what they were thinking: but half of them looked rather amused, and the other half looked angry. 

You looked around yourself, realizing you didn’t even have a weapon on you. Shit. You must have abandoned it during your frenzy.

Astarion is immediately scanning your memories, your brain, having preoccupied himself during the hunt. Looking over to where his warriors are at, you realize they brought back several animals, and your team had none.

“You clearly enjoyed your hunt. Have you not brought back any game?” Lae’zel asks tentatively. You are hardly listening to her, because you’re focused on your ambivalent husband.

You could feel his upset. You tried to weave through it, but you are still caught up in your bloodlust. You giggle when he takes you by the arms and pulls you into him, studying your face as he closes in on you.

“Don’t be mad, my darling.”

“Don’t be mad,” You repeat aloud, giving him a little smile to try to butter him up.

It wasn’t until Lae’zel and the other soldiers were out of hearing distance that Astarion spoke.

“Well…you’ve ruined that darling outfit I bought you,” He says, his voice low.  

Astarion is deciding how to react to this: he doesn’t like it, but it doesn’t necessarily break any of his rules, and he thought you looked rather beautiful covered in blood. 

But he decidedly did not like you drinking animal blood. “Come, my wife. Let’s get you cleaned up.”

***

Astarion remembers you just a few days after the defeat of the Netherbrain: writhing beneath him, utterly breathless and beautiful, even dizzy, from all the orgasms he had given you. You had fought him, only a little, before submitting and allowing him to ravish you again.

He wanted you all to himself for a little bit, before all the work began: the two of you were going on day two of the indeterminate amount of time Astarion decided you would stay at the hotel in the Upper City. 

You were worried about him, which he thought was rather sweet. You were also a little afraid of him, which turned him on even more than he anticipated. 

The fucking was instinctual, animalistic. When Raphael had told him the ‘appetites of man’ would return to him, he couldn’t have ever imagined how desperate his cock would be for you.

With the tadpole gone, Astarion’s powers were growing dramatically. His body was changing, his strength increasing, his entire state of mind and being was changing.

He made you a part of him, now. You were his, he was yours, and he needn’t be ashamed of pleasuring himself and his darling. He could nestle himself in your body and mind, and know that it was just the two of you: him and the only person he ever loved. The thoughts of disgust and loathing were kept at bay, only when he was with you. Only you.

Astarion had you in a mating press, pushing your thighs back as far as they’d go. He had already come inside you once, and he watched as his thick white come billowed out of you. 

The sight was delicious.

“This is amazing,” Astarion had laughed, pushing his cock into you deeply, hips banging against pelvis. His tip kissed your cervix, which is exactly where he wanted to be: as deeply nestled within you as he possibly could. “It’s never felt this fucking good before!” 

You whined and mewled beneath him, begging him to both stop and continue your torturous pleasure. But if you didn’t know what you wanted, Astarion would decide for you. 

“Haha! I can’t believe this is all mine!” Astarion hadn’t been able to contain his excitement. When you flutter your sweet cunt around him, Astarion plants a confident kiss to your lips, bringing his hand down to idly play with your swollen nub. 

“The palace, the wealth, the power, even you. All mine.” 

Astarion tightens his grip on your neck as he bites down on your shoulder. He doesn’t ask, because he doesn’t need to, and he wants it to hurt.

When you yelp at the pain of his bite, before descending into moans, it makes his cock feel so filled with blood that he only wished he could devour you further; to make you his all over again. It had been the best fucking godsdamned feeling in the world, turning you into a vampire.

As he felt the mind numbing effects of his impending orgasm, his thrusts becoming uneven and sloppy, Astarion concluded that this was the best place to train you. You’d be an obedient little wife if he kept you fucked out and full of his cock; he just knew it. It was what was best for you, anyways.

He repositions you, lifting your hips up on his thighs, where he starts to rut into you: it’s too deep, it’s too much, and he knows it. 

You start to push him away, trying to close your thighs to prevent his intrusion. 

“Oh, my love,” Astarion muses, capturing your wrists with one hand, using his other to force your thighs open. 

“Please…“ You had begged—but in your mind, you told him to give it to you. You wanted all of him, and Astarion loved this so much, his heart swelled to proportions previously unknown to him, and he was a man maddened with lust, with love, for his sweet wife. 

And there was something about making his sweet wife, the strong leader of the group, so submissive and needy for him…

With that, Astarion’s powerful mind flits to another memory; he would never forget your face when he asked you to kneel for him in front of the others. 

A guilt fills Astarion’s chest, a feeling he was no stranger to, but it pissed him off. He hadn’t initially thought of it as humiliation, and had been surprised when you told him why you had stopped asking him for kisses in public. 

You were so delicate, so beautiful, and it was both the reason why he was desperate to protect you and keep you by his side, and why he wanted to dominate you.

He’d especially never forget how you looked when you obeyed. He was so happy.

Now, seeing his consort covered in the blood of lesser creatures, he couldn’t ignore the shifting visions of the past that flit across his mind. 

He decides the best punishment for you was to stretch you out with his cock and take his pleasure in you, just as he had decided two thousand years ago. He plans to leave you breathless and desperate with no intention of making you come.

He imagines withholding your orgasm from you, leaving you covered in his slick seed. Yes, my consort hates being denied. He’d command you to push his semen back inside your wet, sloppy entrance, pleasuring yourself while coated in his essence. 

He knew he probably wouldn’t be able to go through with it. He loved making you come too much, but he certainly enjoyed the thought.

Astarion scrubs your skin with the washcloth, the flakes of dried blood stubborn even with hot water and soap. “What am I to do with you, my love?”

“I tried. I participated. I tried to be what they wanted.” Astarion senses your hurt, your confusion. 

He brings a hand to your jaw, drawing you to face him. Astarion sighs before he speaks, giving you a little smile. “It’s alright, love. I don’t like it, but I’m not angry with you. It’s only your nature.” 

Astarion sighs when you smile, relief washing over him as the fog of your upset dissipates from his assuring words. Once you’re clean, Astarion is next, and soon, the two of you are wrapped up in each other once more, taking the opportunity to adore each other after a long day. 

Astarion wants you to be quiet, even when he finally slides his swollen, needy cock inside you. You’re so perfect, Astarion wants to stay here forever, just like this with you.

He keeps his cock in you for a while as he captures your lips with his own. 

“You are my everything.”

Masterlist

Chapter 1. Chapter 2. Chapter 3. Chapter 5. Chapter 6.

[angst-in-space]

june ‘22 writing progress

words written: 18.9k

most words written in a day: 2212

least words written in a day: 116

current yearly total: 124.1k

projects worked on:

- finished writing ch 9 of sylvix dreamscape fix and started writing ch 10 - started editing ch 8 of dreamscape fic - finished writing new ending of my ya sci-fi book!! AT LAST! - outlining arctic monster book - started writing a twiyor fic

works published in june:

none

june goals:

- finish editing ch 8 of sylvix dreamscape fic and hand off to betas - finish writing a draft of ch 9 and start writing ch 10 - maybe start editing ch 9 if i have time? - finish writing the new end of my book - cut down my book word count enough so that i can actually add the new ending to it lol - edit renga fic if i have time? - apply to queerkidlit mentorship - maybe keep outlining twiyor fic if i have time

july goals:

- write ~30k for camp nano - finish editing ch 8 of dreamscape fic and hand off to betas - finish writing the last chapter of dreamscape fic - start next round of revisions on ya sci-fi book - continue outlining/zero-drafting arctic monster book - work on twiyor fic - edit renga fic if i have time? - start editing ch 9 of dreamscape if i have time?

notes:

LOL SO.... june was a very very wild month for me (mostly in a good way!) but yeah. holy shit. 

soooo if you’ve been following my updates all year you probably know i have been applying to mentorship after mentorship for months and have not gotten any. well!! firstly around june 10th i got multiple full manuscript requests from a mentorship i applied to called queeryfest. i was very excited to receive these requests of course but also panicked a bit bc at that point i was not really happy with the state of my manuscript. i had a mostly-finished new ending that i thought would improve it a lot, but the rest of the book was extremely long and the new end would add a significant chunk to the word count. 

soooo i decided to take it upon myself to write the rest of the new end and edit like 20k? 30k?? words out of my book in like, 4 days. this was a very exhausting and stressful experience that i would not recommend to anyone and hope to never relive again LOL however, it did push me to finally finish writing the better ending and cut a lot of unnecessary stuff out of my ms. also somewhere in the middle of all this i also applied to the queerkidlit mentorship. woo!!

and uh long story short.... by some miracle all that work paid off bc i was not offered one but TWO mentorships on the last day of june (happy pride month to me, amiright??) and it happened to work out nicely where my queerkidlit mentor is willing to wait a few months to do our mentorship in the fall while i complete my queeryfest mentorship. in other words i will be doing two mentorships back to back which should hopefully really help me whip my manuscript into shape 😤 for the time being i’m in a bit of a writing limbo... my queeryfest mentors will be giving me an edit letter sometime within the next ~2 weeks so depending on what they say, i’ll probably end up having to dedicate the last half of this month and most of august/september doing book revisions. but!! until then i’m putting my book aside and focusing on fic for a bit (for the most part). 

i am very nearly done writing sylvix dreamscape fic! like legitimately....i am writing the last scene before the epilogue right now, so i’m hoping to finish that very soon (although....i will miss it...sniffles). then ofc i will still have to edit chapters 8-10 which will probably...take me a while lolll but hopefully i can get those edited/posted over the next couple months.

i also have that renga fic that i finished like a year ago that i still have not edited/posted so uhhh i keep telling myself i will edit that but....we shall see akdfjdk

oh and i also started writing a twiyor fic but it’s. not the one i outlined. in fact not totally sure i will end up posting it cuz it’s uh yeah *runs away* buuut for now i’m just writing it for fun and we’ll see what happens ;)  otherwise uhhh yeah gonna be aiming to write around 30k for camp nano and that’s gonna be a combo of rewriting/writing scenes for my ya sci-fi book, outlining/zero drafting my (maybe?) next book, and fic writing. so yahoo!!

this was a really long update.... everything happens so much. but truly i am super excited and looking forward to the next few months!!! 

[savrenim]

I’ve got to say there’s something kind of depressing about only having 7 folks following my patreon just bc, like.... I put so much work into it! I have really cool posts every week! and cool longer posts every month! it’s really cool content that I really want to share and it’s, like. kind of depressing that only a handful of people are getting to even see that content! to the point where honestly I’m mildly tempted to make my patreon be “all content for paying patrons is early release that following patrons will get after a month” just to see if more people will follow me, but, like. mildly worried that even that won’t happen!

but, like. more than that it mostly solidly feels like my work isn’t valued?

like. I started publishing ifmlam in dec of 2015, which was kind of me re-entrance since high school into publishing things onto the general internet. ifmlam is 204233 words. that is two full-length novels. it was meticulously researched to the point where most end-of-chapter notes basically have a works cited, and needed to be meticulously researched because it was in a field that thoroughly was not my own I had not had a US history class since high school type deal. I worked on it during my last year and a half in college, in time that I could have spent studying for GREs, applying to grad school, and writing my thesis-- all things that certainly would not have been hurt from extra time spent. people left comments going “if this were a physical book I would buy it.” which, like!! mostly was just flattering!! it was a labor of love that I started out writing for myself and didn’t really expect anything to come from it! but it did kind of transform into a burden that I kept writing because it had a following, and, like. any future work that gets put into it is mildly coming from a sense of obligation to finish for the people who care about it, and it kind of makes it feel in hindsight like I was creating a product and it was a product put out there for free and the only thing that resulted is a lot of people who want more of that free product that is no longer a labor of love, it is meticulous research and meticulous writing and meticulous editing and time out of a graduate thesis and job applications and writing papers in my field and things that are so intrinsically more important than when I was writing it in college

and, like, I have boundaries, I’m only going to write when I have the time and inspiration to write, but gods has ifmlam turned into a burden and was a burden for a fair portion of the end there of writing it and it’s a mild bummer that it’s a burden that people do not care about throwing me $1 a month or, like. hell, people have bought me two ko-fis in the entire five years I have been writing. and I know I haven’t advertised a lot. and I know that mostly I haven’t needed the money. but, like.

I have published 387735 words on ao3 in the last five years, and certainly have more than 20k of drafts that, like. honestly should be ready to post in the next month or so. so, like, round up, that is more than four full novels length. and back when it was just fanfiction that I was working on, like, yeah it’s just fanfiction and that is not the sort of thing that I hell even would feel comfortable making money from. and I know nothing is published so people can’t see it now, but, like. my primary writing isn’t fanfiction anymore! it’s an actual proper full novel! draft 1 will be done and going out to betas in the next week or two! that I am going to be putting out there for free!. and my patreon really isn’t about “support me bc I’ve been writing fanfiction”, it’s a “hey you’ve seen my writing samples over the course of five years and wordcount of four novels so you trust that I’m a good writer, right? do you maybe want to hop on the bandwagon to try to support my original work too?”

I’ve run the costs from cover to ISBN to copyright filing to actually setting up a personal website to getting print drafts of the book and, like, esp given that I decided screw it I’ve been saving up for years I really want to commission one of my friends to make a professional cover, Opus I is going to cost me out-of-pocket more than $1000 to publish. and it’s being released for free. even if thousands of people read it, as I have set this up, I will not make a single penny from it. and that is okay, I knew that going in. but I definitely can’t afford to pay $1000 out of pocket to publish Opus II, or like. any of the dozens of books that I really do want to publish and have them look polished and professional going forward, that even cutting out cover art carry a price tag of ~$300 for me to do on my own.

and I guess I just...really hoped that there would be enough people either that went “yo your work is cool we trust you on this” to throw what comes out to $12/year, which, like. is the cost of a more expensive ebook if the goal is to be able to release about a book in the Opus series per year, or even just who are enough interested in the content that I have to put out that hey $1/month really is not a lot and the thought process behind my writing is interesting and valued.

and it feels like I’m being dumb and whining complaining in the first place and I’m stupidly lucky to have any sort of following at all or anyone willing to read even the fic I put out or comment on it, like. it’s super cool that my work is acknowledged and read period end! and honestly I think it’s mostly bothering me because, like. I am super self-conscious about “is anyone even going to bother to read Opus” and the fact that this thing that I set up to lay the foundations for and support my original writing only has seven people following and five of those people are close personal friends really does not bode well for feeling like there is any sort of interest in what else I can produce other than the fanfiction that I already have up, but, like

my patreon is cool!!! my content is cool!!! my book is going to be cool!!! and I just really wish there were more people seeing it!

[linos-teeth]

i got tagged for the fanfic tag by @incorrectkids-admin and yall might not know this but i love fanfic so much (in general, there are only few fanfics in particular that truly impress me so if yall want like some fancy restaurant style reviews hmu) so tysm for this!!! i‘m going to tag @chngbok and @lilac-stay and @frozensea394 and @odeshadowz (i THINK u all read and/or write fanfic sometimes if not then i’m sorry ofc u don’t have to do this tag) (generally u don’t this is optional)

slow burn or love at first sight: i will read love at first sight when i’m starved for some good romance but there is a limit of cheese and it’s right there GIMME THAT SLOWEST BURN MAKE IT 20K WORDS GIMME

fake dating or secret dating: tbh this trope is kinda overused but if done well??? it can be so good? tho i think you could also do smth nice with secret dating, it has yet to impress me tho

enemies to lovers or best friends to lovers: both are so good!!! love and can relate that good oh no that’s my Friend...but i wanna kiss...but also. enemies to lovers...u can do so much with these dynamics...i’ve written some of it myself back in the days and it’s so much fun to do (and read)

oh no there’s only one bed or long distance with correspondence: it’s cliché but i do not care (that and also long distance might be a mood but as a physical presence person i need those sweet irl interactions!!)

fantasy or modern au: i don’t read enough fantasy aus ngl....they are so close to my heart bc i myself am very much a fantasy game nerd but also like....modern? why tf not? so many options there and i mean urban fantasy? also sure thing i love them all

smut or fluff: NO SMUT IN THIS HOUSE PLS MY EYES ok let them partially undress and make out a bit whatever but pls no smut unless it’s like one artsy poetic sentence but keep the dick talk away from me

mutual pining or domestic bliss: lovelovelove domestic bliss but.......the pining......the tension.....it stabs me physically and i love it so very much

alternate universe or future fic: listen everything is an au bc nothing actually happened this exact way irl (even if assuming we’re talking abt like. celebrities here u add CANON FIC and wish it had happened it just did not and that’s valid aus are very good)

one shot or multi chapter: will read both but will die if multi chapter stays unfinished my poor heart

kid fic or road trip fic: I FUCKING LOVE ROAD TRIP FICS SO MUCH??? I’VE READ SO MANY GOOD ONES *opens purse like they’re photos of my grandchildren* LET ME SHOW U SOME ROAD TRIP FICS

reincarnation or character death: i‘m not big on reincarnation honestly like i guess it’s like romantic and all to find each other in a different life but......it doesn’t speak to me? and character death is just. a big fucking no. you’re writing about real people: what the fuck makes u think u can kill them off?? like?? they’re alive and breathing they aren’t a doll to use to break some reader’s hearts wtf (btw either way i think if u write mcd just to make ppl sad then you aren’t valid) and if it’s not a real person i still. don’t get the hype there are other plot devices

arranged marriage or accidental marriage: ok arranged marriage is fine if it’s like.....an almost marriage and u still end up with who the two of you ACTUALLY love but accidental marriage sounds so fun i’ve never read it but it has a crack vibe to it pls someone write some i wanna read

high school romance or middle age romance: it’s romance gimme

time travel or isolated together: idk time travel sounds fun but it’s usually heartbreaking so i’m like maybe nooot and isolated together doesn’t spark any particular emotion in me so

neighbors or roommates: good stuff!!! gimme i love awk neighbor shit but i also love even more awk roommate shit like yes AWKWARDNESS PLS

sci-fi or magic au: why would i even try to choose? MAGIC IS AWESOME ALIENS AND SPACESHIPS AND SHIT ARE AWESOME

body swap or genderbend: body swap is prooooobably fun i haven’t read any but genderbent, esp when it’s real people, just makes me really uncomfortable oR HONESTLY THE CREEPIEST PART U GENDERBEND HALF OF A SHIP TO MAKE THEM LIKE. I SAW IT HAPPEN WITH GAY TO HET BUT LIKE THE OTHER WAY ROUND IS JUST AS WEIRD PPL STOP JUST WRITE DIFFERENT PPL

angst or crack: i am weak but crack is honestly a form of art and i will take it

apocalyptic or mundane: zombie shit rly freaks me out tho i HAVE read one amazing apocalyptic fic i will still generally say i prefer mundane ones

[maybeformepersonally]

Fic: the poetry of resistance, chapter 1

Title: the poetry of resistance Author: maybeformepersonally Rating: T / Teen Summary: Dark times are brewing, fear and prejudice have been sinking their vicious claws into Dan's world, twisting and poisoning his once quiet, peaceful way of life. He feels like his life is falling apart, and he's scrambling to do something, anything, to keep enough of the pieces together. But even in the darkest of times, even in the midst of the worst atrocities committed, kindness can blossom, and new hope can be born.  Word Count: 4.9k this chapter (the whole fic will be 20k+)  Author’s Note: This fic is my fill for the @phandomreversebang! I need to thank the lovely admins of the PRB for organising this, and the wonderful @dansphlevels for making the art that inspired this story (see it here!). And a very special, very heartfelt thank you to the fabulous @itsmyusualphannie, who was kind enough to fill the position of my beta reader when I found myself without one, and doing an excellent job of it to boot. Any mistakes that remain are solely mine.

[Read on ao3]

Old Conrad Huckabee got up early as usual to start the day, as was expected of bakers, before the sun would rise. After the habitual short routine of morning ablutions that had remained unchanged for years now, he headed downstairs into his bakery accompanied by his dearest wife. She had been as faithful and true to him as a man could hope for, a true companion in life and business, and he likely would have floundered without her support and no-nonsense attitude throughout the years. He thanked the gods every day that he had been so lucky as to find one as her to stand beside him.

They moved as one into their respective positions, a dance they had long perfected for a routine as familiar as breathing and as beloved as the life they’d built together, Conrad at the ovens and his dear Adelaide with her books and supplies, making sure everything was in order for Conrad to get lost in his craft. A mere half-hour before opening time, the Howell boy arrived, perfectly on time. Adelaide quite liked that about him. Responsible lad.

Conrad opened the door for him and ushered him to the back, to where his wife was sorting that week’s stock and making sure everything was running smoothly. Adelaide had truly been a godsend. He’d married for love, but no one would suspect it from the way his father’s little bakery had flourished under their joint care once Conrad had inherited it not long after their nuptials. He knew, everyone knew really, that the success had been in great part due to his young wife’s sharpness of mind and her skill in trade. Oh, she would never stiff or cheat a merchant, such behaviours would only lead to mistrust and ruin, if not imprisonment. No, she was fair to a fault, just, well, brilliant.

He spared a glance to the young merchant greeting his wife with a warm smile and a respectful tilt of the head. It had been over a decade now since the boy had started trading with them directly, first as proxy for his parents and later as a trader in his own right, but despite his young age, he had never treated Adelaide with anything but the respect she rightfully deserved, which was saying something when half the village still persisted in viewing women as somehow… inferior. Conrad huffed at the thought. Old fools, he thought, and nevermind that he was old enough now to fit that description himself. Oh, but he was no fool. They were so set in their ways that they would stare reality in the face and refuse its length and shape, and for what? Everyone knew women were especially good at trade, this he had learnt as a little tyke at his grandfather’s knee back before he was even tall enough to reach the baker’s ovens. Women were better at maths, and accounting, they excelled at keeping books, could run where the men would limp and stumble.

This particular trader, young enough to be their own son, seemed to have learnt this as well, for he had never disrespected his dear Adelaide, and had never tried to dupe her with bad quality wares or too steep prices. A fair and honest trader was hard to come by, sadly, which he supposed was why those two had always liked each other, he mused as a chuckle reached his ears. His wife was in good spirits today, he thought with a little smile of his own, and whispered a quick prayer to her favoured gods in thanks. He was ever grateful, after so many years, that the gods had so blessed him in both business and love.

As he continued arranging the day’s work in preparation for opening time, he reflected that it was a pity the young Howell boy had not found a wife of his own to share his efforts and secure the line of his house. But then again, that was hardly surprising.

Some small eccentricities would hardly matter to any smart young woman or discerning head of house, not with a profitable line of trade and a face as fair as that, but to live past the borders of the forest… oh, yes. That would give any young woman or her parents pause. Even with the efforts of the special guard, one could never be perfectly sure that no creatures lurked, not outside the heart of the village, not when nothing but earth and trees and wild animals surrounded you and the terrain may allow those awful, wicked creatures passage into your very home.

The boy, well, man now, had some small grasp on the magicks that kept such dangers at bay; he must, or he would have perished by now. And Conrad did not doubt that he was dutiful, and ever careful not to shirk his duties. His very survival attested to that. But he had been born in the forest, had grown up there, with his parents moving there as soon as they were married. They had inherited the land, and it was a good business decision to farm it, but still, most of the village had half expected them to perish out there, cut off from the comforts of immediate trade and the community. It took days to get to the village from their land on foot, and the lad had built his own house a whole day’s walk deeper into the forest than even his parents’ lodgings, or so the tales said. Tales that he was rather disposed to believe, as it wasn’t just the young fools who had nothing better to do than tell tales to pass the time that were saying so. Old Burnaby himself swore to it, and Conrad had lost count of the respectable storekeepers who had hinted or even outright said as much.

Still, the young Howell couple must have been better prepared than the village had given them credit for, and more favoured by the gods, to be blessed with the tools to survive alone all the way out there. And young Daniel only knew that life, and the ever-present vigilance and jealous warding of his lands must be second nature to him.

A pity, but understandable, that he hadn’t found a partner willing to follow him into the dark heart of the forest. Oh well, plenty of travellers and foreigners were used to such conditions. Perhaps that was all it would take; a traveller that crossed their village, or a merchant looking for trade. He hoped so, for the kind young man’s sake.

He heard him say his goodbyes to Adelaide, muffled by the partition that led behind his shop, and watched him appear from behind it a few seconds later. He seemed pleased enough with their trade, and Conrad was once again reminded of the confession he’d got out of the young man years ago about how their family was one of his favourites to deal with in the whole village, as they were more welcoming than most, and less driven to endless haggling. His dear Adelaide knew the worth of the young lad’s wares and she was willing enough to pay a fair price for them, which put them several steps above most of the village.

“Good exchange?” he prompted; they had enough time before he had to open the shop to indulge in a little small talk.

“Quite good, for both our houses,” Daniel answered with a pleasant smile. His eyes caught on the display to their left, however, and Conrad stifled an amused chuckle at the young man’s predictability. “Are those qurabiya?” Daniel asked, not even trying to hide his childlike delight.

“Indeed, they are! Straight from the oven. I could be persuaded to sell you some before the first customers may get their hands on the bargain, if you make a good enough offer for me to consider it...” he was teasing, of course. He was always happy to sell his products to Daniel when he was around, even if the bakery hadn’t technically opened its doors yet when he came round for business. Daniel knew it, too. He was giving him a wide dimpled grin, and the old baker found himself thinking again about how unfortunate it was that such a kind and striking young man should be single still.

Daniel asked for four qurabiya to go, two for his parents and two for himself, as usual, and as Conrad wrapped them up for him, he broached the subject once again, much to the well-taken exasperation of the young man before him, who’d been subject to this particular talk at the hands of the well-meaning baker many, many times before (and more often as of late, as he grew older).

 “No news to speak of on my love life, no,” he said with a badly hidden roll of his eyes. “I can’t imagine why the topic matters so much to you, I swear. More nosy than most of the matchmakers in the village put together, you are. You needn’t concern yourself with my love life, Conrad. I promise I can handle the trade for myself, with the occasional help from my parents, if need be. Your supply line shall not suffer from my regrettable lack of a wife.”

“Of course, of course,” he said placatingly. “But trade is only part of the reason to seek a marriage. You can’t be content to spend all that time alone out there in the woods. A companion would surely make the days shorter and sweeter, and a young man as yourself should be thinking about children soon…”

Daniel shook his head to himself, amused at the baker’s persistence. “I appreciate your concern, but as you know, my way of life wouldn’t suit most villagers, much less the young women who grew up in a village as big and bustling with activity as this one. Regardless, I am quite content as is, much as I know it perplexes you.” He smiled then. As annoying as it could be to be grilled about his love life and to be offered pointed advice about the young unmarried women in town, Dan knew it came from a good place. “Most of us aren’t so lucky as to find our perfect match, much less to find her so early in life, you know.” The man was a hopeless romantic, and as such had become something like the unofficial matchmaker of the town. It was sweet.

“Ah, that is very true. But that doesn’t mean you should give up, young lad! I hear a caravan of travellers has announced their intention to stop here soon. They must be on the lookout for new trade, or perhaps even a place to settle on. I hear there is a pair of hunters coming in to aid the special guard, but perhaps there are a few ladies as well? Perhaps a young lady accustomed to the life of a traveller might be more open to a life on the outskirts of town…?”

Dan swallowed any outward indication of his skin crawling at the mention of ‘hunters’ coming in to ‘aid the special guard’. The casual mention had activated his fight or flight response, but he couldn’t let his expression slip, even with well-meaning old villagers like Conrad.

Thankfully, Dan had years of practice in the concealing of emotions, and so he chuckled at the man’s insistence, determined to grill the more forthcoming storekeepers who might actually have the kind of information he needed about the hunters coming his way. He knew the old baker well enough by now to know that any details he might pry out of him would be geared more towards getting him wed rather than anything useful to him.

“We might see,” he told Conrad with a carefree glint of mischief. “Don’t get your hopes up, old friend, you know I will not settle for usefulness.”

“As you shan’t! I quite agree!” He had perked up at Dan’s seeming acquiescence. “Why settle for an advantageous union when one can strive for a lasting, true love?” He was nodding along as he presented the package of sweets to him, carefully sealed to withstand Dan’s travels. Dan paid for the pastries and bade him farewell, reminding him once more not to try to pair him up with any young lady he thought might make a good match, even though he knew Conrad would endeavour to tell any unmarried woman arriving in that caravan that looked the slightest bit interested all about Dan’s virtues.

Can’t ask the deer to change its hooves, Dan thought ruefully. He hoped the man didn’t get any poor woman’s hopes up with his efforts. The last thing Dan needed was to contend with the complications that would come from taking a human wife.

*

Dan took the long way back to his home deep into the forest, taking a few detours to reassure himself that everything was okay, that no disaster or evil had befallen his beautiful land in his brief absence, that no tree or animal or creature had been disturbed.

You couldn’t be too careful these days.

The leisurely trek soothed ruffled nerves, but he couldn’t stop turning the latest news in his mind as he walked deftly over uneven terrain and smooth plains alike. The air sprites surfaced from the heights of the tallest trees to signal the lack of new developments as he gave them their prearranged call; the family of ungulate kelpies living in the depths of his forest looked up at him when he approached and gave him a distinct nod to indicate no problems had met them either; and so on.

He didn’t take the small detour behind the old oak tree he used to play in as a child to check the mounds that the aes sídhe used to claim as their home. And he didn’t take a left there down the path that led to the natural pond that had formed several centuries ago, where the will-o'-the-wisps used to dance ethereally over the calm water, dipping occasionally to play hide-and-seek in the reeds and water lilies.

There was no point. There was no one there anymore.

The sun was high in the sky by the time his circuit led him to the last stop before home. There couldn’t be more than an hour or so of sunlight left.

Dan finally slowed down as he approached the jagged rock formation that led to the cenote that was his final check-in of the day. He left his pack resting on one of the concave shapes eroded into the stone, secured against any strong winds by one of the stray rocks lying around, before heading for the mouth of the cave. It really did look like a mouth, rough spikes growing up out of the base of the opening and coiling all around it like monstrously deformed, too-sharp teeth. It wasn’t the easiest squeeze, especially for someone his size, but he could manoeuvre it without too much trouble, his hands and feet familiar with the grooves and sharp edges. It was for the best anyway, he thought. Wouldn’t do to have an unwary traveller enter the sacred caves by mistake.

He didn’t come here often. But the day’s news was worrying enough to warrant it, he’d decided after ruminating on it all day. He’d worried about it in the back of his head for the entirety of his trip.

He navigated the sharp mouth of the cave and crossed into the cooler air inside, careful to stay his grip into the stone wall before steadily climbing down. There was a stretch of open sky that illuminated a patch of the deep blue waters which covered most of the vast interconnected caves, but jumping directly into the waters would be nothing short of suicidal, even for a not-unwelcome-guest such as himself. He’d never trespass on another’s domain like that, nor would he want to abuse his welcome. He knew how rare the courtesy extended to him was, and how precious for it.

The rays of sunlight reaching into the deceptively calm water made it sparkle attractively, and Dan took the time to appreciate the beautiful play of flecks of light and shadows that adorned the cave walls as clouds shifted all the way up in the sky. He’d always enjoyed the view, from the first time he was allowed entry here as a child, and he’d always marvelled that he would be given such an unlikely gift. The habitants of the cenotes were infamous for distrusting outsiders.

To those who even knew there was such a thing, anyway.

As he was reaching the ground - he’d headed for the small patch of limestone filled with tiny rocks to the left of the cave entrance as was the custom - he lowered his bare feet into the narrow riverbank and announced his presence with a distinct whistle. They would have already noticed him, of course, but the rituals must be observed. He waited a full minute, counting in his head and watching the little shadows of movement in the water, taking in the seldom-seen beauty of the caves, then, once the minute was over, he moved ahead, carefully, deliberately, to the edge of the river. He could only advance three wide steps before the stream bed plunged to unknown depths, and so he stopped at the third step, the soles of his feet firmly rooted into the rock, and he waited.

He wasn’t made to wait long. He saw the figures approach, thin and sinewy and too fast to be any kind of human, too fast in the water to be anything but what they were, and he let his feet and calves harden and expand lightly, gripping into the rock he was standing on more securely and providing a more reliable proof of his own identity than anything else he could have done or presented them with. He was in their domain, anyway. One, alone, where hundreds of them swam leisurely around, and where hundreds more could be called if a threat dared show up. If they wanted him dead he didn’t stand a chance. Just as they liked it.

He couldn’t really blame them.

They surfaced a few meters away, and he was relieved to recognise their leader. She hadn’t always been available for his impromptu visits, and the others were much more distrustful of him. Klavdiya was there the first time Dan had visited as a kid, however. She remembered his Papa too, and that also helped.

“Lady Klavdiya,” Dan addressed her, twining his arms close to his chest, and inclined his torso slightly while keeping eye contact with her. She bared her too-long, too-sharp teeth in a grimace Dan had learnt was a gesture not unlike a smile for humans. The two rusalki flanking her sides allowed themselves to stoop lower into the water, vigilant as ever but mollified by the show of respect. Dan only recognised one of them from his previous visits, though she’d never offered a name.

“Daniel, forest child. You come unannounced.”

“I do. I’ve received news that you deserve to hear.” The rusalki appreciated candour as much as Dan did, so he didn’t waste their time with small talk. It would be an insult to them both.

“Speak,” Klavdiya prompted, not unkindly.

“There is a party coming to the village. No more than a dozen humans, but among them, there is a pair of hunters. Rumours are they’re quite skilled in certain magicks, and they’ve sent word that they’re canvassing the kingdom, catching and disposing of any non-humans they can and making note of others they may not have the resources to slay. I don’t know how accurate the assessment of their skills is, but I’ve ascertained that there is a pair of hunters travelling this way, and they’ve apparently caused quite the stir in the neighbouring lands, so I doubt they’ll be easy pickings.”

Klavdiya swirled her tail close to the surface in a dangerous motion that Dan knew could drain the life of a human in a single blow.

She was worried.

Dan hated it.

“Canvassing…” she sounded the word out, picking at it as she asked for more information.

“I doubt they’ll venture this deep into the forest. If they do, I may well have to take them out myself before they ever reach the caves.”

Klavdiya’s fins flickered in sympathy. She knew he wouldn’t enjoy it if it came to that.

Dan understood the significance of the gesture, a notable display of insight and compassion from a creature who would delight in slaying her enemies, as brutally and mercilessly as she felt they deserved. He saw the respect in her eyes, in her posture, in every word she said to him. She knew he would do it if necessary.

“You may need help,” she declared.

“I hope not,” he hedged.

“You may need help,” she repeated, softly but with a core of strength intrinsic to her people and her character.

“I do not wish to involve you. I have come to warn you because I may not be able to come once they’re in the vicinity. I would not want to lead them here. And I don’t know how long they’ll stay.”

“You may need help,” she repeated herself a third time, and much as he didn’t want to acknowledge the implicit offer, it would border on a snub to dismiss it a third time. Dan gave her a pleading look. She didn’t flinch.

“...I may. But if it comes to that, it may be too late for me anyway.”

“If you lead them to the opening at the top, you need only push them in. If they fall into the water, my brethren will make short work of them, magick or no magick.”

The hunters’ magic could cost her brethren several lives, maybe dozens if they were as powerful as advertised. He didn’t say this. She knew. A threat to his forest implied a threat to her caves, to her river, to the sea her river flowed into. A canvassing entourage might even be planning that far ahead. Dan rather hoped not.

He let out a heavy breath, reluctant acquiescence. “I promise I shall only consider it as the very last resort,” he vowed.

Klavdiya inclined into an awkward bow, respect shown for respect due. “You need not vow so, our offer was freely made. But it is appreciated.” She would not have offered so to someone else. She would not have offered if she didn’t know he’d never ask it of them. That is why she offered. That, and her people. Their domain. Their home. They would rather all die defending it than surrender one lone inch of it. They’d already lost so many. Humans had always been particularly brutal to her kind, and it had only got so much worse in the last decade...

“My respects to you and yours. May our alliance endure the hurdles to come, and may no threat disturb the peace and quiet of our lands and rivers.” The formal words closed the formal encounter, and he waited to see what Klavdiya would do next.

“Our respects, forest child. Should you need our power, we shall be here.”

Dan did another ‘rusalka bow’, as he’d come to call them when he’d first learnt them as a child, arms entwined and pressed to his chest, a show of respect and trust to the people whose domain he had been allowed to step into. He remembered his Papa explaining the significance of the tangled arms - a deliberate blunting of one of their best weapons; the position of their feet - as deep as they could go into the water without endangering or maiming themselves - and the revealing of their nature by calling forth the forest to reshape their lower limbs into their inhuman form - proof of identity, of membership, of allegiance. He had tried to copy the delicate movements that flowed so effortlessly from his Papa, but he’d only managed a clumsy imitation that first time. They’d practised later, back at home, at little Dan’s insistence. He’d been five then.

Now, the movements were well-practised, his limbs folding gracefully and his stance never wavering. Klavdiya rose from her own bow and made a swirly movement with her arms to dismiss her companions. They’d stay close, keep an eye on them, he knew, but they didn’t argue; just submerged themselves into the water and disappeared from view.

Klavdiya swam close, movements careful so as to display her goodwill. A rusalka swimming at natural speeds would read to any creature as a threat on an instinctual level, no matter how firm an ally they knew them to be. Dan flexed his feet, one after the other, smoothing rough bark back into soft pale flesh, and took three steps back so that he could sit on the edge of the water, letting his human-looking feet rest comfortably in the shallows.

“Did you find anything else?” Klavdiya asked once she was within reach. Not that they’d reach out to touch each other. Neither one particularly cared to, and if they did there’d be angry and protective rusalki to answer to.

Dan shook his head, allowing his expression to display his worry fully. He’d only heard rumours, some snippets of conversations overheard and some freely offered. But he’d heard tales of less fortunate lands, heard enough - too much, really - of the horrors perpetrated by more zealous bands of humans in the plains to the east, the scope of the bloodshed in the mountain villages of the south, the atrocities committed in the name of ‘humanity’. He’d never been an optimist, but the current political climate was beyond anything he could have feared. It made surviving a burden, sometimes.

He missed his Papa like a cracked rib, the pain sharp and present with every breath he took, and he sometimes thought that if it wasn’t for the chance to help others, to help even a few of the poor lost souls that were being mercilessly hunted as far and wide as he managed to get news from, then he might have given up long ago. The future felt so bleak. And he was so tired.

But he was the last bastion between the misguided and cruel and the haven that was his forest, strategically tucked away into its roots, emboldened and favoured by Her, her child, and he couldn’t abandon Her any more than he could abandon those in need that were desperate enough to venture inside into her welcoming folds, and there had been quite a few of those in recent years. These were desperate times, after all.

Some, however, like the rusalki, hadn’t ventured in looking for an escape, but rather they were a part of it from times immemorial.

Well, the rusalki were neighbours to it, technically. They had their own domain in the pools of the caves entrenched within the forest, and in the river that flowed through them, connecting them to the deeper, wider sea. But they belonged there, they had been there for millennia, and for all their danger they felt to Dan like a respite, a comfort, a steady bulwark that refused to be moved, refused to be challenged, refused to be cowed.

So many peoples had folded, some in fear, some in indifference, a few in a strategic bid that meant to win them the realm in the long run. But not the rusalki, steadfast and unyielding as ever, and not Dan either. Unlike them, he lacked the strength of numbers, however. He only had the forest. The forest and his human parents, who had no command of magick, his human parents who couldn’t fight, and who still now carried the bleeding wound of the forced separation with their hearts’ partner, patched up but still raw, still tearing at them, still ravaging their will and their courage. Dan sometimes thought that they suffered his Papa’s absence even more keenly than him.

His talk with Klavdiya was short, as their chats usually were, but he was pleased to see her bare her teeth once again when he showed her the token he’d brought for her. He knew to be careful with gifts, but rocks from his forest, imbued with the moon’s energy and the earth’s vitality, were quite straightforward as presents from one ally to another, and useful enough not to raise any hackles from the more suspicious of her brethren.

The sun was getting low, however, and soon they had no more information to exchange, not even of the personal leisurely sort, so he bid his goodbyes and left with the promise to visit again once the danger was past them. He’d keep to his next scheduled visit if the hunters were gone by then, and only make another surprise visit if he felt like he must, if circumstances changed.

Hopefully, that wouldn’t be necessary.

By the time he’d climbed back to the surface and out through the tricky mouth of the cave, the sky was a deep orange. He could walk through the forest deaf and blind if he had to, of course, so navigating it by night under the watchful light of the stars would be no hardship for him.

But he was getting hungry and he hadn’t forgotten the qurabiya nestled carefully inside his pack. He’d make a simple dinner and enjoy one for dessert. It shouldn’t take long for him to get to his cottage.

He’d make in an early night. He had plans early the next day.

[rubyleaf]

Annnnd the fourth chapter of this short little childhood friends AU~! Can I get a round of applause for ACTUALLY keeping this under 20k words and not letting it go completely out of hand? Thank you X’D This time on Hothead and Loudmouth: Moving on into high school, Mizuki the catalyst for figuring out those stupid feelings, and a whole lot of growing up. May or may not have derailed into fluff in the second half of the chapter. Oops.

Rating: General Audiences (I hope y’all will forgive me the bits of swearing in this chapter, it would’ve been OOC without it, I’m so sorry guys)

Pairings: ShibaKimi and ShibaKimi only

Summary: Kimishita Atsushi, eleven years. For about five minutes he was completely infatuated with a boy, but that illusion just got destroyed by the boy in question opening his mouth.

Enjoy~!

[toukens]

Chapter Rating: Mature Pairing: Touka Kirishima x Haise Sasaki (Tousaki) Genre: AU (Godless/Western)  |  Word Count: 3117 Chapter Warnings: Swearing and alcohol usage AU: Heavily influenced by the Netflix series Godless. This world of the wild west is new to everyone and everyone sure as hell wants to make this place their paradise. But how can a paradise be full of bandits, murderers and people who claim to be the law? Chapter: 1/? Chapter Note: $1,500 in 1860s is worth roughly $20k today. ________________________________________

With a heart beating wildly out of control, the woman awoke with a start. Not only had her dreams been filled with terrors of the past, but… there was water on her face? Before she had time to actually process why there were little droplets littered over her features, there was suddenly a heavy stream poured on her face.

Sitting up, sputtering for air, Touka’s wild eyes looked around only to land on a smug face. Fucking Ayato.

“Oi. Shitty sister. Wake up. We’re hungry.” The man spoke, his fingers still wrapped around the handle of the bucket. Without thinking twice about the consequences of her actions, Touka swiped the bucket from her younger brother’s fingers and swung it at him. Narrowly missing his head and hearing a hollow thud sound from behind him, both siblings froze. Ayato was the first to slowly turn around to see Yomo’s usually stoic features twitching with pain. Direct hit.

A sharp hiss escaped from between Touka’s teeth as she abruptly stood, but not without swinging her pillow at her brother. This… was unfortunately not the first time. “Touka…” The voice growled, his usually calm voice raising.

“Hey! It’s not my fault, he dumped water on me ag-”

“Just. Don’t do it again.”

“If Ayato doesn’t do it again, I won’t.”

“Don’t do it again.”

“...Fine.” Touka grumbled as she shot a glare at her brother who still held a nervous look on his features. He wouldn’t forget about that easily. But that tense look only lasted a moment as Ayato then turned to his sister. “Well?”

“Don’t ‘well’ me, you asshole. You can cook for yourself- unless you want to finally admit that you can’t cook for shit.”

“I’ll make it myself then. Don’t blame me if there’s a fire again.”

“I will blame you.”

With that, the two siblings parted as their bickering ceased at last. While Ayato tried his hand in the kitchen, Touka walked over to the foot of her bed and opened the old chest that lay there. Pushing past the dresses that she was expected to wear, the violet haired woman brought out a pair of breeches and a fitted flannel. The flannel had been her brother’s until he had grown out of it and the same went for the breeches. However, the trousers were just a bit too large for her. This was an easy fix thanks to the worn suspenders she easily buttoned to the pants.

Returning to the head of her bed, Touka withdrew a knife from the post of her bed and gave it a twirl before finding it’s sheath and wrapped it around her left thigh. If she was somehow forced to wear a dress, this was usually her go to weapon. But she wasn’t forced to do anything on her ranch, so the woman reached for her holster, the gun still embedded in the conditioned leather. It was a Colt 1871-72 Open Top- her father had given it to her at a young age. He wanted her to be a strong woman and always joked that men would bow before her with both this gun and her attitude. It might sound strange, but she felt like she was always closer to him when she held this gun.

Straightening her shoulders, Touka pushed open her door and walked out to join the two men, struggling in the kitchen. Ayato gave a glance before letting out a small snort. “Why won’t you ever dress like a proper woman?”

“‘Cause we need a man in this house.” Touka shot back, sitting down at the table and kicking up her feet as she watched Ayato look cluelessly at the eggs he had brought in from the coop this morning. It was always fun to watch him try to cook when it was painfully obvious that he didn’t learn a single thing from her. Unfortunately, she wasn't the best cook either, but at least her food was edible.

With a disappointed huff, Touka dropped her feet and walked over to the rough stove they had managed to buy with their already sorry funds. Pushing Ayato aside, the woman raised an eyebrow as she looked down at the egg whites and yolks burned beyond salvaging. “You suck at this.” She quipped.

“It doesn’t help that I have a shit teacher.” He scoffed as he watched Touka scrape the burnt eggs away and break a couple new ones over the soot covered pan. The woman then poked at their breakfast with an old but clean wooden spatula. Everything they had here was inherited from their parents.

Motioning at Yomo to give her the cup of water he was drinking out of, the man gave a small sigh but obliged. Taking the cup, the woman dumped what she assumed was two or three tablespoons of water onto the hot pan and eggs before grabbing a pan lit and putting it atop of the frying pan.

“Why’d ya do that? I dun want any soggy eggs.”

“You’re a fucking idiot.” Touka taunted as she reached out to smack Ayato with with spatula. “It helps so you don’t burn the eggs, and they also come out fluffy. How’re you gonna get a wife if you can’t cook?”

“Because the woman should be cooking”

Smack.

“You’ll never impress Hina with that attitude.”

Those words seemed to fluster Ayato as he crossed his arms in a defensive position. “Yeah? And what about that sheriff that stops by? Don’t tell me you don’t see the look on his face when he sees you?”

“What? Arima? Horse shit.”

Hearing Ayato mutter a few choice words at her, Touka only rolled her eyes in response and she returned the cup to Yomo. Waiting a minute or so, the Kirishima picked up the lid and watched as steam rose and quickly fanned it away. Putting the lid away, Touka grabbed a plate and dumped the half dozen eggs onto the plate before splitting them up onto other plates with bread.

“Eat while I make coffee.” Touka ordered as she began to pull out the beans and went to work. While they were helpless without her, she didn’t know what she would do without them. This thought only brought a small smile to her lips.

Returning to the table with three cups of coffee, Touka sat down and began to pick at her food. It didn’t take long to finish because it wasn’t much of a meal, but at least it was something. When they had silently concluded their breakfast, Yomo gathered the plates. “Why can’t you be more like him?” Touka directed at her brother.

“Fuck off.”

And that was the last words she heard from Ayato before he slipped on his boots, grabbed the Henry 1860 and walked out the door. Looks like he was going to be useful today and hunt them some game. Meanwhile, the small herd of horses in the round pen out front needed some looking after while Yomo took care of just about everything else.

Putting on her own boots, Touka opened the door and was hit was a strong gust of dust. Slamming the door behind her to avoid getting any more particulates into the house than necessary, the woman couldn’t help but wish for some rain. Until then, she had a job to do. Squinting out towards the herd, the woman noticed the mares fighting over their position again and the stallions eyeing each other as though waiting for one of them to make the first move. She really needed to fix the fence so they had some more space to run.

Grabbing a bale of overly dried hay, the woman hauled it over the fence before repeating the process three more times for the thirty or so horses. They really needed more space. After that job was completed, Touka trudged over towards the well and began to fetch some water for the horses, so she could fill the trough as much as she could. Then it was time to work on the fences once more. The day was filled with these long, enervating tasks, and each time hardly varied from the other. But it kept them all busy.  

In the midst of the tasks today while Touka decided to take a break to quench her thirst, the Kirishima saw a horse coming their way on the horizon. It wasn’t the plain bay that Ayato rode, but instead a grey. Whoever it was, they weren’t welcome on this property. Backtracking towards the house, Touka let out a curse as she recalled that Ayato had the rifle. Guess her revolver would have to do.

Retrieving the slick gun from her holster, the woman held her ground as she watched the stranger approach, the barrel of the gun trained at her target. It was a minute or so until she realized who exactly was approaching, an agrivated huff escaping her lips as she dropped the gun to her side. Waiting for his approach, Touka kept shaking her head.

“Miss Kirishima.” The white haired man greeted with a small tip of his hat.

“Arima.” Touka responded shortly to let him know that she wasn’t fond of his visit. Luckily, he easily read her reaction and decided to keep their conversation short- like they always were.

“Gotta a new warrant out. Thought I would inform you of this man.” Arima spoke as he reached back into his saddle back and grabbed a flimsy piece of paper with a rough sketch on it.

Narrowing her eyes at the paper, Touka rested her hands on her hips. “Okay. You can go now.” She spoke, annoyed by his presence.

“Ken Kaneki. Please, at least, remember the name. The man is up to no good and has many dogs on his trail.” Arima spoke, dropping the paper to the ground before backing his horse up to be on his way. Thank god. But if the man had dogs on him, that meant he probably betrayed his own group of bandits. Interesting.

Watching as the sheriff finally let her be, Touka glanced down at the paper in the dirt. Ken Kaneki, huh? What kind of reward were they looking at? Pacing up to the paper, Touka brushed off the dust with her foot and a look of surprise rose to her features. One thousand five hundred dollars. While it may not sound like much, it was enough to fix up the property nicely.

Regardless, Touka couldn’t help but feel confused as to why Arima insisted on checking on her family. They were a good few miles away from the small town, yet he stopped by. Was he waiting for the day he would stumble across their corpses? If that was the case, he better wait a lifetime because the woman wouldn’t die easily. She may be a woman in a man’s world, but she held her ground.

By the time Ayato finally returned home, the cool dark blanket of the night began to settle down on the ranch. Touka was the first to greet him, examining his catch. He had managed to kill a couple rabbits. For some reason, Touka was fond of these small creatures and everytime time Ayato returned with their carcasses, it pained her. But they needed them to survive and she had no right to be picky.

“Why can’t you ever catch a deer?” She teased as she examined the rabbits. Frowning as she noticed one of the rabbits had a large hole in it’s hide from the bullet of the rifle. It would be difficult to salvage this one, but again, they had to.

The frown Ayato gave her told her that there weren’t any deer. The more skillful hunters severely depleted out the population. Without another word, her brother took his catch to the back and began to process of skinning and drying the meat. Meanwhile, it was time for Touka to make a final sweep of the property.

Arming herself with the rifle that Ayato had left with her, Touka kept one gloved hand on the barrel and the other bare, tracing the cool metal of the trigger. It wouldn't be the first time if she found a stray coyote lurking or a man with ill intentions. With both those incidents, her rifle was her only ally.

Following her usual path, Touka made sure to poke at some of the posts to make sure they were able to stand if they happened to be pushed by a strong gust. Frowning as a small post toppled over with the pressure of her hand, the woman let out a small sigh as she kneeled and placed her gun on the ground. Digging at the base of the post with her hands, Touka pulled the post up and tried to steady it in it’s makeshift hole. Letting out a grunt of effort as it tried to fall once more, she froze as she heard something out of the ordinary. The sound of hooves thundering towards her. A lone horse- either it was a large creature or it held a rider.

Eyes rising Touka let out a surprised shout as a large shadow of a horse was nearly upon her even though the sound of the hooves seemed farther off than they actually were. Crawling back a meter or two as the horse charged in her direction, the impact was imminent. The velvet body of the horse was easily split by the barbed wire as it charged through, snapping the old and rusted cables, but also earning itself some serious injuries.

She hadn’t noticed the man on the horse’s back until the horse had fallen, the body of a lean man tumbling to the ground as the horse forced itself to its feet and began to run once more, spooked by something. Naturally, it noticed the herd in the round pen and charged towards her horses. But she wasn’t worried about the large horse now, she was worried about the man on the ground not too far from her.

Ignoring the ruined fence, Touka quickly got to her feet and grabbed the rifle before closing the distance between the two of them. The long barrel was pointed at the man as she was now hovering over him. There was blood soaking through a wound on his arm and another on his thigh. She didn’t know or care at this point about how he was. She needed to know who he was and why he was here.

“Who the fuck are you?” The woman growled as she glared down at the man with narrowed eyes. The man’s hat had fallen beside him to reveal a mess of black and white hair and fairly glazed eyes. Whoever he was, he probably didn’t know who he even was after that fall or even because of his inflicted.

“I’m not gonna repeat myself again. Who are you?”

In response to her demands, the man seemed awfully confused and only tried to block the view of the rifle with his dirty hands. He was only able to keep his tried arms up for bit before they fell at his sides, obviously exhausted.

Eyeing his body, Touka noted that there were no obvious weapons on his body and ultimately decided to take her aim from the stranger. He wasn’t fit to fight back and like hell she would just let this man go now. He damn well owed her a new fence.

Dropping the gun, Touka didn’t say a word as she hooked her arm around the man and began to drag him towards the barn. He needed to get out of the cold but she wouldn't bring this man in her house.

After hauling his body towards the barn, Touka pushed open the door and brought him inside. Looking around for an appropriate place to put him, the woman dropped his limp body against a pile of hay before leaving for a second to light the lanterns around her so she would be able to see and to inform Ayato and Yomo of this man.

Dropping a nail over one of the small flames, the woman didn’t hesitate to unbutton the stranger’s shirt and take it off to get a better look at the wound. Hearing small whines of protest from the man as each time she moved his body seemed to hurt him, Touka lifted his chest forward to see if the wound still had a bullet lodged in it. To his luck, the wound was clean of metal. But he wouldn’t like what was to come.

Rising, Touka found the nail she had left on the flame and handled it with her gloved hand before turning towards the man, the glow of the hot nail reflected in his eyes.

“This is gonna hurt like a bitch.” Touka spoke before placing the hot nail over the wound. The sickly smell of burning flesh arose between the two as the man suddenly let out a loud cry of pain. Before he could do anything, Touka was able to move him forward to place the hot nail over the other end of the bullet wound. At this point, the man didn’t make another sound. Placing the nail back over the flame, the woman moved her hand under his nose to see if he was still breathing. To her surprise, he was. Guess that was supposed to be a good thing.

With her features unchanged throughout this process, Touka withdrew her knife and cut the fabric around the wound on his thigh. This one didn’t seem to be as life threatening and didn’t require to be cauterized as it looked like it had clotted. Luckily, Ayato came just in time with a shot of whisky in his grasp. He knew what she needed.

Taking the shot and dumping it on the thigh wound, Touka began to tear the man’s shirt into strips of cloth to cover the wound with a bit of pressure. Tying off the ends, Touka stopped her job and finally rose to her feet to look at what she had done. To be honest, she didn’t realize how well built his body was until her eyes gazed over him now. She had to guess he was in his mid to early twenties- but neither of those things mattered. For now, he just needed to wake up in the morning.

Tossing a saddle blanket over his body, Touka blew out the candles before vanishing into the dark. This wasn’t the first time she had to treat an injured person who stumbled on to her ranch, but she had a feeling that this time would be very, very different.