#tincture blessing

[saint-selene]

Very blessed to spend my days pursuing my love of God and of conjure, of craft and creation

[kaysungshine]

݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ .☽ fae trap ☾. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖

{ Pairing } - Elf!Felix x Witch.afab!Reader

{ Genre } - Smut, Dark, Fantasy

{ Synopsis } - It is said, that if you ever find yourself inside of a fairy ring. The fae will punish you, by making you dance until you are passing out from exhaustion. But when you find yourself doing a different kind of 'dance' on the ground, in the middle of one, with the most beautiful creature you've ever seen you might add, you wonder; is this truly a punishment?

{ WC } - 7.7k

{ Warnings & Tags } - 18+ MDNI, DEAD DOVE: DO NOT EAT, dubcon, aphrodisiac effects, oral (f&m receiving), unprotected sex (piv; do as I say, not as I write & pee after sex!), rough/hard sex, overstimulation, big dick felix, dacryphilia, talk of breeding & mating, talking of mating rituals, please don't touch fly agaric mushrooms, srsly they're toxic and deadly, possible incorrect french usage.

{ Disclaimer } - This work is in no way associated or depicting the actual life of the members of SKZ. It is a fictional piece of work, and I do not own Stray Kids. All works of fiction are loosely inspired by SKZ, and in no way am I saying it is true to their character.

{ A/N } - For the love of all things skz. DO NOT EVER TOUCH FLY AGARIC/AMANITA MUSCARIA MUSHROOMS. THEY ARE TOXIC. DEADLY. This is also probably the darkest thing I've written on this account so far. But it doesn't feel inherently evil to me personally??? But it is enough to warrant a TW! This started off as a birthday oneshot for Felix. I'm starting to think I'm no good at oneshots. This could be left alone, but it could also be a series... I have so many world building thoughts, but idk if I wanna do that. What do you think?

Dusk was approaching as you made your way home from your walk. 

You were blessed to own a cute little home, right on the edge of a beautiful and mysterious forest. Every day you were able to take nature walks, wandering through the treeline, exploring the vegetation. Collecting materials, making sure never to take too much of what the woodland had to offer. And caring for as much as you could, though you knew you were not essential to the survival of wilderness itself. 

That didn't stop you from befriending the little critters who made their home there, or from essentially finding your own second home there. 

You never brought anything with you to permanently invade nature. Instead you wrapped your daily essentials in a little bindle. It usually contained a hearty snack, a book or two, endless vials and jars, your cell, and a small emergency kit. Homemade salves, balms, and tonics included. 

You always had some new shiny objects for your crow friends, making sure to exchange the gifts they left for you at your designated spot. And you always made sure to leave some nuts and seeds for the various rodents who liked to stuff their cheeks. Again, you didn't need to, but they really liked sweet black walnuts and salty peanuts in the shells. Who were you to deny them that treat! 

Some days you brought select crystals with you, cleaning and recharging them in the streams of spring water. Other days you'd use that same water, sealing it in jars and leaving it nearby to make moon water overnight. Those were about the only two things you ever left in the forest, always making sure to come back the next day and retrieve them. 

You always carry a little basket with you too. The forest was abundant in ingredients for many different things. Your favorite is mushrooms and fungi. 

There were many times you'd find a log of an oak tree, fallen over and resting on the ground. A bunch of chicken of the woods growing on it. You'd collect them, taking them home to cook for dinner or other meals.

Other days you'd find lion's mane, and make sure to gather some for your favorite tincture to make and take. It did wonders for your anxiety. 

You were a green witch through and through, and you were raised this way. You drew your energy and essence from nature, always taking little bits of it home. 

Today was no different. Forgoing mushrooms, you instead had bundles of mugwort and a jar full of mulberries in your wicker basket. Wrapped in a little cloth were a bunch of spicebush berries.

You were nearing the last clearing within the woods, your house was about a ten minute walk away at this point. 

The soft moss against your bare feet was grounding, and you were listening to the buzz and crackle of nightlife within the forest. Your white skirt ended at your knees, flaring out. The chiffon is blowing in the cool breeze. It was still tshirt weather, and that's exactly what you wore on top. A fitted one, pale and muted ivy green. You gave up on bras long ago, you were a solitary creature anyways. The friends who did visit never cared about your attire.

You were in your own world, playing a balancing game on a stump and humming to yourself, when flashes of red caught your eye. 

In the clearing, scattered in a broken circle, was fly agaric. 

Your heart fluttered at this rare find. You walk past this clearing daily, and never noticed any of the red mushrooms with white speckles there before. 

Eagerly, you approach. In the back of your mind, warning bells are going off. Thinking back to childhood, of the stories your mom once told you of the fae folk. You'd encountered fairy rings before, but never of this type of mushroom, and never broken ones. Certainly never one so big. You never breached the little white rings in the past, not wanting to mess with entities so possibly mischievous. 

But it would be fine right? This might not even be considered a fairy ring. It was sort of... circle-ish? But not really. There were so many gaps in between them, it wasn't a perfect circle like you'd seen in the past. And these mushrooms were so rare and so powerful, in so many ways. You could feel their energy radiating around you.

You glanced around, searching for any signs of immortal creatures lurking near. You saw and heard nothing, but that would be typical. They never willingly reveal themselves, in fact... You've never seen one. You've never seen any kind of fae folk. It's not that you didn't believe in them, you were sure some form of them existed. Afterall, you practice a form of magick. Your own form, and that exists. 

You were convinced all mythical creatures either exist or had existed, the idea of them couldn't come from nothing. Not when they were in so many stories across all different cultures. 

You paused for a few more moments, really trying to feel any negative energy. There was none, there was never any in your little forest. 

So, tentatively, you took a few steps forward. Then you paused again, waiting for something to pop out. 

Nothing.

You giggled to yourself happily, and then bent down to pluck the mushrooms from the marshy earth. 

They all varied in size, some were large with bulbous caps. Some were shorter, and had flatter caps. Each mushroom, you made sure to pick with a cloth barrier between them and your fingers. These could be deadly if used the wrong way or taken in excess. You had no idea what would happen if you came into direct contact with it, on your bare skin. 

You really should start carrying gloves with you.

You made your way around the broken circle, humming in between giggles, and unconsciously dancing. You were nearly prancing each bare step to the next. 

If you had paid more attention to your mothers tales, you'd realize the consequences of stepping inside a fairy ring were already taking effect.

You were collecting more than you needed now, your basket was overflowing. But still, you didn't want to stop. You felt strangely overcome with merriment. You never felt more at home in these woods than this moment. 

You mindlessly set your basket down, your humming growing in volume. You looked to the sky, as you allowed your body to sway back and forth. Arms stretched out towards the waning moon, coming to life in the dark sky surrounding you. 

Your eyes closed, soaking in the moonlight. And you brought your arms back down, letting them float at your sides as you twirled, and twirled. Your skirt flutters up to reveal your thighs even more, hair whipping in your face. You revelled in the feeling of the squishy dirt beneath your feet. You felt grounded, but as if you were flying all at the same time.

You don't know when your solitude was breached, or if you were ever truly alone in the first place, but you finally noticed his presence when his hands intertwined with yours. 

He was twirling with you, spinning you in circles. 

He was nearly glowing, strawberry colored lips revealing the sweetest smile you'd ever seen. His long, straight white hair framed his face stunningly, tendrils of it outlining his strong jaw line. And his face... so, perfect. He had hundreds of freckles splashed across his cheeks, nose and eyes. Even some scattering up to his hairline, and down to his chin. You'd imagine you could create many constellations with them, like the stars that twinkle in the night sky. He adorned various jewelry, all silver. In his ears, and a cuff across the bridge of his nose. He even wore a gorgeous crown that laid across his forehead as a head piece. It was thin, and wiry, made up of gorgeous silver filigree that shone in the moonlight. You knew that the rings you felt in between your fingers would be silver too. 

He wore all white. You couldn't be sure exactly what his outfit was, but his shirt was a flowing lace up top. Revealing delicate collar bones and toned chest. It was mostly a blur in the midst of his movements. 

Your gasp was delayed, only coming out when he pulled you closer to him. Your hand remains in his, while his arm is wrapped around your waist. You were nearly flush with him, feeling the rest of his chiseled torso against your plush body. But he kept your face at some distance to maintain eye contact. The smile never slipped from his lips. 

He has you captivated, and the two of you don't falter in your melodic movements once. His eyes bore into you, dark and sharp. Yet he exuded a certain softness, and you found yourself lost in the moment. It didn't seem real. 

But it was. 

You were seeing him. In all his glory, ever mysterious and breathtaking. The most handsome man you've ever laid eyes on. 

You were hearing him. He was humming the same tune you were, an old lullaby your mom used to sing to you. His voice was deep, and even, harmonizing with your breathy high pitched voice beautifully. 

You were feeling him. He was touching you, his hand interlocked with yours. His grip around your waist is gentle but possessive. He held you like he didn't want to break you, but knew if he was too loose, you'd go running. 

Though you weren't so sure you would run. 

Your mind was racing. There's no way you could stumble across a perfect stranger, who was immediately dancing with you, so close to the edge of the forest. So close to your house. Maybe this was some sort of hallucination. A side effect of being surrounded by so many toxic mushrooms. 

The mushrooms. 

That was it, it all clicked. Too late did the rest of your mother's words ring in your ears. 

His aura, his energy, his perfect pixie-like features. You noticed the point of his ears now, the glittery sheen to his skin. His smile is full of white pointed teeth, dull now, but you could tell they were once sharper in the past. His slight cat-like eyes, giving them that sharp look even though everything else about him screamed delicate.

Your humming stopped, but his didn't. Your mother's voice is filling your head, and you were repeating the words she once told you so long ago. 

'and if you're caught, the fae folk will punish you. You'll be dancing within the ring until you faint from exhaustion.' you whispered quietly. 

His smile only grew, a glint lighting up his eyes. 

He finally spoke, his chest vibrating against yours, "Wise words, from a magnificent young lady."

He had an accent, you couldn't quite place it. Something between old english and australian. It made you want to melt. 

He started laughing, and you were sure that if he didn't have a grip on you, you would've slid to the ground. 

You've both stopped twirling, but he's still moving you, moving with you. Swaying back and forth. 

"Who are you?" You ask curiously. 

"Who?" He chuckles, "Usually it's 'what are you', that people ask me. Though it's been almost a century since I have revealed myself to a mortal."

A century? Your mouth dries, and you feel something akin to fear course through your veins. But you aren't scared of him for some reason. Wary, suspicious, but not scared. 

"You're different though, you seem to have at least a diminutive amount of knowledge of my realm." 

You want to get angry at that comment. You'd like to consider yourself well informed and educated on all supernatural and magickal subjects. There'd always be more to learn though, and the human brain simply could not grasp it in its entirety. So he wasn't wrong. 

You're still saying nothing, dazed from his presence. So he continues. 

"You were right when you said fae folk." He assures. 

"You're a fairy?" You whisper, wonder dazzling in your voice.

At that he laughs again, and you swear you hear small chimes behind it.

"An elf. I believe that is the universal name humans gave us. Not all fae are fairies, there are others too." 

As he speaks, he lets go of your hand, bringing his fingers up to brush strands of hair from your face. His touch is warm, for some reason that shocks you. 

"Elf." You repeat, not a question, but a statement.

He hums, in agreement and starts to twirl you around again. His hand resting on your cheek, thumb brushing featherlight touches against it. 

You're trying very hard to wrap your head around the entire scenario. You shouldn't be surprised. You've dealt with other worldly things in the past. Spiritual realms are completely different from anything having to do with the fae world though. 

Worry floods through you again once you realize what's happening. 

"Am I being punished?" You lip quivers as you speak, "I-I was just trying to collec-"

He's bringing his head down, his forehead meeting yours. You feel the cold bite of the silver headpiece touching your skin. It's enough to shut you up.

"Shhh, darling. Don't view it as a punishment." 

"I don't want to dance until I pass out." You slowly say, even though your body feels otherwise.

Underneath the initial shock and caution, you still felt that overwhelming happiness. It was borderline euphoric... and strangely arousing. 

Everything happening inside your mind and body right now was so confusing. You were feeling lost, and found yourself clinging to the man--the elf, before you. 

"You pretty creature, don't worry. Danser dans le ronds de sorcières... that's for children." 

French? This being was a riddle. 

"I don't understand." You force out. 

He leans back a bit, so he can look into your eyes and your thighs clench, "We tell the kids, fae and human, that if a mortal is caught within our rings. They dance to exhaustion. The humans carried this myth with them into adulthood, while our kind later learned the truth of these special rings." 

He's still dancing with you, moving your body elegantly to a now imaginary song. Leading you in something reminiscent of a waltz, but you can barely focus on that when his touches are electric against your skin. 

"The truth?" You ask. 

He's dipping you down now, bending with your body as he once again is peering into your eyes. At first you think it's part of the dance. Until your back meets the land that was underneath your feet. The mixture of smells was potent. The scent of damp moss, and semi-sweet foliage filling your nose. 

He hums again, "It was never an entire lie, it always started off with dancing." 

The timbre of his voice was pooling wetness in your panties. You felt beads of sweat forming on your brow, and you were bewildered at how your body was reacting right now. It didn't make sense. 

His body is hovering over you now, his face coming close to yours. His nose is brushing along yours before he speaks again. 

"What better way to set the mood than a passionate dance, and in this case, under the moonlight?"

You whimpered, feeling disoriented and needing his touch. 

"I don't even know your name.", was the only thing you managed to mumble. 

He chuckled, and you felt his breath puff against your lips, "It's unimportant darling, but since you're so... alluring. You can call me Felix... I'd love to hear it rolling off your tongue when I make you cum."

You were mewling at the thought of fucking this mystical being, when you felt his lips against yours.

He was almost lazy in the way he kissed you. Seemingly in no rush at all. And it's not that you were complaining, but you wanted more. So you wrapped your arms around his neck, forcing his body flush with yours. 

He was smiling against your lips now, and you took the opportunity to swipe your tongue across his bottom lip, begging for access. 

"So eager. Patience little dove. You'll get what you desire and more." 

You knew it was absurd to lust after a man--an elf, gods how could you keep forgetting that, that you just met. But your body was burning and it felt like he was your only rescue. 

His hands wandered your body, groping and massaging every inch. 

He had your leg wrapped around him, his hand trailing down the back of your thigh and his lips attached to your neck. He was marking you with what you imagined to be the most beautiful bruises. You were panting at this point, and it felt ridiculous to be this turned on by so little. By a stranger. But it didn't make you want to stop.

His fingers reached the edge of your panties, and you gasped. You felt his smile again, he was enjoying every bit of this. You felt powerless to his strokes against you. Your hips were bucking up, chasing for friction.

His hand gripped your hip tightly, fingers squeezing into your flesh, pinning you further into the dirt. 

You hissed before whining, begging "Please."

"I said be patient." His voice was stern as he spoke against your ear.

It still didn't stop you from squirming beneath him, your mind wasn't registering anything beyond wanting to feel him filling you up. 

He brought his face back to yours, eyes gleaming and the most naughty expression written across it. 

"Fine. As you wish, little dove. But don't forget, I was trying to ease you into this." 

He tore your panties off of you, and his fingers were rubbing against you harshly, sending jolts of pleasure through you. 

"A-aaah!" You were moaning loudly, his movements jarring.

"This is what you wanted darling, isn't it?" He's muttering against your lips now, slipping his fingers into you. 

Your body feels more alive than ever, waves of pleasure washing over you. His fingers skillfully curl inside you, while his thumb works your sensitive bud. Swipe after swipe, eliciting more and more of your arousal onto his hand. 

His kiss is searing, and feels like the only thing currently keeping you anchored to your body. You felt your orgasm building quickly, the band growing tighter and tighter in your stomach. It felt like you'd float away when it snapped. 

You can't contain the lewd noises you're making. Between the moans he's swallowing from your lips, and the loud squelching from between your thighs, it was deafening. Or maybe it was just that your ears were ringing. 

It felt like only seconds later when he brought you over the edge, his movements slowing but never stopping. You're whining, and your legs are trembling but you don't want him to stop. You're nearing over sensitivity and when you close your eyes, you see nothing but stars.

All you can think of are the freckled constellations on his cheek. 

You feel drunk on this moment, and you don't want it to end. It's as if he knows exactly where your mind is when he speaks again.

"You're not done little dove, don't you worry your pretty little head." 

When you open your eyes, and tilt your head up, his shirt and pants are discarded. Revealing a dizzying body. He was lithe yet chiseled. His body is almost dainty, but each muscle is carved in the most irresistible way. His abs were glorious, your eyes trail lower, following the v cut. You notice the faint spattering of a happy trail, and your eyes follow it. 

And fuck.

You've never been one to view someones cock as pretty but... his was. The tip was so swollen and pink, and leaking generous amounts of precum. Faint blue veins prominent along the shaft, and he stood tall and proud. His girth made you wonder if you could handle the stretch. It had been a while since you'd last been intimate. 

He brought his hand, covered in your slick, to his member. Spreading it all over in a mixture with his precum, making it glisten. Your mouth started to water, and your legs spread wider for him. You pulled your skirt completely up, presenting yourself to him. 

His jaw was slack, mouth hung open as he watched you, fist pumping himself slowly. 

"Such a good girl for me darling, aren't you?" He said with that charming smile. 

There was something about the way he looked at you, while doing such a perverse act that had your juices dripping down you. 

Then he was on top of you again, cock sliding into you. Your entire body tensed at the intrusion and you wailed, a mix of pain and pleasure. But it was so satisfying, you couldn't get enough. Your arms wrapped around his neck again, and he was thrusting into you at a brutal pace. 

Your back was digging into the ground, and you started to feel bits of grass and dirt against your skin. You pulled against him, trying to adjust yourself so you could lose yourself in the dance you two were now performing. 

He pulled out of you, and sat back on his knees, that's when you noticed his clothes underneath him. You had no idea he was wearing a cape earlier. It was sprawled out, creating a barrier between him and the ground. 

He picked you up, and positioned you to straddle his lap, facing him. Then he slid back into you, your eyes rolled back, and you let out a filthy moan. 

This position felt more intimate but still desperate, he was reaching deeper into you. The head of his cock pistoning against your g-spot. It felt so good you could cry. 

You were crying, you realized. 

"Shhh, little dove, you're taking it so well. It feels so good, doesn't it?" 

"Yes!" You sob. 

He's wiping the tears from your eyes with his fingers, and smiling at you like you're the most precious thing on this planet. 

"That's right, pretty. So pretty when you cry." He groans out, and his pace grows faster, rougher.

His hand dips down between you, and he's toying with your clit now. In any other circumstance, you'd be embarrassed by the way your body uncontrollably trembles. Your muscles are spasming at his touch. You just couldn't bring yourself to care, he was making you feel too good. 

"Darling," He purred, as he slowed his thrusts and pinched your clit between two fingers, rolling it, "I want you to look me in the eyes when you cum for me, can you do that?" 

You were mewling as you nodded your head frantically, feeling your peak rush towards you. 

At that he started fucking into you harshly, almost painfully, and you were coming undone with a loud cry on top of him. Your body tensed, nails digging into his shoulders, struggling not to throw your head back. His hand that was playing with you, gripped your jaw, smearing your own arousal on your face.

He was making sure you kept your word, maintaining your gaze on his while you clenched around him. Your eyes were fluttering as you tried to keep them open. He was biting his lip, eyebrows scrunched together as he fucked you through your orgasm. Watching your face contorted in pleasure. 

"So tight." He grunted.

You were scratching at him now, nails dragging down his shoulders. And your mouth was hung open in a silent scream, your voice having given up on you. 

It was becoming overwhelming. 

You still didn't want it to stop.

"I know you can take it darling, take it." He growled, gripping both your hips now to steady you.

So you did, until you were limp in his arms, and he was releasing into you with a groan. 

Your head was resting on his shoulder. Sweaty skin sticking to each other, and he was soothing you. Humming and stroking your hair gently. You were breathing heavily, trying to come down from this mind blowing experience. But you weren't descending, not mentally. You were still riding that high, stuck in a lust filled haze. 

He started to roll his hips tantalizingly slow, and you hissed at it, feeling slight pain. Mostly you were shocked he was still hard. 

His chest vibrated while he quietly laughed, "Did you forget the 'more' part, darling. I keep telling you, we're not done yet." 

You whined at the sensation of his gentle movements. 

"Shhh, there there." He's teasing you, "Are we a little sore?"

"Yes." You breathed.

"I can fix that." 

You gasped when he slid out of you, hating the fact that you felt so empty. 

He was positioning you to lay down on his clothes, taking care that no part of you touched the ground. You just let him handle you, molding your pliant body however he wanted it.

His hands were rubbing down your arms, and he was smiling down at you. When you met his eyes, you couldn't explain the exact emotions you were feeling. You'd let this man take your soul if he asked right now. 

He was licking his lips as his hand trailed back to your core. You gasped again, then whined when he dragged his fingers through your swollen folds. His touch was almost massaging, yet sensual. He was touching everywhere, teasingly avoiding your sensitive bud. 

The more he touched you, the more you writhed. And sensing another comment about how you can't be still or patient, you yanked him down to you so you could kiss him. 

You were tired of just laying there, you wanted to start giving. To start touching.

You didn't know where all this stamina came from, but you were determined to use it. You jerked your hips up, leaning more into his touch. 

It wasn't until you reached down to wrap your fingers around his length that he paused his movements. 

He was still slick with your cum. And you used that to give him slow strokes.

He let out a hoarse moan against your lips, before pressing his fingers directly on your clit, rubbing in small circles. He was matching your tempo directly. You whined into the kiss, your hand picking up pace. Pumping him faster now, and he followed your lead. 

Or so you thought, just as you felt your climax starting to build, his fingers were being pulled away. 

He took your hand off him, and then crawled down your body, coming face to face with your core. 

"So pretty, even here darling." 

You were blushing at his words, but you couldn't take your eyes off of his, as he stared at you from between your thighs. 

"Still sore? Let me make it feel better, little dove." 

And you felt his tongue lave through your folds. It was gentle and it felt hot, and it drove you crazy. The flicks of his tongue against your clit were maddening, and you wanted more. 

Your hips started slowly moving against his face, and this time he let you. He lets you roll your hips, and grind against his face. His tongue flattened against you, and you slid your hand into his blindingly white locks. You started grinding against him harshly, losing all sense and control of your body and just focusing on climaxing. 

He let himself be used by you, and as your grip in his hair tightened, so did that feeling in your stomach. You felt another orgasm come over you, and he let you ride it out, quite literally.  

You expected to start feeling spent by now, but you didn't. So before he could climb back up your body to kiss you, you were sitting up and pushing him onto his back.

He landed on it with a thud, puffing out air and looking at you incredulously. 

You let the primal urges take over as you lowered yourself onto your stomach, and took his member in your hand. You licked up the underside of his cock, your eyes never leaving his. He groaned as you watched his eyes roll into the back of his head. 

You placed a soft kiss on the tip, and licked the strings of precum off your lips. 

"Fuck..." He whispered.

"Let me return the favor." You mumbled before you took his tip between your lips.

You let your tongue swirl over it a few times, savoring his taste. He brought his hand down to your face, and pushed your hair back for you. 

You let your tongue run down the underside of his cock, and you sunk your mouth onto him. You had completely engulfed him, and were struggling not to gag. Still, you never intended to stop. 

He was grunting as your head bobbed up and down on him, saliva collecting at the corners of your mouth and dripping down to pool at his pelvis. 

"Making--ah fuck--such a mess for me, darling." He groaned. 

He lets you keep at your own pace for a while longer before he starts thrusting into you. He kept your head in place, and you gagged and tears started running down your cheeks. Each stroke became more and more erratic, until ropes of his hot cum were shooting down your throat. 

He pulled you off of him and you gulped down breaths of air. He was caressing your cheek, swiping a mix of tears, spit and cum from your lips before kissing you. 

That's how you both continued throughout the night. Pleasuring each other, nearly non-stop, under the moonlight. Your mind was fractured, nothing else but him existed inside of it. He'd touched, fondled, massaged, and embraced you, until you could only respond with breathy whispers of his name. 

"Felix..." You sighed, when he was bringing feeling back to your numb legs by massaging them.

"Felix..." You moaned, as he slowly took you as you both laid on your sides.

"Felix..." You screamed as you came undone on top of him, riding him roughly.

He took you in many different positions, and you indulge yourself in each one. When he wasn't fucking you, you were whining in complaint and going down on him. If he wasn't going down on you, he was edging you with his fingers. Your hands never left each other's bodies, always needing connection. You were sure he was just as familiar with your body as you were by this point. 

The exhaustion finally hit when he had you on your back in a mating press. The last thing you remember, is staring up into the twilight sky. Dawn was approaching, the stars were disappearing before your eyes, as the golden glow of the sun started to peek through. 

Your eyes were fluttering as you fought unconsciousness, determined to finish fucking this completely ethereal creature. Felix was barely putting in an effort to fuck you, but he still slid in and out of you at an agonizingly slow pace, as if he wanted to keep your orgasm at bay. You both wanted to extend this moment in time, but your body wouldn't have that.

When you finally let go, cumming on his cock for what felt like the hundredth time. That's when your eyes shut and you gave into the exhaustion. 

The familiar scent of nag champa incense filled your nostrils as you started to come to. 

Your bedroom, permanently infused with your favorite scent to burn, that's where you were. The familiar feel of your sheets beneath you, and your heavy comforter confirmed that.  

Your mind still felt a little cloudy as you started to recall how you got to your bed from the forest. 

That's when you feel a body next to you and your eyes shot open.

"Felix?" You croaked, your voice dry and hoarse.

He was laying next to you on his side, in your bed, in your house. 

He had the blankets pulled up to his waist, and was resting his head on his hand. Elbow propped up, so he could see you better. He was shirtless and he wore that same smile on his face, like he was so fond of you.

"Is that still the only thing you can say, little dove?" He whispered teasingly. 

"How- I mean, why-?" You stutter as you attempt to sit up in bed, but your entire body aches. 

You hiss at the burning sensation you felt between your legs. And your legs, gods, you don't think that they've ever felt so sore. 

"Easy darling, you need to rest." He said as he helped you sit up. 

He reached over to his side of the bed and handed you a glass of water, motioning for you to drink. 

You eyed him curiously as you sipped your water, finishing it rather quickly when you realized how thirsty you were. 

"I ran you a bath and kept it hot, when you're ready we should wash you up more." 

"More?" You questioned him.

"I did clean you up last night, I'm not a monster. The bath will help ease your muscles." He chuckled.

"How did you even know where I live?" 

"It's not hard to figure out, we weren't that far from it. Your house is the only one for miles." 

You still felt guarded around him, even after the night you shared. If the stories your mother told you turned out to be partially true, you could only imagine what other lore could turn out to be true. 

Now this mischievous creature knew where you lived, he was in your home.

"I know this is your sacred space little dove, I don't intend to intrude. However, I couldn't exactly leave you in the state you were in. How are you feeling? Is your head a little clearer?" He spoke softly as he brushed his fingers through your hair. 

It is. Almost all of that dazed feeling was gone, you felt more lucid. In that clarity though, a rush of embarrassment hit you. You felt your skin heat up at the more clear memories of last night. 

You were never the type for hookups or one night stands, yet the things you did with this perfect stranger... This perfect magickal stranger... they felt unspeakable. You'd never lost yourself so completely in someone else's presence, much less with your own... sessions. 

You hide your face in your hands and rub at your temples, trying to make sense of this entire situation. Of your own feelings. You didn't exactly regret it or hate it. Something still felt off. Not only was the entire act abnormal in general, and downright questionable. But it was so out of character for you. Did he use... compulsions? Did he have that type of magick?

"Thinking too hard will just exhaust you more." He said.

"Look..." You sigh, as you turn to face him, "I'm a little lost here, I don't know what to make of this all." 

Next thing you know, he's off the bed. He's picking you up in his arms, and you notice you're both still nude. Your face flushes again at that, and you struggle a bit in his arms.

"Be calm darling, I'm just taking you to the tub. We can talk about it all." 

You let him place you in the tub, and then he's sliding in behind you. Slotting you between his legs. He's pulling you back towards him, so you lay against his chest. You both sit like that for a few moments, absorbing the heat from the bath and getting used to each other in a new type of intimate way.

You should be kicking him out of your house. You should be cussing him out. Defending yourself, but why didn't you feel the need to defend yourself against him? Why were you drawn to him? 

When you think about the facts, some would say you were attacked last night. I mean there's a reason the Fae call it a punishment You didn't feel attacked though. You enjoyed yourself, as crazy as that is to say. 

You always knew you were an adventurous soul, but you never thought to this extent. 

How do you come to terms with actually feeling okay with this whole thing, when you knew you shouldn't be?

"You're a witch, right?" He suddenly asks you, breaking your train of thought. 

"I am... though I'm beginning to question the validity of that title, seeing as I have an actual magical creature behind me." You mumble. 

You knew the magick you practiced was real. You could feel it. It's not like you could create fire though, or move things, or transfigure things in front of you. You weren't even sure Felix could do any of that as an elf. You weren't sure of anything anymore. 

You felt like you were entering an existential crisis. Panic was starting to settle within you when you felt his chest vibrate with laughter, it was an oddly soothing sensation that you know you've felt before.

"No, you are. I can sense it, it's in your blood. It took me a while to piece it together, but you are a witch through and through. Sometimes humans don't know of their tie to the magickal world, but I figured... from your altar, among other objects and ingredients I've noticed here, that you knew." 

You hummed, your mother always told you that you were a part of a long line of witches. She raised you heavily within her practice. You never doubted her, but somehow this new revelation made it so much more real. You realize this was opening a whole new aspect in your own practice. A hidden world, seemingly waiting for your return.

"Is that why you came to me? Because you sensed a witch was near?" You questioned him, your hands playing with the water. 

"No, you stepped inside my fairy ring. I have to say I was shocked. I placed it in, what I thought was, an inconspicuous area. I hadn't realized your home was nearby."

"Okay, I'm going to need you to explain." You sighed. 

"Well... you already know what I told you yesterday. The stories you were told, were passed down by your ancestors and other mortals in general. You don't really just dance in fairy rings, that's a small fib we tell the children. As more human children found the rings, when we'd find them dancing. We'd send them off, warning them if they came in again that we would have them dancing until they faint. When our own children wandered into them curiously, we'd tell them the same thing until it became time for them to learn. It's just something stupid the ancestors came up with, I don't know... It does always start out with a courting dance though, but the main reason for them is, inside a fairy ring... you mate. They're essentially a part of an ancient mating ritual."

At that you nearly jumped up to smack him, but he was a step ahead of you. His arms tightened around your body, pinning your arms to your chest. 

"MATING?!" You screamed at him, trying to turn your head and make eye contact, "I don't fucking wan-" 

"Please, calm down little dove. It's not possible for me to actually breed you. That requires an entirely different ritual, one that hasn't been performed in centuries. I'm not even sure anyone would know how to perform it these days..." He trails off. 

"So then why even lay these stupid Fae traps for humans anyways?!" You screech. 

"They're not traps, and they're not meant for humans." He says defensively, and you can hear the pouting in his tone, "Think of it like this. You know how some penguins build big and pretty nests to attract a mate? It's kind of like that. It's a lot to explain in detail, and I had to create one. Now that I'm of age, it's expected of me to find a partner. Even if I don't find the need to." 

"And why do they exist in this realm if they're not meant for us?"

"Well, a long time ago, back when there was only this realm, and there were more Fae than humans, they came across one. That fairy was so angry at the human for intruding on something so intimate of his, and he threatened the human with a punishment. Before any of the other Fae could stop him, he entered the ring. When they both were inside of it, they were overcome with the magic of the ring. The courting dance had started, and no one else was able to enter. The desire for each other grew. In his anger he must've forgotten what the ring's intention was, and was only focused on punishing the human. But he never got that far. They ended up... mating. They never separated from that night, spending their lives together. It was millenia ago. It created an uproar though. Our kinds had never joined before that way."

You sat and listened, calming down a bit as he told you this story.

"There were battles, not an outright war but there might as well have been. They grew to love each other, and they led the winnings of those battles to stay together. They opened the door for Fae and humans to be together, but it has always been frowned upon from both sides."

There was an entire history of this world that you had never known. One that you could never even imagine to be true. But it is. Before your mind let you delve into it though, you thought back to something he said.

"Overcome with magic? These rings hold compulsions over beings?" You questioned hastily, needing to confirm your suspicions. 

"No. It's not like that..." He sighed, "Didn't you feel different last night?" He continues, "The mushrooms release something like a pheromone. An aphrodisiac, to enhance your sexual stamina. Among other mood boosting and energy boosting properties. It starts by uplifting your mood, making you feel the happiest you've ever been. Then you start dancing, your energy building up in preparation for what's to come. It's not until your partner enters that the aphrodisiacs start releasing. But it doesn't just take away your consent like that. Both parties have to be willing... it needs to be mutual. Though that's not to say that's not how every instance turns out. Evil exists in all realms." 

You shivered at his words, trying to process everything. You could clearly remember the primal urges taking over, the need to constantly be filled. It explained that off feeling, why you were acting so out of character. But you couldn't deny that you had wanted it. 

Craved it. 

You never tried to stop it, never wanted to stop it... In fact you initiated it to an extent. 

He started talking again, "That's why I couldn't just leave you there. Especially not in that forest, where other creatures lurk and might find you. I never felt anything dark there, but that doesn't mean it won't come along. I brought you home. I cleaned you up, I made you drink because you were getting dehydrated. I cared for you."

He was loosening his grip around you to rub your shoulders. It made you think back to the skilled massages he gave you last night, in between all of the sex. He made sure to take care of you the whole night it seemed.

"But none of this answers my question from earlier, why not place the rings in your own realm now? Why would any of the Fae place them here?" You asked.

"There are many different reasons..." He mumbled, "Some of them do it because they want to experience sex with a willing human. Some of them do use them as traps for humans, and those Fae are disgraceful, downright evil. Most of those types have been banished from the realm I come from. But some are like me. We try to hide them, from everyone. Because even though we're required to have them, we don't want to use them."

Then you thought back to his previous words, "Wait... 'find your partner' you said? Are we- do we have some sort of bond now?"

The silence was thick in the air. You waited for him to speak, but he didn't, so you turned around in the tub to face him. Your legs spread out on top of his, as you half straddled his lap. 

His eyes stared into yours, expressionless. It was much colder than his usual warm aura, so you grabbed his hand to hold it, and asked again in a softer tone, "Do we?" 

"We don't have to. It's not permanent. Most Fae who get humans within their rings leave them there once they've passed out anyways. Humans don't have the same stamina as we do, even with their boosted energy from the ring. The first woman passed out, that's where the ancestors got their silly tale from." He spoke tightly, like he was debating even revealing this bond at all. 

"I see." You replied, even though you had many more questions and didn't have a full grasp on it all. 

Not much made sense. In a span of hours you found out the true existence of a hidden realm, and these magickal creatures. You met one, you slept with him, then you actually slept with him, and now you bathe with him. You talk with him, as if all of this is a normal day.

It should all unsettle you more than it actually does. You should be freaking out, 100% meltdown level. This is the story of fairy tales, and maybe not a good one. This could be the big bad wolf and you could be little red riding hood. But somehow, you were comfortable in his presence. Comfortable enough to want to spend more time with him. To learn more, about him, his world, and this new bond. 

So you leaned forward and wrapped your arms around his neck, giving his lips a small peck. 

"Maybe we could... figure it out together? See what happens next, if you explain more to me, that is." 

His eyes lit up with hope, and his charming smile returned to his face. The thought that you could wake up every day to that smile entered your head quicker than you could blink.

You'd figure something out. You had to. He couldn't leave your life now. Not when it seemed like it was just getting started thanks to him.

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But again, please be gentle in your criticism! I am but a sensitive soul.

[dreamyyesenia]

Always Keep Simming - A MOTHER's Advice

By the time Aileen, Evangeline, Rhys and Raphael arrived at the Secret Laboratory of Strangerville, it was midnight. No one was around, it was only them, the star filled sky and the huge forgotten building. As depressed as Aileen was because of Colin’s disappearance, she was elated to go on another adventure. They cautiously entered the building. Evangeline, Rhys and Raphael hadn’t been here for 22 years. Nonetheless, they still knew their way around the lab and quickly guided Aileen. She looked around, wishing her husband was there to experience it with her. She wished she had just told her parents about the aliens sooner. At least Colin wouldn’t have been in such danger and lost then. He would have been with her, as he always had been on their adventures.

Down, down, down they ventured. They passed a huge room filled with little spores of plants Aileen had never seen in person before, only from her mother’s depictions. Finally, they reached a vast room deep in the underground. Evangeline opened the gate with her card, and there she was. The MOTHER. Dead and still unchanged. Evangeline stepped forward. “I’ll do it. It was me and Rhys final shot that put her to sleep.“ Carefully, very very carefully, she put a hand on the MOTHER’s corpse and slowly pressed some finely grounded glowing paste down her, as Aileen assumed, throat. 

„Do I want to know what that is?“, Aileen asked, slightly disgusted but curious at the same time. „Some small Alien your father found on Sixam, mixed with essence from the Glow fruit and some drops of a potion we stole from Batuu“, her mother explained. Aileen looked at her, surprised. „And you just had those ingredients ready to use?“ „They were part of our collection in your father’s office. Rhys learned about this tincture on Sixam from its inhabitants. They asked us to revive the MOTHER, as her existence is vital for them. We kind of waited for the right time“, Evangeline told her.

The MOTHER slowly lifted her head, trying to reorient herself. Finally, her “gaze” fell on Evangeline and Raphael. “You came back”, she whispered. It was a thin, clear voice, not what one would expect from such a monster at all.

“Greatest creature of all galaxies, dear MOTHER. I, Evangeline Scott, my husband Rhys Scott and Raphael O’Neil and my daughter, Aileen Blackburn, wished to talk to you, so we revived you”, Evangeline said, slightly bowing her head to the MOTHER.

“Hach, you stupid sims, the MOTHER cannot be truly killed. My spirit only left Strangerville alone because I had other duties in foreign lands you wouldn’t even dare to dream about”, the MOTHER sneered. „The concoction you sprayed me with wasn’t pleasant but if you think a tiny amount of that is enough to kill me, you’re delusional“, the MOTHER laughed.

Aileen cautiously looked at her mother. “Of course, dearest MOTHER. We come to seek your advice. I need your advice”, Aileen tried to reassure the MOTHER. The creature now turned her head in her direction and came close to „sniff“ her. As uncomfortable as Aileen felt, she tried not to flinch.

The MOTHER looked at Evangeline again and said “You were so foolish to bring me your own child? Stupid sims, stupid sims. I‘m quite hungry, I might like to take a bite of that juicy leg of yours, child.“ Aileen quickly stepped back, ready to take out her freeze ray.

The MOTHER laughed a high, child like laugh. Aileen stared at her with her eyes wide open.

Before she could say anything, the MOTHER continued: “I know what troubles you, little mad scientist. But I cannot retrieve your husband for you. I may bless you and your family with my protection. From aliens, that is.“

“And what do you want in return?”, Aileen asked immediately. She knew, much better than her husband, it was no good to listen to false promises without hearing the conditions first.

“I like your girl, Evangeline”, the MOTHER said with a slight smile. “All I require, is to be left alive and to have some company every now and then. And a meal. And to bring my fruits to my homeland again. Let my children grow and rule on Sixam again.“

A meal? Aileen hadn’t noticed she’d voiced her thoughts out loud. “What.. what do you eat, dear MOTHER?”, she asked, dreading the answer.

“Oh, I eat anything with meat. Preferably Aliens, Sims and Spellcasters are quite nicely flavored too”, the MOTHER told them, now sounding cheerful. “I’m actually quite hungryyyy…”

“I accept”, Alien quickly replied. “I’ll bring you something, someone, to eat. Soon. Just, not my family please. And I‘ll take your Bizarre Fruit to Sixam.“

The MOTHER bowed her head and announced: “I look forward to working with you, Aileen Blackburn. From now on, Aliens will respect your name and never abduct you or any member of your family again. Otherwise, they’ll end up in my - extremely large and empty, belly. Here’s a Bizarre Fruit, for your friends in space. Let them know I’m awake and well. And I don’t like what has become of my homelands at all.”

Evangeline asked: „But don’t you wish to return to space?“ „I think this place is quite comfortable. Who knows, maybe another dumb scientist will provoke me and I‘ll decide to wreck havoc on this place again…“, she drifted off, laughing. Then she added:“Oh don’t you worry, not in your lifetime. Eternity is quite boring you now, gotta keep myself busy every now and then.“ Aileen didn’t quite know what to say to that. „I say, we think about that another time, let’s get out of here“, Rhys said ushering them out.

As they were getting ready to leave, Aileen received yet another message by R.: “Meet me in 2 nights, I’ll take you to him.”

[inkyquince]

so it turns out that every thought i've ever had about gale is true, and i am always right <3

characters. gale (baldur's gate 3)

content warning. Nsfw. gale gets baby fever and makes it everyone's problem. gender neutral reader, but they have the means to get preggers, either through due to race shenanigans or through other means, ahem. mention of mpreg, horny gale, implied baby trapping later on featuring angst. (2.6k words)

BALDUR'S GATE 3 SPOILERS

so basically, we'll start with the wholesome side. after the entire fucking hell hole of a time with the city of baldur's gate going to hell, Gale insists on bringing you back to live with him in Waterdeep. You need to see the place he showed you with the Weave after all. And meet his mother. Very important.

Gale is already showing off a few grey strands, but it isn't until a few more join his hair does he get smacked with the most intense baby fever known to man. To be honest, he never really thought about it (a lie, he thought about it a few times, but more to that later) but this is the first time he struggles to get through the day without dedicating many of his intricate thoughts to, say, the nursery, if Tara would do well with an infant in the house, how you would look, stomach swollen and in his shirt to sleep. Things like that. Not to mention the highly enjoyable activities that would lead to the conception, and how vigorous you two would be in the undertaking.

To go on a lengthy tangent, but Gale undertaking extra research the moment baby fever hits him? Amazing.

(I am so sorry, but im gonna alter lore here, @undead-merman and I have talked extensively about different breeding techniques of DnD races, I'm SO sorry.)

But Gale cracking open a book on tieflings, and finding out that all Tiefling sexes are able to get pregnant, since the Devils pass this ability down. Taking a moment, mug of warm tea halfway through his lips when he reads over that the only thing required for the non-females of the Tiefling race is a well known ritual and hey presto, deviled babies on the way. Goes home, and just zones out, Tara on his knee as you accept that your love is probably in his little thinky mode and get him some dinner.

Or how, while Driders can't breed, Lolth-blessed Drows are highly fertile, especially since the Underdark is quite the dangerous place, and its it would not do well if you lost your only child to an exploding mushroom. Seladrine drow have repoerted lower fertilties, but a member of the Society of Brilliance has recently reported that a simple tincture would kick up their fertility back to the rates of their red eyes cousins. That, and they have eerily similiar breeding techniques to spiders. However, if you refrain from eating him after sex, it should be good.

Wood elves have larger broodes than High Elves, and more likely to get triplets and twins. High Elves, however, seem quite unaffected by pregnancy, and seem to breeze through it. Both have seasonal mating rituals though, with Wood Elves prefering to have their children in the summer and autumn and High Elves prefering the winter and spring.

Not to mention, if you yourself can't naturally carry children. Doesn't lessen the baby fever at all. In fact, he gets his little intense glints in his eyes and spends time pouring over books. Wizards have been going into stranger and stranger things over the centuries, so obviously there's some books about pregnancy and how to stimulate the conditions to carry a child. Hopefully Elminster doesn't catch him while he's off guard. Nothing would ease the fluster Gale would find himself in if he was asked what he was researching and instead of saying anything like, "The Crown of Karsus" or "The Book of Thay", he'd instinctively reply that he's looking to get his partner pregnant.

Elminster wouldn't blink though. Old ass.

Anyway, that's all to say, he'd love reading up on the different races breeding techniques. Then comes the euphoria of fatherhood, but before that?

Slowly bringing up the subject, laying out all the plans oh-so meticulously. Any rituals? Planned in advance. Preparations? Set out. Only can have children at a certain time of year? He's got the calender out and has marked the dates where it would be ideal to do nothing but stay inside and... Well, fuck. Gale's baby fever is so bad at this point too. Instinctively goes out to touch your stomach, or tell you a fun fact you might not even know about how your people breed. No, Gale, you won't bite his head off after sex, stop bringing it up.

He suspends all appointments, regular meetings, even his own research. Gale is always more of a relaxed lover, worshipful even, but now he firmly takes charge. Has scheduled food and drink breaks, but those usually tend to end quickly. How could he resist? Fuck, shortly before the first time you two fuck, he was entranced by the sweat roll down your skin as you fought. Yet he's supposed to be a gentleman now? With you naked, greedily drinking down your cup of water, cum slipping from between your thighs, sweat gleaming like magic against your very skin? Gods help him. He whispers soft words to you each time you tighten around his cock and cum too. How you're the only one for him, how he loves you, how he can't wait to see you carry his child, even how you're the reason he gets to live properly, not as a student of the weave, but as a man.

Then, it happens.

He's always delighted by his child, no matter what. They'll always be at least half human, but the traits they carry over from you? Adorable.

His child snoozing, with little tusks peeking out from their mouth? He worries about the blanket getting snagged in them. Little horns, just barely nubs? He runs a thumb over their soft texture, knowing that with time, they'll harden. Little pointy ears and eyes that are so big and soft? Gently tickles them and laughs softly as they kick. Oh so small, they barely fill his forearm? Mans too worried to ever put them down, wears a sling to always carry them around. Scales? Mans gets weirdly paranoid about scale rot that occurs in dragonborns and dragon blooded sorcerers, and stays up reading about it, but it all vanishes when his kid makes a soft chittering noise when he gently massages the ointment into their scales to prevent dryness.

Gale insisting on being the one to feed them in the night. Spends his mornings, no longer pouring over books, but sitting shirtless at the table, trying to convince your child to eat just a bit more. His home is no longer messy with papers strewn across every surface, but toys. There used to be silence inbetween each note of the piano, but now there's your laughter as he gets misty eyed each time your kid hiccups. Pretty sure that the only person he lets near his kid in their early years would be Wyll, Shadowheart, Jaheira or Halsin. Not that Karlach gets to visit a lot but she still has to wear heavy gloves before ever holding them. Astarion agrees with Gale and stands way back, wrinkling his nose. The nicest thing Lazael says is that Gale's spawn is less wrinkly than the last time she saw it... Also Halsin's baby rights nearly get taken away when he suggests going into bear form and letting them sit on his back. Minsc is accidentally the best, with Boo at his side to tell him to hold the baby correctly. Shadowheart is not the best with your kid, but she tries, even as you have to correct the way she holds them each time. Wyll is uncle of the year easily and you'd say Jaheira is the grandmother of the century... If you didn't think she'd tell you off for saying that. Gale feverently hopes The Emperor never comes to visit for the love of everything magical, but don't worry. He'd never. Scratch is the best guard dog, snoozing by your baby's crib every night. You cried when Gale told you that the owlbear cub was very much an adult now, and should go free. Then you laughed when you saw him standing in the garden, looking a bit lost after you tried to urge him to go back to the wilds. Doesn't mean Gale lets you take the baby near him.

Sidenote, Gale officially takes back anything snide he ever said to you about your magic if you were a sorcerer, since now he has to deal with your child practically coughing up magic at this rate. Oh, his hubris.

To get less wholesome, what if his baby fever hits when you two are travelling in the first place? Every day a fight against the Absolute, every night a blessing that everyone got through it without dying. He doesn't know what triggered it.

Maybe its seeing the Tiefling children band together. Maybe it was just seeing a family in passing, the mother round with child and the father with his hand at her back. Maybe it was the paralazyed dwarf who cried out for his children as he ran from Auntie Ethel's basement.

He's a man living on borrowed time. For once, it's not just the Orb endangering his life. Each day could be his last.

Gale always had a thought he might have children in his future. But his future is black, endless as the maw that swallows every essence of the weave he feeds it.

Most cruel of all, he's meet the person he'd have loved to settle down with. Introduce you to Tara, meet his Mother, Elminster, everyone important in his life, because he wanted you ingrained into each second of every day.

Life is cruel. Mystra is cruel. Something he'd never think before this adventure, but now he knows it. This was her final act of spite. Letting him find the one, only to put a time limit on it.

The thought starts with accepting that he'll die. You may insist that you'll find another way, but the notion as settled on his soul, heavy and foul like the vials of acid those goblins won't stop throwing at him. Then the whispers at the back of his mind start. Not influenced by the Dream Visitor, nor the Absolute. His own deep worries. You were... Well... You. He knew the others had intentions on you, at least at the time of the first major win for the group, the Tiefling party.

Astarion had purred to you, slyly coming closer and cocking his head to make sure you noticed his silver curls in the firelight. Shadowheart had poured you a cup of wine, her dark eyes drinking you in. Wyll had gifted you his winning smile, stepping closer. Karlach had been loud and open about how fucking you would be definitely on her to do list for that night if you wanted. Lazael was... Basically salivating. Hell, even Halsin's smile turned toothy and sharp as you spoke to him. Fuck, even some of the Tieflings might have tried to shoot their shot. Ikaron, Alfira, Rolan, Guex, Gods knows who else.

You were just... That wonderful. But that word weighted heavily on his tongue now. What happened... When he died? How long would you remember him? How long would you mourn him?

Expecting you to never take another lover was... Insanity, even to his bleeding heart. You have your entire long life ahead of you. He would be a brilliant, bright mark on your life, of love, of lust, of truely connecting with each other. But so brilliant that you never kissed another person?

Gale knew he should be taking the higher road. To bow his head and acquiesce that you would move on, but be happy in the fact that what you two had would be real, would be pure.

He managed a single night.

He just couldn't. Maybe it was his hubris, the one that tarnished his relationship with Mystra, now rearing its head when it came to you. How long would the others wait till seeking you out? To comfort, to hold you close? Before taking the plunge.

You would forget him. Even as you snoozed against him, he lay, idly rubbing his fingers along your knuckles. You'd forget him. He knew it. The group would remember his sacrifice and raise a glass, but he couldn't bear the thought that one of their lips would curve into a smile against the rim of their mug, knowing that in the end, they had gotten you?

In the coming days, it happened too quickly. His soft thoughts about having a family with you in another life, collided with his fear that he would never linger against in your mind after a period of time.

You could have his child.

A part of him would live on. A part you'd never hate. Him and you, into one perfect child, that yes, he may never get to see, but one he'd love so fiercly that they'd always know it. That magic would always be there, even when his physical body crumbled into nothing. The others could and maybe would become intimate with you. Become your new partner. But Gale's baby would always be there, a symbol ofyour shared love, and the fact that he was your first choice. Despite everything. He was the one you wanted first.

So he whispers to you that he doesn't have much time left. Kisses away any of your insistence that you won't let him die. Holds you close as he pushes your trousers down, lips against your neck. Doesn't lead you away from camp to make love privately. No, this is for him and for you. The others would have to deal with it.

With every action, it was like he was hoping to brand your memories with nothing but him.

Branding your future.

Astarion could hold you close, skim his teeth against your neck with a drawled double entendre, but you would spend at least half your day in the sun, for the sake of your child. Lazael would bite your lips with each kiss, cunning fingers skirting under your shirt, grazing the bruises she left along your hips, but you'd never join her in the Tears, not when your child would never be accepted among her people. Shadowheart could be the one you curled up with every night, fingers intertwined and sharing slow, soft kisses, but its his soft eyes your child would have, not her dark ones he once so brazenly complimented. It doesn't matter if Karlach would spend her time with her new tentacled friend, or journeyed with Wyll throug the hells. You would not bring your child to the Mindflayers, nor Avernus. She'd visit, she'd hold you and make love to you and get your child to giggle themselves stupid, but she wouldn't be able to be with you all the time. Same for Wyll. In Avernus, with Karlach by his side, his mismatched eyes won't melt your heart. You two would have to wait years to dance again. Even as the Duke, he could lead you by the end to a soft, slow song, humming as he pressed kisses to your fingers and neck, but Wyll was the best man he knew. Every time he saw his dead friend's child, he'd feel a twinge. Just enough to sour the time spent with your baby. Halsin could fuck you senseless and cradle you afterwards all he wanted to, he could soften your heart with his effortless smile and hold you close, but he'd have to live with the fact that he came second. That you and Gale would have something that went deeper than what the Druid could offer. And your child was the perfect representation of that.

There was no proection that night. No love making while surrounded by magic and the Weave. Just you and him, getting only a partial rest as he held you close and fucked you deep.

So, imagine his delight when he got to live.

[meli-writes]

Short Rest

Kera sinks low into the forest floor. It feels gentle, like when the retinue still guested in the palace apartments. The morning sun is the same, and settles on a runestone table with intricate and orderly implements, overseen by a cabinet suffused within an oaken wall and bursting with jarred herbs, magical and mundane.

Kera thinks Bella would like this place, and keeps dreaming of her. She does not dwell on how these things do not belong, in their living nightmare.

The retinue's Elfish Healer, with gaudy-red ribbons and sour chokeberries in her hair, hiding cheeks that blush in the fell air. Her belt, blessed of oft-needed potions and holy tinctures, that keeps a white dress Kera oft-longs to slip herself under.

That is a different dream though, and one she daren’t share.

It isn’t safe — not here nor with her, Kera who does not belong wholly to herself. The Barbarian who took upon the bloody-handed curse so she might save the world.

She reaches out to wake to their quest, instead brushing against something soft and generous. She cups and squeezes and it squeals and elbows her in the face, sending her tumbling from the suddenly real bed to the actual wooden floor.

Kera is not dreaming.

She rises sharply and grasps something iron in her hand.

“Shh-shh-shh,” says a voice lurking in the bedsheets. “Grant me your hands, petal.”

Kera barely understands the words as her mind feels abruptly subsumed. She looks for the fragile healer and finds her, slipping a ribbon around Kera's wrists in a dimly-remembered ritual of reassurance. The iron poker falls back to the fireplace.

“Bella!?” her voice trembles, her rage now far and Elfishly fleet-of-foot. “Why aren’t you keeping watch— who is? They could be on us, at any moment, so close to—”

“Shhh,” Bella coos, and Kera settles unwillingly — this is a gift, or another curse.

Bella had seen the Enchantress leave it in her head, to help or maybe control her. She had learned soon after that sending Kera to sleep did naught for the axeblade already in motion.

“We’re safe here,” says Bella, sunbeams in her hair.

“We are? Bella— where are we?” Kera asks, unable to unperch herself.

She is still looking for her weapon, before seeing it hidden between her boots and Bella’s many, many shoes, by a small, round door. “A cottage — it’s ours, petal. Outside the city, but close, so our friends may visit, and often.”

The Enchantress does not, and when she does is always sure to guilt Bella’s meekened berserker by pointedly refusing help when her prosthetic leg struggles with the steps.

“Quiet, so we have peace. And, as it’s spring, your garden is in bloom.”

“That— that sounds like it’d be nice.”

“It is nice,” she laughs, sweet as the berries in her hair. The ones she’s missed, again, that have gotten squished, again. And Kera remembers she will need to wash the pillows, again—

Kera does not know how she knows this, and it escapes her.

She lets Bella take her head on her thighs, before realising which one of them is supposed to be the apothecary. “Bella, what do you mean my garden?” she asks, puzzled.

Bella’s smile stills a touch and she looks at Kera with a mournful eye. She knows where a Warlock bargains an apportionment, or a perilous clause upon its whole, Kera had just given her soul away. And prizing it back left her— incomplete. There were parts missing to her, scattered and obliviated upon cosmic winds.

“You’ll remember, don’t worry,” Bella prays, for parts who merely wander, to find her again.

“Yeah. But why are you here?” Bella was so much closer — and so much nuder — than she’d ever been with Kera. “Not that I mind but—”

“Cos you grow the garden for me,” Bella says, and Kera feels even less sure. Bella tilts her head and waits for her to realise. It’s a precious moment, on bad days like this one.

“Nn—nooo. Are we—”

Kera looks deep into Bella’s eyes, though still glancing at her ample and nodding bosom.

“Are we roommates?”

Bella pushes Kera to the floor, and slaps her own face. “Scirne’s tits,” she curses.

Kera shakes herself uncertainly and clasps her hands tighter in their gentle binding. Finally she hears Bella chuckling to herself. “You’re my wife, petal.”

Kera shoots up, her hands bursting apart.

“I’m your WIFE!?” she shrieks, “You mean that I— and we—” Bella nods, bemused, and catches the fluttering ribbon. “Fuckin’ GET— IN— hahaha!”

Kera sneaks looks, bolder and bolder, at every part of Bella. “No, but really? We’re—”

She freezes and finds herself bound in a different way as Bella rises to meet her and wraps her arms around Kera's hips. And her face runs redder than any long-banished rage as Bella knows how fun it is to tease her.

“Yes. Absolutely,” she says, sowing kisses and holding them together like trestled vines in summer wind, while Kera’s nerves begin to bundle up like kindling.

“But— Bella, a priestess can’t marry, can she?” she asks, as though it will summon her again to a demon-infested march. Bella holds a cheek that, on any other day, would make her think Kera is running a fever.

“The Mother doesn’t need my help anymore, you do.”

“Are you— my caretaker?” Kera asks plaintively, her tense smile pulling on Bella’s grasp, who kisses her again. Kera thinks she could have a thousand of these.

“When it’s a bad day, like this one.” Kera doesn’t know she’s had them ten-fold that, and a dozen seasons over. “They’re fewer every year, but there was much missing, of your soul."

“But we’ve found new pieces — together, petal.” Kera holds tighter, the once-again, yet-uncultivated sapling of her infatuation beginning to blossom. It is very endearing Bella thinks, feeling Kera pinching at soft places. “Perhaps I should make us breakfast?”

The Barbarian outs her secreted charisma, turns her heart colder than the Dread Lord’s toppled fortress, and pierces Bella with a lonely glance. She knows this well, Kera always makes her move quickly, when she finally realises she won’t hurt Bella.

Well— won’t hurt in a blinding, ungodly rage. This definitely still hurts, because Kera can be a wicked thing and is fast remembering it too, it seems.

“Though, I suppose—” Bella mutters, overripe with playful disapproval, “there might still be some morning sun to bask in.”

And, in mere moments, she finds herself, as she always does, flung back onto their bed, her wife gleefully pouncing after her.

---

(Masterpost)

originally written on cohost 27/01/2024, in response to Making-Up-Adventurers':

Berserker who doesn't remember what happened last night or how that fire got started.

tag suggestions very welcome. not sure what helps people discover my writing without it being spammy. also yes this is an extended "and they were roommates/best friends" lesbian joke.

[that-angry-noldo]

fire with fire

T || 1.3k || AO3 || Finarfin/Eönwë, pre-slash

"Noldóran," Eönwë says.

Then, after a short pause: "Finarfin. Speak to me."

He takes a piece of fabric wet with cold water, puts it on the sweat-soaked forehead. "Arafinwë. Do you hear me?" 

Nothing comes but a pained whine. Finarfin's breath is shallow, his face pale and hot, hair sticking to his skin. Eönwë feels frustration rise within his chest. It has been so long, he wants to say, you ought to have felt better by now.

An unfair request, one born from Eönwë's own fear, his own insecurity. Eönwë wishes there was another explanation; wishes Finarfin did not affect him so. 

Under his touch, Finarfin burns with fever, tears staining his face. Eönwë presses the cloth to his forehead. He is awfully stiff to be a bedside nurse, he knows; he is quick with weapons and wise in war, but he is not skilled in this. Still the healers look at him with relief, believing his presence to ease the suffering of the wounded; still they trust him with their king.

He mouths a silent prayer to Estë; hopes she hears him, through all the moaning and suffering of these tents. You blessed me when I left, he says. Let your blessing be with me in this. 

Finarfin cries out at his touch, shuddering with his entire body. Eönwë waits until the shudders pass; until Finarfin breathes again, however pained and ragged that is. 

Only a moment's relief, Eönwë begs. Only a brief escape.

He does not sing, does not dare to. He knows not how to master his voice to be bright and healing; all he knows are battle-songs, songs of blood and screams and iron, and Finarfin has heard more of that than is wise. Eönwë will not bring wrath and ruin to the place of healing, no. He makes his voice a whisper; slips a drop of power into his prayer, lets the words wrap around Finarfin, brush at his burning skin, sink beneath it. 

Still his whisper makes wind rustle and bring the smell of smoke and rot. He listens as Finarfin's sobs grow quieter; knows it will not last. 

Eönwë is not a healer. 

The wound is an ugly thing. Eönwë looks at the bandages that begin to seep red yet again; thinks of changing them soon. 

You ought to be more careful, he would scold often, as Finarfin's healer bandaged his arm or leg or stitched his forehead, you cannot be so reckless; your worry makes you blind, Finarfin would reply, shooting Eönwë look of disapproval. Am I not a king to be the first to face the danger?

Yes, Eönwë wishes to say as he presses a cloth soaked in water to Finarfin's lips and squeezes lightly to help him drink, but oh, how I wish it was not so.

Finarfin whines. Eönwë brushes a strand of sweat-soaked hair from his forehead and tries again. "Arafinwë. Do you hear me?" 

"My sword," Finarfin mumbles, "where is my sword?"

Where are you, Eönwë thinks, are you still on the battlefield? We won. I would not be tending to you if we did not, do you not see?

Aloud, though, he says: "With me. I have you, Noldóran, you are safe." 

"Hurts," Finarfin sobs, and Eönwë purses his lips. "Where are you?"

Something about the question irritates Eönwë; something about his own helplessness, about his own fear. He takes Finarfin's head, tilts it so he can slip some bitter-tasting tincture down his throat. Finarfin coughs. His face breaks, breath coming in ragged gasps; tears begin to well in his eyes once again. 

No, Eönwë thinks. No. He presses his hand to Finarfin's cheek, lets some of his own power slip through the skin. You have to hold. You have to get better.

It is not good, for fëar so different to mingle so close together. It is not good, for Eönwë to be so desperate. Still Finarfin flinches not from his touch—still his spirit does not recoil at Eönwë's recklessness.

Finarfin closes his eyes and breathes, clutching Eönwë's hand. He is still in pain, that much is sure; but Eönwë's presence distracts him, confuses him. 

Finarfin looks at him, and in those eyes Eönwë sees no recognition.  "Noldóran," he tries again, holding Finarfin's face with all the gentleness he can muster. "Can you hear me?"

He can, he can—Eönwë sees it; it is in the way Finarfin's eyes dart, searching for him but still not recognizing—in the way his breath quickens, in the way his hand clutches Eönwë's. 

"Where," Finarfin says, "where are—where is—"

"I am here," Eönwë says, and hopes his voice is enough to break Finarfin out of the horrible mess of fever and pain his mind is in. "I am here."

Finarfin's breath quickens. Tears burst from his eyes anew. 

"Here! You are here— where are you— I'm sorry, come back, come back, I beg you—"

It is not battlefield that Finarfin fears, Eönwë understands at once. In his eyes he sees the blindness of the Darkening, the biting cold of Araman, the churning smoke of Alqualondë. Who does he look for? His children, surely; his wife, maybe. Not for Eönwë. 

The realization sits bitter in his chest, and Eönwë loathes it. 

Still he tilts Finarfin's face with gentleness, and presses a skin with water to his lips. "Drink, king," he says, and is glad to see that this, at least, Finarfin seems to understand. He drinks greedily, and Eönwë needs to put the skin away soon; he sees exhaustion written on Finarfin's face as he lowers him back to the pillow. 

Finarfin's hand grips his own, keeping it pressed to the side of his face. 

"Hurts," he sobs, "hurts."

Eönwë hates his helplessness; it almost makes him jerk his hand away. It is only his will that keeps him still. 

"I know," he says instead, though he knows Finarfin does not hear him, does not understand him. "It shall pass, king. I promise."

Words feel dry in his mouth; comfort comes unusual to him, almost awkward. Was Finarfin well, he would scoff at that; is it truly the best you can do, he would say, the best you can come up with?

And Eönwë would smirk, and say something in return; and all would be well, for, despite himself, Eönwë loves to see the corners of the king's eyes wrinkle with mirth, and stores each of his smiles deep inside his heart. It feels too intimate, sometimes; it feels like Eönwë is a thief for it, when looking at the stars makes him think of Finarfin's smile, so rare and thus so priceless. 

But for now Finarfin burns, and tears stain his face, and Eönwë can but sit at his side.

Hear me, he wants to order; watch me, see me, know me. But it is not good, for him to order the king. Not good, for him to touch Finarfin's mind and compel him to look. Selfish, to want Finarfin to recognize him, even if it means foregoing Finarfin's will and the will of Finarfin's body; awful, to imagine him wailing in pain, so horribly aware of burning fever and rotting wound yet denied the mercy of oblivion. 

The image is striking before Eönwë's eyes, and he jerks his hand away. 

How disgusting he is. How horribly selfish. 

Finarfin does not see him; his blue eyes are open wide, and his breath is trembling. The red on the bandages is bright and damp. Eönwë purses his lips, and air itself feels bitter. 

I would kiss you, he thinks at once, and does not dwell on what that means. I would cup your face, and kiss your hair, and hold you close. By Eru, Finarfin. The things you do to me.

"I will call the healers," he says, at least, to the king who does not hear him, and rises.

It is only his imagination when Finarfin's spirit twitches at his voice, and his eyes flow open to try and see him, and mouth opens to try and beg for him to stay. Finarfin's eyes are shut in pain, and something twists in Eönwë's stomach; he waits a few seconds, just to see if Finarfin will call upon him again—but Finarfin does not, so Eönwë turns around, and walks away. 

[donkeytonk]

Hunger

Crispin (Toast) Amell is a character that belongs to @iamaweretoad. This story follows an RP thread that we made together in 2018, but you don't need to know that story in order to read this one. I'm not usually a writer, but the gardener mage Sula has stayed in my imagination all these years. Please consider this my Toast fanfic, because I love him (and miss him) very much.

Hunger

When Sula had been a girl in the Circle, she could never get enough food.

“Ethel, can’t I have some more? I’m still hungry!” she would plead.

“Good!” the old woman would snap. “That means you’re still alive.” But invariably she would give the little girl her own portion to finish, the same thing that Sula later did for her own apprentices.

Fleeing in the forests, far away from the abundance of her garden, the little children were always hungry and Sula would pretend that she could not finish. “Oh, so many beans and I’m just too full to eat them. Will you help me Flora, Miles?” By now she had learned the skill of hunger.

You don’t need food, you just need some more water, Ethel’s words always reminded her.

Fasting is good for you.

Fasting keeps you healthy from time to time.

It’s good to be hungry. It means you’re alive.

Sula had never understood the older mage’s words, and she remained skeptical of their truth. There was much of Ethel’s wisdom that she passed on to the children, but the benefits of starvation was not one of them. The elder’s past must have been particularly wanting.

At home she had been surrounded by grain, fields as far as she could see. Beyond their little cottage garden everything was grain, tall and green and shining all the way to the sea. It was taller than herself and she could not see over it, but with a special touch she could cause the stalks to bow before her, clearing a path that was just her size. The first time she had discovered this skill, she had run through the field with her arms spread wide, laughing with glee as the stalks parted in withering curls. It felt as if she ran for hours making maze paths, circles and spirals.

But after that, of course, everyone had been angry. The man with the black beard had always frightened her, and he yelled at her father about putting a sun on her forehead. She had not known what that meant at the time, but when he demanded that they “give her to me!” she ran to the house to hide in the cupboard. Then during the night, her mother had roused her from bed to get dressed, and she was taken away. She could not remember what lie they told her but she thought then that it was temporary, just some good people to protect her for a while, just until the bearded man calmed down. There was a man in armor that made her feel peculiar and anxious, but they told her that he was there to make sure she was safe.

And now she had the power to nurture growth in those fields. Her parents could have bought their own land within a couple of years with the wealth of grain that she could have produced. But she had nearly no memory of who they were, not their names nor their village. They had just been mama and papa to her. They never wrote or visited. Would they have welcomed her home if they knew of her skills now?

But the other members of the Circle became her family, and she was proud of her ability to provide. There had been such lean years in her younger days, but with her innate skills and the knowledge of Lene, the herbalist, they had managed to make the courtyard garden flourish. They had started with Lene’s medicinal herbs, and the villagers were pleased to purchase tinctures, tonics and oils ostensibly blessed through magic. Locally their Circle earned a reputation as fine herbalists, and best of all, for the Chantry, it all brought in more money. There was not much land within their enclosure, but somehow, through the promise of more income, they were allowed to purchase a field nearby where they started to grow their own food: grain and vegetables, beans and berries, and they even made a little orchard. Lene taught Sula how to preserve fruits for winter, how to dry and store the fat tubers, how to save seeds and take cuttings for new propagation, as well as her usual medicinal mixtures. Sula taught Lene and the apprentices how to dessicate weeds with a touch, how to enrich the soil’s goodness, how to extend its moisture, to increase a plant’s vitality, and how to warm and encourage growth day by day.

***

In the forest they were constantly hungry. There had not been enough warning time or else they could have brought more food with them. Every day and every night when her stomach tightened, she thought of her orchard and vegetables. The villagers would probably take it all, but they wouldn’t know how to nurture it. They wouldn’t know to pinch off the tops, would they? Did they know how to trim the branches? They would descend like locusts and eat everything. They wouldn’t know to save the seeds, and the collection would be lost forever. It had taken her years to acquire them all. Some of them came from places she had only heard of in traveler’s tales.

And her stores! Dried apples and pears, almonds, all the different beans still on their racks, preserved plums in bottles buried in the cellar, frostberries dry and in crocks with spirits, fresh peas and dried peas and peas in spiced oil, hazelnuts and their paste, dried apricots, the long plaits of onions and garlic hanging from the rafters, all the tubers harvested and covered in straw, the starts for next spring, the seeds in dry pots, the seeds in wet sand, the rare seeds in her treasure box, the sunflower seeds for planting and eating. The wheat, barley, amaranth, sedgeseed.

“It’s all right, you finish it,” she would tell the youngest children. “It will be our secret, promise?” Fasting is good for you. You don’t need food, you just need water. Ethel had lived through lean times. The older mages too needed all the strength they could get, hunting, clearing paths, scouting for safety. A gardener has no work on the run, so protecting the children became her primary duty. Her body remembered how to go without.

I’m hungry!

Good, that means you’re alive.

Dear old Ethel, what hunger did you survive?

And then they had found the dead soldiers and their empty fort. There was only one man still alive there, and he seemed not to mind a relief of his duties. There were barracks and beds and stores of food. Mora made them a stew the very first night, and everyone ate their fill and more. There were clean clothes and blankets, fresh water, enough time for rest, and three weeks of peace.

Sula began to think of starting a garden. There is hope in a garden, thoughts of the future in a garden, plans for life in a garden. Two weeks of life full of possibilities. Some dried peas and wheat in the stores were still viable, and she could search for dried berries in the woods. She found a spot near the well where grass was still growing green. The soil must be good there. That would be her garden. One week of preparation and winter planting.

***

The Inquisition soldiers had started a fire in the fort while they were asleep and attacked them as they fled for safety. She had told the children to follow Bennet, the eldest. There were only five of them now: Bennet, Sal, Deidre, Flora, Miles. Bennet wanted to fight, but he seemed to understand that getting the younger ones to safety was paramount. She should have gone herself. What had happened to them? How had Miles gotten separated from the rest? Had any of the other children been killed too? Had Bennet or Sal carried them away to die in the forest? Had Bennet been wounded and Miles came to find her? She had promised that she would be right behind them.

Why had she thought she must bring her staff?

Because she was just a gardener. She did not have the fighting skills or expertise of the others. In spite of years of training, she was no fighter. But with the aid of her wooden staff she thought she might be able to protect the children, perhaps, if their little group was not directly attacked. But now, in the face of utter loss, she knew that she would have been useless to save them, with or without that damned staff. There were too many soldiers and a much stronger mage. If she had gone with the apprentices, at least she could have died trying. At least she would not have outlived Miles.

Instead she had been trapped in the doorway, knocked down by the falling timbers and her arm pinned to the ground. How she had screamed as the fire climbed her arm! And still there was no one to help her. Screams were everywhere in the fort and outside of it and no one seemed to notice hers. She could not even remember how she managed to escape, how she had managed to flee to the woods. She could not remember anything until a soldier stood in front of her aiming an arrow at her heart, a soldier with an Inquisition mage at his side.

***

With her mana drained by the enemy mage and her good hand tethered to a soldier’s belt, she was helpless, useless, defenseless. She could do nothing with her bandaged arm, although it was slowly healing under the other mage’s attention. He was a healer. Why couldn’t she have been a healer? What use was gardening if her people died by fire and arrows? And now she would be killed too, or worse, made tranquil, alive in body but not in spirit. They would put the sunburst on her forehead and her personhood would be lost; she would become a mindless slave with no will of her own, a dead thing living on for years. There would be no more Sula Ronoy, just a body.

When the Circle had fled to the forests, they had never marched this much in a day. They had had to pace themselves for the children while the faster ones scouted ahead. These soldiers were used to long marches though, and they kept going on with no sign of flagging at all. Sula had never walked so much in her life. The female soldier dragging her along was the same one she had met the first morning after being captured, one who seemed to particularly hate mages, even their own healer Crispin. Perhaps she hated everybody. Sula certainly hated her.

But finally the sky was growing dim and soon there would be no light to see their way. They stopped for the night.

“Sit there,” the woman ordered, pulling Sula to a spot near the edge of their campsite. As Sula sank to the ground in relief, the woman pulled the tether on Sula’s wrist and lashed it to a tree.

“I need some water,” Sula begged.

“You’ll get some later.” And the woman left her, clearly glad to be rid of her charge.

Finally, Sula was alone. The soldiers were nearby, setting up camp and starting fires, but no one paid any attention to her. Her feet ached, her arm ached, her entire body ached. But now that she was still, her grief overflowed like a broken dam and drowned every bodily sense. Her friends were gone forever, the only family that she knew in the world. Her little boy was dead. Two of her friends were dead. She would be tortured for the deaths of those other soldiers until they broke her to betray her friends. They would make her say terrible things, and then they would hunt them down and kill them all, even the children.

We don’t kill children, their mage had said. But they did.

She could not even wipe her face with her good hand, tied as close as it was to the tree. It didn’t matter. She let the tears fall and she wept, curled on the ground in the mud of snowmelt.

*** “Mage! Wake up and eat.” The woman kicked Sula awake and set down a bowl of something hot. She was already walking away as Sula struggled to sit up. She looked at the bowl with confusion at first, reaching out the awkward paw of her heavily bandaged hand and tugging at the tether that trapped the other.

“Wait,” she called as the woman joined her comrades. “I can’t eat like this.”

The woman snorted. “Oho, does madam need a golden spoon?” The other soldiers laughed as she mimicked a bow, then she sat down to fill her own bowl. One of them called her by her name: Eklund.

“I can’t eat with my hand like this,” Sula insisted.

Eklund rolled her eyes. “No one said I’d be a wet nurse to feed a baby. Wait for your mage to come and help you.”

The healer mage who had betrayed her into this fate? The man who had lied when he promised her freedom? He was on the far side of the campsite. He had stayed away from her during the day’s march, and now he was continuing to keep his distance. Perhaps he had saved her life by treating her burned arm, through all its tortuous pain, but his prize was her capture for the Inquisition. He had used his power to drain her of her mana so she would be helpless and harmless. She was in no hurry to see him again.

Should she lap up the soup like a dog? In spite of crushing grief, she was hungry. The exhausting march had left her ravenous. But her bandaged hand could do nothing more than prod the bowl as it sat on the ground. She would have to wait. Fasting is good for you.

***

She awoke with a scream and tried to sit up, panicking, pain burning both of her hands. Her body was frozen but her hands were on fire. She screamed again as she discovered she could not move them.

The biggest most fearsome guard came rushing over, but for now his face was full of concern. “What is it?”

“My hand, I can’t feel my hand! It’s burning!”

The other soldiers were still sitting around their fire. She could not have been asleep for long. Eklund grumbled “She’s having nightmares and it’s barely even night yet.”

The big man stared down at her bandaged hand. “Oh. I’ll go and get the healer to take a look.”

“No! No, no, this hand!” She looked at her right hand tied to the tree. “I can’t move it, I can’t feel it! Please! It’s too tight!”

He hesitated, perhaps wondering if it was a trick, but when he touched her hand he could feel that it was hot and her fingers so swollen that they could barely move.

“Damn it, Eklund, you can’t tie her hand so tight! Sorry, missy. Don’t fret, don’t cry, you’ll be all right.” He was searching for the knots when he was interrupted.

“Rennick, what’s going on?”

Sula looked up and through the blur of her tears she saw the red hair of the healer mage Crispin.

“Oh, Mister Toast, the apostate girl was just complaining her hand was sore. I think it just got too tight here, I’ll fix it.”

And then she was released from the tree. The big soldier Rennick left her in the care of the healer who crouched down to examine her. He observed the swelling, the heat, the redness, and sent a cool glow from his own hand to hers. “Can you make a fist? Can you open and close your fingers? Move like this. It will feel better soon.”

Her panic subsiding, Sula nodded as she stretched her sore hand.

Crispin looked around and said “You don’t have a blanket?”

“Where would I get a blanket?” she retorted, tears still coloring her voice.

“I’m sorry. I’ll make sure that you get one.” He noticed the bowl of soup. “You didn’t eat?”

“How?” she demanded. “I couldn’t even pick it up.”

“I’m sorry. Here, can you hold it now?” He held it out for her good hand, now with enough slack in its tether to allow her movement. She reached out and awkwardly gripped the bowl. “I’ll make sure that doesn’t happen again.” His voice was dull and officious. He stared at her as she took a sip, and then he abruptly rose and left.

The broth was already cool as she drank it, but there were pieces of tough meat still warm within, and she was able to eat them with her fingers.

Rennick was sent to deliver a blanket.

***

On the second day her mind was fixed on what she would say under interrogation. There was no point in silence or denial. She would need to tell a convincing story, since the truth had not been enough. The officer had accused her of killing the soldiers, and then – was it afterwards? – he had asked her about blood magic. She was not a blood mage, but if it would save her friends to confess it, she would say that she was. She would take the blame for killing all the soldiers, but she was not even sure how such a thing worked. “I summoned a demon to kill everyone”? Between her waves of panic, she still felt grief and rage. Could she take down the healer with her lie too? He was leading her today, more considerate than Eklund for all that he tried to ignore her. She hated him at every painful step on the path, hated every inch of his back as he marched tirelessly ahead of her. She would go to the lieutenant as soon as she was able. She would shout for him in camp if she had to.

“Lieutenant! I am a maleficar, an abomination, a blood mage.”

“But our mage said that you were not.”

“That’s because he’s one too.”

No. It was a daydream, and she doubted anyone would believe that. If they had ever suspected Crispin, they would not have let him join the Inquisition. She needed an explanation that they would believe in order to protect her friends. The lieutenant already had his doubts, but she had heard that his commander was a Templar knight. A Templar would have to believe her confession, wouldn’t he? And then she would be dead and not so tired, not so hungry and not so completely full of grief.

***

Eklund had charge of her again on the third day. At times the snow was higher than the tops of Sula’s boots and it poured in and melted on her toes. They felt like frozen fire and distracted her from her other aches.

They were crossing the mountains by now, and many of the paths were narrow and tricky. Even Eklund slipped once or twice on the ice. In spring this area must full of waterfalls, and the ravine probably held a river. It reminded Sula that she was horribly thirsty.

You don’t need food, you just need some water. But water would make her need to relieve herself more often, and Eklund’s impatience was violent. You don’t need water, you just need…

A string of curses accompanied Eklund’s misstep, and she landed hard on her backside. Sula’s arm was jerked forward and she cried out as she fell as well. She managed to stumble against the soldier’s back. “Careful,” Eklund grunted. “It’s slippery.” Other soldiers helped them back to their feet.

It was indeed slippery there. It was a mountain and the path tended to slope to the side. There were trees to catch them most of the time, but in this space around the waterfall there was nothing but rocks and ice. Instead of a slope below the path, the drop was almost a precipice. If she were to fall – if she were to jump – she would have a clear shot to the rocks below, a steep enough plunge that she might break her neck or skull. Attached to the other end of her rope, Eklund would be pulled down with her.

Eklund will have to step on that flat rock. That rock is smooth and it looks icy. There, that short man nearly slipped on it. She’ll be pulled off her feet. I’ll step onto that boulder then over the side. See Miles, I told you I’d be right behind you.

“Here missy, don’t look down.” A large voice and massive person was behind her, wrapping his own arm around her good one. It was the big soldier, Rennick. The sudden touch shocked her from all of her thoughts. “No, no no, don’t be scared, miss! I’ve got you, I won’t let you fall. You just hold on to me and you’ll be safe, all right? Eklund, pass me the rope here. She’s too scared to move.”

*** By the fourth day, her feet were too sore to walk. Crispin was able to ease their pain, but her wet boots and stockings continued to chafe, inflaming the raw skin over and over. She was exhausted, hungry and thirsty all the time. The soldiers each carried their own water, but she had to beg for every sip.

You don’t need food, you just need water.

They would reach their destination tomorrow, they said.

At night it was always difficult to wrap herself in a blanket using only one hand. When everyone else seemed to be asleep that night, she pushed away her blanket and let the snow fall on her. With luck she would freeze to death in her sleep. She lay there for some time with her eyes closed, letting the cold chill her to the bone. She tried to fall asleep but could not control her shivering. And she had been wrong that everyone was sleeping. Someone walking through the camp noticed her, even in the dark. It must have been a sentry on watch. He brushed off the snow and covered her again, then built a small fire and sat down to watch her. Despite herself, she desperately welcomed the warmth. Then she felt the weight of a second blanket or cloak. When her shivering subsided at last, she fell asleep.

*** On the fifth day, she woke with an aching throat. This accompanied her inflamed feet, burned arm, exhausted body, aching head, chafed wrist, thirst and hunger. When they finally arrived at her prison, terror seized her at first. For all her stoicism of facing death for her friends, the prospect of imprisonment and torture in the chantry’s dungeon overcame her heart. She had screamed as they dragged her down to the depths, and the presence of a Templar guard further frightened her. Putrid smells and rats, damp straw and bitter cold all conspired to break her will, but at last the long march was over. She was utterly exhausted, and in the end not even fear could keep her awake. She fell asleep, then woke feeling thoroughly ill.

Everything was filth, including herself. For days already she had worn the same clothes; she was given no water to wash with, barely even enough water to drink. The blankets smelled like mildew. Even the bread they gave her tasted of filth. You don’t need food…

Her body fluctuated between burning and freezing. Every touch felt like a bruise. She coughed until she thought that her ribs would break.

But the five days in the cell dragged on like years, and still they did not come to interrogate her. She had heard tales of their brutal treatment of mages. What were they waiting for? Had they already sentenced her to die of neglect? She barely noticed her guards anymore. It was just the healer Crispin, now her only link to the world. He seemed kind sometimes now. She told him that she was ready to confess but he advised her against it; he seemed to know the spymaster and what she would want to hear.

“Do you have any water?” He did not.

He brought Sula blankets and tried to soothe her fever. He tended her burns and cut the tether off of her wrist. He acted like a real healer. She was grateful. His might be the last friendly face that she would ever see.

“Sula, won’t you eat something?”

No. The time for all of that was past. Swallowing anything was agony in her throat. All she wanted was to sleep forever. If they questioned her now she knew all would be lost, but she could not summon the will to care about her fate.

I’m already in my grave. “I’m not hungry.”

---

(Part 2 here)

[sourdoughservitor]

Yule: The Winter Solstice

⋆꙳ •❅*‧ ‧*❆ ₊⋆꙳ •❅*‧ ‧*❆ ₊⋆꙳ •❅*‧ ‧*❆ ₊⋆꙳ •❅*‧ ‧*❆

Merry meet and welcome to the first pagan holiday of the Wheel of the Year, and the first installment of my Year of the Wheel series! I will practice witchcraft every day this year, and this blog will serve to document my works as well as share them for others' benefit.

Yule

Yule falls on December 21, 2023, where I live. It is the Winter Solstice here in the Northern Hemisphere; it marks the shortest day of the year, the day with the most darkness, but of course this also means the following days begin to get longer. Thus, Yule is celebrated as the beginning and end of the Wheel of the Year: it is the signpost by which we track our years.

Yule is an excellent time to celebrate the past and the future. Practitioners will often use this day to focus on cleansing; to re-affirm bonds, vows, pacts, and wards; to set goals, affirmations, and aspirations; as well as to reflect on the past year and what they've learned and experienced, and how they've grown.

During this time, I like to cleanse the negativity of the past year, embrace the positivity, and prepare for the upcoming one.

Yule Witchcraft

I will be doing a variety of works to celebrate Yule. Unfortunately I have nobody to share Yule with in my personal life, so there will be no feast in my home. Instead, I am conducting the following workings to prepare myself for the year ahead:

A Year Ahead spread. The simplest very first thing I like to do to celebrate Yule and the coming year is a Year Ahead spread. As simple as it sounds, you draw one card (tarot, oracle, your choice--I draw tarot) for each month. The image below shows last year's spread, with January at the top and the other months following deosil (clockwise). This year, I'm following full moons instead--I'll make a post hopefully soon into the new year about those too!

Creating my grimoire. This one is a little extra, I'll admit. But I just wasn't satisfied with any of the notebooks or journals I could buy, at least not for under $40. So I decided to learn bookbinding and make one. I already have many notes in a digital grimoire for redundancy, portability, and searchability, but I find paper infinitely superior when doing spellwork or rituals. I'll gradually fill it out as I go, and maybe post the finished book / some spreads later.

Creating a tulpa and enchanting a ring. I'll probably (read: definitely. I mean look at my URL) do a post on thought forms in the future but for now Google it if you're unfamiliar. I learned something about myself in therapy recently--about a part of myself that manifests as self-hatred, but truly comes from a place of compassion. I will bind it to a ring I wear daily in order to work with it to serve me instead of hinder me.

Observe the 12 Days of Omen. Just a good tradition to observe following Yule. See tomorrow's post for details!

Cleansing my altar, my space, and myself, as well as re-confirming my wards.

Journalling. About the past year, the next, about my craft and myself. As part of this I may do some trancework and meditation, depending on my mood and time; I would also like to test out the oneiromancy oil and tincture I made (post forthcoming?? oof so many I have planned!).

If you have any questions or comments, please feel free to leave a note. My asks are always open, too. Blessed be 🐻💚

see my Year of the Wheel masterpost for more!

[greenpanda-basicfakewitch]

Witch Tools | Herbs Used In Wicca

Like Herbal tea/Baths or would then later become smudge sticks. List Of Herbs: Sage. Rosemary. Ginger. Garlic. Chilli Nutmeg. Cloves. Bok Choy. Cinnamon. Capers  Pepper. Dill Banishing. Bay Leaf. Thyme Dill. Allspice. Vanilla. Cardamon. Chives Mint. Rocket arugula. Sage. Bay Leaf. Basil Chamomile. Vervain. Lemon Balm. Mugwort Wolfsbane. Rowan.

*Authors Note: Take this post with a grain of salt/most sources came from pinterest/internet. And nothing goes into detail about flowers/Herbs and the difference between the two.

Herbs Used In Wicca

Four Corner Home Blessing. Four clear Glass Vessels, For North, south, east and west.  Lavender: For peace.  Sage: For good vibes.  White Rice: For Abundance.

How to dry Herbs:

Air-drying works best for low-moisture herbs like marjoram, oregano, rosemary and dill. Trim fresh herbs at an angle to protect the rest of the plant. Gather 5-10 branches together and tie with string or a rubber band. The smaller the bundle, the easier and faster they will dry.

Put the bundle of herbs, stem side up. Hang over a week ideally in a cool dark place.

Herbs are best stored in airtight glass containers, they’re uses range from cooking, tea, tincture, even decoration.

What herbs can you think of to use in your craft?

Tea Magick

[Reminder that Alastar Crowley added a K to Magic to differentiate between the craft or magician parlour tricks]

Green: Energy immunity cleanse. Peppermint: Decongest, clarity, tummy ache.

Chamomile: Anxiety, stress, sleep. Hibiscus: Blood pressure. Love, Harmony.

Black: Strength. Repel negative energy. Ginger: Nausea. Menstrual pain, tummy ache.

White: Cleansing, protection, antioxidant.   Cinnamon: Cold relief, anti inflammatory, metabolism

Matcha: Mental clarity, tasty af detox. Chai: Calming, energy, digestion.

-> Flowers Page

[ahollowgrave]

do they have a skincare routine? if yes, how involved is it?

what is their skin texture?

Oh yes. It is very involved. As a child Odette was always making 'potions' out of anything she could get a hold of. Were it not for the math and intelligence needed for alchemy she would have slotted into the work neatly. Thankfully, her skincare routine scratches the same itch for her. Her tinctures. In general, Odette is very concerned about her appearance. She finds herself to be beautiful, how could she not divine bride that she is; but, for better or for worse, she is Incredibly Aware of her State of Being. A lot of her skincare and general beauty routine are focused on restoring a sense of life to her face. However, she is also a young woman, for all her grand purposes, and she follows trends with a certain thrill. To spy someone wearing a similar style brings her a jolt of glee. A woman of simple delights. As far as skin texture: Cold, incredibly so, and often a little clammy. The smoothness of youth with the pallor of a corpse. Dotted with the occasional mole. With stretch marks like slivers of blessed moonlight across her stomach, hips, and thighs.

Thank you for the ask!

[ Small Details ]

[thenihilistofthevoid]

A Cure For All Ills

(Our discussed starter for @cxpedcrusxder)

Gotham City, with it's spires and stonework was a familiar sight to the druid. Although Saburo was perfectly capable of living off the land, he was a man with vices. A simple healing poultice for a hot meat pie was a common trade, and the intense clustering of all these people meant sometimes, sicknesses became epidemic and needed him to treat it. Although he didn't charge for his services, coin was something useful for when he was forced to interact with society at large. The crown of thorny vines atop his head and the quartz crystal in his staff denoted him as a healer, as he poured the latest tincture into Ma Evans's mouth. He could calm her fever, still her seizing, but he was no closer to a cure. He knew every illness, and this was not one of the natural world. "Apply this twice a day to the rash, it should soothe the pain." He thrust the linen bag filled with ointment to the small girl, doing his best for her. Evans was but one patient amidst thousands as he left the small home, leaving a small blessing from the Allmother. There was dark magic involved, foul forbidden arts that contravened everything he stood for. Sitting down to gather himself and ensure he was not also infected inside the dark alley, a silent prayer was made. He could not save everyone, nor could he track this on his own. The druid looked almost tired.

[hasensalat]

Is there a way in which fem!Laurent could have survived the canon storyline?

Let's think of an AU where everything is exactly the same except for one thing: Laurent was born a girl. A very depressing thought under the cut. (TW: Rape, abortion)

Our Laurene would be just as cunning, beautiful and skilled as her male counterpart, but at a heavy disadvantage. Because being a woman in her current situation would add a whole new layer of fuckery: The risk of pregnancies.

The Regent used rape (by himself and by proxy) as a weapon against male!Laurent and he barely survived that. But being targeted by a murderous rapist in a society where pregnancies out of wedlock equal social suicide, while having an uterus? Yeah no. This would be the biggest threat Laurene would face, and the Regent would use everything it takes to make that threat come true. That alone is a horror story in itself, but the consequences of it would be just as horrendous for Laurene if she indeed falls forcibly pregnant:

Option 1: The Regent makes Laurene's pregnancy public, feigning she had some kind of affair, and thereby defacing her. Possibly stripping her of her titles and legally skipping her in the line of succession, making the Regent actually the next in line?

Option 2: The Regent pretends to be the worried uncle and makes her secretly abort for "her own good". Maybe even with the council's knowledge and blessing. Medieval abortions were highly unsafe in the first place, often done by drinking questionable herbal tinctures with poisonous ingredients. Not surviving this procedure was a very real possibility. And now, if somebody spiked that already poisonous mixture with yet another deadly poison, who would even question if Laurene doesn't make it through?

Option 3: The Regent pushes for Laurene to marry her rapist, so the child won't be a bastard. Married off, Laurene would be basically out of the picture, especially if the husband is some low-born guy like a... Govart. And not only would she be terribly miserable, but her reputation might be damaged beyond repair regardless.

All of this would be such a dire problem to deal with for Laurene, I can hardly see a solution for her to survive.

Male!Laurent was sent away with a small army for border control, unfolding all the events past CaPri. And while this had been originally a plot by the Regent to get Laurent killed, Laurent eventually managed to use the situation in his favor. Would it be the same for fem!Laurent? So far, every soldier we have seen was male. In a society were gender is strictly seperated, would she be allowed to travel with a few dozen men as a sole woman? I don't think so...

But even if she does somehow find a way to overcome the danger of potential pregnancies (and all of the added trauma), there is another thing...

Meaning, non of the events past book 1 would unfold in an AU as this, and Laurene would be stuck in Arles.

I believe there is only a single advantage Laurene has over her male counterpart, which is offering herself in marriage to somebody powerful. She could strike a deal with Torveld or similiar (if it isn't too late for her at that point). Actually, marrying as soon as possible would probably be her safest bet, keeping her somewhat safe from the horrors mentioned before. Though, that would not necessarily make her happier. Laurene would end up an unhappy teenage bride marrying out of a dire need for survival.

I can't see a way for her. Poor girl seems to be bound to lose, no matter what she does...

What do you think? Is there any way forward for Laurene?

[dragonholler]

On the third street east of the Almhearst square at the intersection of Dragon and Bluebell, down one half flight of stairs and across from Robintin’s Fine and Used Books, lies one of the one of the most poorly kept secrets in Hamitsdown. Here, nestled between a tailor, an alchemist, and just below Melinoe the Psychic, sits the Crone & Feather Bakery, purveyors of fine baked goods and remedies.

The exterior is brown brick with a charming yellow awning, beneath which a short flight of stairs descends half a story, opening into the front end of the business. There are two small tables with mismatched chairs, and a long display case housing the days goods. Popular offerings include the Blueberry Fairy Cake, the Cheerful Chestnut Cookie, and the increasingly requested Chocolate Dollop, a chocolate treat designed by owner and baker, Trinidad, made in-house with her own blessed jams and jellies.

Behind the counter, waiting patiently to take an order from a walk-in (for patrons who prefer to stay at street level, there is a cooper ear set into the side of the building through which they can place an order, and a full purse through which to pay), or explain the many applications of a Tooth-Filling tincture, is the shops second proprietor, Mearapit the crow.

Technically speaking, Mearapit is Trinidad’s familiar, but the two regard each other like something closer to partners than master and bonded.

According to both parties, Mearapit and her witch met quite atypically.

EC: How long have you been with your witch?

MP: Since the fallow of winter some years ago.

TW, from the kitchen: It will be four decades this year, darling.

MP: Some four decades.

While out harvesting late button frond mushrooms one evening, Trinidad stumbled upon a badly injured crow, delirious with fever. Never one to leave a creature to suffer, Trinidad gently settled the bird atop her basket of mushrooms and whisked it away back to her home, where she applied copious bandages and tinctures until it was well again. Four decades later, and Mearapit has never left.

The pair coexisted unbound for years, content simply with enjoyed each others company. Things changed when one day Trinidad found herself preparing for a working that was somewhat beyond her power at the time.

TW: It wasn’t so serious.

MP: She obfuscates. She was on the verge of knowingly draining her soul for a spell.

TW: A child was missing!

MP: And who would have gone to fetch her, had you expired in that divining circle, hm? Certainly not myself, unless you’d had a way to communicate the child’s whereabouts from your untimely grave.

Mearapit, unwilling to see her witch suffer potential casting backlash and knowing that Trinidad was determined to go through with the working, offered to assist by binding her will to her witch.

For those unfamiliar with the subject, a familiar is any creature bound to the service of a magic user by means of a limited power exchange (which is a reductive summation, but it gets the point across). The presence of a familiar augments a magic users power- combining their raw energy/magic/will, however you’d like to call it, to the casters and strengthening their spells. It is inherently beneficial to the magic caster, but often a vulnerable position for the familiar, which has resulted in a wide history of abuse to those in the position of being bound.

Given the givens, it is perhaps unsurprising that Trinidad felt compelled to protest Mearapit’s proposal.

MP: The witch objected quite strenuously.

TW, now hovering in the door, covered in flour and mixing something in a bowl: Of course I objected! Binding has serious implications, and more for you than me.

Trinidad argued didn’t want Mearapit to feel trapped, and she was additionally wary of placing herself in a position to take advantage of her good friend and partner. As a long out-spoken advocate for bonded rights, Trinidad has always struggled with popular familiar culture and its common abuses. She describes herself as being deeply aware of the myriad of ways in which a bonded may be mistreated.

In the end, after many conversations and the allying of fears, Trinidad came down on the side of respecting Mearapit as a creature and her partner who knew her own mind. They came to an agreement, engaged their bond, and have been together ever since.

Not all bound creatures are familiars, but it is currently believed that all familiars are bound, and the familiar bond, however lopsided, is still somewhat of a channel open on both ends. Magic users can push through their familiars as well as pull from them, providing healing and other benefits if desired, but the magic user is generally the person in charge of the tap. In contrast to a familiar, though the nuance is admittedly small, a bound creature is one which is magically tied and subjected to a magic users will in some capacity.

Recent evidence (of which Trinidad and Mearapit have been credited as significant contributors) suggests that the willingness and disposition of the bonded creature influences the strength of the bond and impacts the quality of the energy that can be exchanged. The working theory is that energy given freely is more effective than energy that is taken forcibly. A common analogy compares the exchange to the amount of water left in a cup that someone has handed you, verses one that had to be wrestled for.

Those interested in learning more about magic between bonded pairs in a safe and respectful manner can catch one of Mearapit and Trinidad’s weekly seminars at the Familiar Rights Now headquarters- full schedule available on the organizations pubic bulletin board. Upcoming presentations will cover topics such as how to build a respectful, considerate bond with a familiar/a creature with the potential to be a familiar, and growing your magic in concert with another will.

When the two are not contributing to the study of Bonded Magic or volunteering with local organizations as examples of a healthy bonded pair, the Trinidad and Mearapit can be found happily ensconced in the Crone & Feather.

By all accounts, including her own, Trinidad has no patience for customers or their indecision, and so she leaves the front end of the business to her partner and friend Mearapit, who runs the counter from a perch that stretches from the wall.

TW: I’ve tried doing the taking orders thing time and again, but I seem to put people off. And, well. They put me off.

MP: People generally want to make their own orders, and not have them rung up before they make it down the steps.

TW: Well, then they should order faster. And stop being wrong about what they need.

MP: We’ve found it’s easier if Trinidad leaves the pubic to me.

The bakery is quite popular in its quarter. The business works mostly small magic; little things to help their neighbors, such as sustaining spells in their baked goods, pick-me-pick toffees and other mood-altering treats. They also offer an array of (clearly labeled) pastries that inspire novelty effects when consumed, for the entertainment of their customers. The Sticky Tongue Tart is reported to be quiet popular at children’s birthday celebrations.

Swing by and pick up a Prickle Peach scone and enjoy it for me, because I’m about to embark on a fortnight long march through the marshes for an upcoming feature and will only be able to dream about them (and I will).

Live from the Holler,

-Eze Clearwater

[23raccoons]

venēnum amōris

Sasori x Sakura

i.e. "[a/the] potion/juice/poison/venom of [a(n)/the] love/admiration/desire/enjoyment"

or

sakura makes sasori a love poison.

Halloween, Necromancer!Sasori, Witch!Sakura, love potions, sasori is down bad as always

“Hello, Sasori!” Sakura calls cheerfully as she enters Sasori’s little metaphysical shop. Half apothecary, half alchemistic supplies, half curiosity store. Shelves lined with jars of toxic powders and bottles of corrosive elixirs. Preserved venomous squamata. “How are you today?”

She pays little mind to the vast difference in their respective magical practices, Sakura leaning towards love and light and all sorts of other virtuous do-goodings that make Sasori want to gag. While he, well, prefers to play with the dead—and things that will soon make one dead. Necromancy and iniquitous magic of a more nefarious nature.

“I am as I am every time you see fit to bless the shop with your presence,” Sasori intones dryly. She is the most annoying little witch prancing about town. From her mycena rosea toned hair to her verdant eyes. They glow when she uses her magic, nearly the same bioluminescence hue of the hadrurus arizonensis that fill the tank behind him when exposed to uv light.

“Well, the continuity is most certainly appreciated,” Sakura laughs lightly, making her way over to the counter. He wonders if she glamors herself to be so vexingly pretty, as lovely as the haunted porcelain dolls locked away in the warded display cases, or if it comes naturally so. From her charming coloring to the teasing banter she treats him with, she is the most tempting of specimens.

Sasori has checked, on more than one occasion, if she has placed him under some sort of love spell. A phenomenon-like pull to draw him into her web, an amorous curse of erotic attraction. She unfortunately has not; he rechecks often nonetheless. The quixotic feelings of lust and yearning all his own. An infelicitous lasciviousness he pushes down at the thought of her in most any capacity.

“It’s near sundown, shouldn’t you be hunkered down next to your hearth by now? Tending to your fire?” He mocks lightly. Her home warm and inviting, cozy even. Full of mismatched furniture and all her instruments of practice, he’s been by a few times on errands forced upon him by his grandmother. “All Hallows Eve is soon upon us, you know.”

Mere hours away from the setting sun crosses the barrier of the horizon, stealing the light from the sky. The turning of the bountiful harvest into the cold bleakness of winter. Sakura’s light, green work magic will dampen as the death and decay of Sasori’s dark magic strengthen.

“I came for some last-minute supplies,” she offers, tapping her nails on the countertop. Sasori narrows his eyes at the offending chipped opalescent enamel-coated keratin. Fingers adorned with an assortment of metal rings that catch the light as she moves.

“A candle for your jack-o-lantern,” he drawls. Protections from any sinister spirits that may be lurking about, all too eager to get their hands on a source of magic to feast on. “Or perhaps some cinnamon and clove for your simmer pot.”

Sakura often comes by the shop to purchase ingredients for her medicines. Dried flowers and leaves. Processed powders and tinctures. The occasional handful of mildly toxic hallucinogenic berries or psychoactive mushrooms that find their way into his inventory.

“Very funny,” she tells him, with a perfect pout. “I was thinking more along the lines of belladonna or mandrake.”

“Oh, really?” Sasori queries as uninterestedly as he can manage. “Seems a little dark for your type.”

It is true. Sakura’s a garden witch—a good one, both in skill and morality; village folk often seek her out for her restorative potions and medicinal balms to help treat their illnesses and ailments. She dabbles in divination and crystals. Star-reading and matchmaking. Midwifery. Hardly the type to need ingredients for darker, occult leaning intentions.

“Dare’s bane, hemlock, foxglove.” She continues, counting off items on her fingers. Sasori keeps his expression neutral as she prattles on. “Wing of bat. Eye of newt.”

“Now you’re just being ridiculous,” he informs her. “No one calls that these days. Ilex aquifolium leaves and seeds from sinapis alba.”

“I mean,” Sakura interjects in his scientific classification lesson, “most people would call it holly and mustard seed. Who’s out here memorizing taxonomies for common potions ingredients?”

Sasori doesn’t point out that he does, and also Sakura, despite her teasing of him. She’s in here often enough with both her own orders and pick-ups that she packs in a little wicker basket to deliver to his grandmother. (The Old Hag never forgets to remark on Sakura’s lack of a husband every single time Sasori endures her presence.)

“What are you really here for?” He’s itching to know what she aspires to do on this nocturnal holiday.

“Oh, you’re so impatient.” She tells him. Sasori’s often torn in her presence, unable to decide if he never wants to leave her side or never wants to see her again. “I need some sugar cubes.”

Sakura has a running tab in his bookkeeping ledger, as she does not charge people for her services, taking payment in whatever form it is given. From wild honey to handmade gifts. Tokens or trinkets. Fresh meat and jars of jam or jelly. Favors, secrets, and the like. Trading in her earnings to pay down her balance when she acquires a novelty that Sasori would find of value.

“Sugar?” He can’t keep the shock out of his voice. What kind of silly little witch ventures out on All Hallows Eve to buy sugar instead of preparing her home against wicked specters and all other manner of malevolent supernatural creatures?

And almost like a test of his patience, something he has little of, waiting for her selection is always worth it. Sakura smiles, like the little flirtatious minx she is, pulling out a flask-sized crystal bottle from the depths of her enchanted apron pocket.

The liquid inside near fluorescent green, shimmering and swirling in its container, clearly magical in its properties. Absinthe, likely made by Sakura herself.

“You plan to divine tonight?” Quirking a brow, how licentious of her. He swallows the urge to offer to join her. To get a glimpse of her usual sweetness in a more debauched state on such a sacred night to his practice.

She swirls the bottle, causing the contents to swirl and flow around. Enchanting, entrancing, enticing. Passing it over the counter to him. “Not quite.”

Sasori pulls the stopper off the top, wafting the fumes towards his nose. Wormwood, fennel, and anise as expected. An overlay of mint, lemon balm, and basil.

“A love potion?” Nothing less than scandalous. Salacious.

She hums, fidgeting with the small crystal display on the counter. “A short-term lust potion, one that intensifies sensations between a couple. I thought perhaps we could enjoy it together if you were not otherwise engaged for the night.”

Oh.

Oh.

Sasori would enjoy that very much indeed.

[black-queen-rising]

And The Gods had finally blessed her with a daughter

(Scene challenge for @asongofgoldenfireandblackblood)

"She'll be a girl this time, I can feel it." "You've been wishing for a girl for a decade, your Grace." Rhaenyra's prediction was right, she finally got her girl that time, while everything else seemed to go wrong. After five taxing, anxiety-provoking, exhausting, but ultimately healthy pregnancies, Rhaenyra went into labor with her daughter nearly two moons early, only three into her tenure as her father's Hand. The Princess was born tiny and gasping, few expected her to survive a week, and then a moon, but now Visenya was ten; her mother had always insisted she survived because their whole family was so anxious for her, and so eager to give her love in what may be a short life, that she spent the first several moons of it continually held in different family member's arms. The Princess didn't even begin sleeping in her cradle until she'd surpassed the size the rest of her siblings were at birth.

Two features of Visenya's infancy had defined the past ten years of the younger Princess' life. First, she was small and sickly, the same height as her brother Baelon despite being two years older and still weighed less than him. Second, she was fervently, terribly affectionate, more judgmental types called her clingy, but Rhaenyra was well-familiar with children who fit that term, Luke and Baelon both spent years so attached to her hip they may as well have been sewn on there. Visenya was as eager to receive affection as she was to give it, a cuddler and a hugger, delighting in being dressed up by her mother and older sisters and carried around by her father and older brothers, but she was a lover, not a clinger.

"Mama! Mama!" Visenya came darting into the Princess-Hand's chambers that morning in a whirl of energy. The previous day she had only been half recovered from the most recent cold she had caught, easily catching two or three afflictions every moon. But just like all the other times, she seemed to return to her spritely, sparkling nature even faster than she became ill. In the blink of an eye her daughter was tugging on her skirts, half climbing onto her lap, "You said when I was well again I could see my new gown, and I'm well again now, and I wish to see before you're busy! Please Mama?"

Rhaenyra kissed her forehead, drawing a way with a wide smile and a soft laugh, "Does your father know you're back up and running, then?"

"Mhm!" She nodded, silvery waves jostling around her shoulders in excitement as she explained animatedly, "I jumped on him first, but he said I had to ask you about the gown. And Kepa is around during the day, but you've been so busy the past few weeks, I didn't know if I'd catch you."

"Oh my sweetling," Visenya was fully in her lap now, and Rhaenyra shooed away her ladies' maids who'd been assisting her with setting her hair and applying her cosmetics so she could wrap her arms around her daughter and snuggle with her fully for a moment. When the younger Princess was ill her heart always raced, often going so fast it impeded her breathing just as much as the colds and flus that caused it to begin with. The feeling of Visenya's body against her own, accompanied by a slow, steady heartbeat was a better remedy for her mother's anxiety than any tincture or draft Maester Gerardys could ever offer. "Of course you may see, you'll have to wait a little while more before you wear it though, and I won't have you begging to do so early, do we have an agreement?" She questioned her with a smile and Visenya returned it in kind, accompanied by another nod. "That's a good girl, let's get your hair fixed while I finish up here and then we'll go look and pick something else pretty for you to wear today."

Rhaenyra allowed Visenya to remain in her lap, as her ladies maids finished her own typically elaborate hairstyle, and she brushed out and then braided Visenya's in a crown around her head. The younger princess spent most of their time telling her mother about the newest book on stars she had gotten her hands on, and wholly consumed during the better moments during her illness. "And where did you manage to find this one?" Rhaenyra asked with a laugh, well aware of Visenya's propensity to "borrow" any and every text she could find concerning astronomy from everyone from her older brothers, and the King's private library, to anything the Maesters didn't nail down.

"It came in with all sorts of other ones when the host from Dorne arrived!"

Rhaenyra breathed a small sigh of relief at that, it was hardly stealing when her daughter had taken it off a stack treasures she'd counted out the highly generous return payment of gold and gemstones for herself. "Well, I'm glad you found something so enlightening to pass your time stuck in bed."

"Please may I keep it at least until Jaehaera and Jaehaerys arrive? I wish to show them too, all the drawings are so pretty, so it's much more interesting than just trying to explain with diagrams like they send from the Citadel."

"I don't see why not," Rhaenyra finishes her daughter's hair and stands her back up so she can find where the gown made for her upcoming--more like looming--coronation had been stored away. "Are you still excited to see them? We were all thinking you may not be up to company just yet."

"But they're not company, they're my friends! And I've missed them!" Visenya's gentle protesting made her laugh once more.

"You make a fair point there, I've missed your Aunt Helaena as well, it will be nice to see everyone." Rhaenyra knew her daughter was old enough now to catch the unspoken I hope at the end of her sentence, and so lays the dress down before she can inquire further so as not to burden her child of only ten with having to unpack those particular anxieties. The gown was made of silk, lace, and satin in a deep blush pink that did not quite border on red, inlaid with rubies, pearls, and onyx gems. It was extravagant, no doubt, but even so felt mildly restrained in a way for the eldest blood-daughter of the soon to be Queen, the girl who would--if the deal they made held for the better part of a decade--be the Lady, and then Princess, of the Targaryens of Dragonstone one day. But Rhaenyra tried to push that out of her mind as Visenya oohed and aahed over the gown for a long few moments.

Once she grew bored her daughter bounded for the doorway and then waited expectantly, clearly still hoping her mother would make good on her suggestion of helping her pick an outfit for the day. The younger Princess questioned as they walked back towards her own bedchamber, "After they visit, can I go back to Dragonstone with the twins for a while? Like we talked about..." She paused before adding in what seemed to be a justification, "I don't want them to go away for so long again."

Rhaenyra didn't know how to respond at first, busying herself by pulling out a couple of dresses from her daughter's wardrobe so she momentarily did not have to look her in the eye. She wanted to say no on instinct alone, to let her fears the endless wet and gray would put her little girl in a perpetual state of coughing and fevers overrule everything, even though she knew such a prospect was unlikely. She wanted to pretend the betrothal of Visenya to Jaehaerys as part of the agreement that gave her younger siblings Dragonstone was not a far kinder political arrangement on her end than theirs. She was her Princess, more valuable than any gold, jewels, or power. But Visenya was her sixth born, small, sickly, unimaginable at this age to bear children, there could be no better offer, not amongst their family, nor any of the Great Houses and if there was one thing Rhaenyra, Helaena, and even Alicent could see eye to eye on, it was that Princess' don't belong to their mothers, not forever, not for long enough. And it was still better for Visenya to belong to their House, their family, to the smart and gentle, sometimes shy boy her sister was raising, than anywhere else in a world so hostile to a small, sickly little girl.

Rhaenyra finally turned, holding out the dresses for Visenya to choose and responded, "One step at a time sweetling, let's keep you well through all these coming events your father and sisters and the Queen and I have all been working so hard to organize, and then we shall see, alright?"

Visenya was not entirely pleased by this, but it satisfied her enough for the time being. "I suppose...I want to wear the purple one though, so we can match!"

"I would be honored, my love."

[ex-textura]

Hey I hope you still want people rambling about their Tavs because you've opened Pandora's box with that one and now I'm back!

My actual canon Tav is named Tristan, like me. He actually had the name first. I first made him as an OC, and then fell in love with him so much that I decided I'll use the name for myself as well.

Anyway! His full name is Tristan Trevelyan, because someone in his life thought it'd be funny to troll him like that. No, there's just some interesting naming conventions going on in the Trevelyan bloodline. His father, for example, is (or was) named Trevor Trevelyan. He's not in Tristan's life anymore though, and they've never had a great relationship to begin with, but I haven't decided what exactly happened to him. I might have to revamp a bunch of Tristan's story anyway.

So far, Tristan is a literal prince, but he gave up his right to the throne because he wanted to travel the world instead of being chained down by the heavy duties of a future king. Whether or not he'll remain a prince, I'm not sure of, because I don't know how well that'd fit into the entire BG3 lore, but it's his canon origin so for now I'm rolling with it, and even if I demote him, he'll still have a noble background.

He's also transmasc like me, but unlike me, he's known it his entire life, and his mother, Shanna, has always supported him, to a point where she supplied (and still does to this day) him with ~a tincture that allowed his body to develop in a masculine way~, so pretty much fantasy HRT. When he's wearing pants, he passes perfectly, but since that tincture is medicine, and not magic, it didn't change the bits he was born with. Tristan is also outrageously gay though, and although his past hasn't been free of any and all kinds of struggles, he's come to see it as a blessing in disguise, because it gives him at least a hypothetical chance to have biological children with a man, should he ever find one he'll want that with.

Spoiler alert: He will.

Tristan is a sweet, wholesome kind of guy. He's kind, optimistic, and will give absolutely everyone at least one chance. He's helpful, and supportive of those he even remotely cares about, and makes an effort to uplift the people around him. He wears his heart on his sleeve, and he's a terrible liar on top of it.

His best non-romantic friend out of the group will be Wyll, because those two have a lot in common even already at first glance. They're both valiant swordsmen with noble backgrounds, questionable fathers, a penchant for helping others, and a huge romantic streak, and I could've absolutely seen them falling in love, if it wasn't for the fateful moment in which Tristan pulled a certain man out of a certain portal, falling head over heels for him the second their eyes met for the first time.

There's much more to tell about my boy, but I think this is enough for one ask. Hope you've had fun reading!

It's Tristan!!! I've been dying to know more about him 😭

I love a good sweet boy, and a bad liar to boot. He sounds so wonderful. He and Gale are going to be so disgustingly(affectionate) romantic together, I can't wait to hear more about their love story

Tell me more! Are they going to have a big family?? One happily spoiled child? Is their wedding gonna be so huge???

(I still ALWAYS want people rambling about their tavs in my ask box they're all so beautiful and fun and lovely and I want to know them all!)