#underbrush clearing company

[texasacelandclearing01]

How Underbrushing Helps Improve Drainage and Soil Quality in Houston

Maintaining the health and usability of your property is essential, especially in Houston's dynamic environment. Underbrush clearing is a vital process that removes dense vegetation, such as shrubs and weeds, to improve land conditions. Beyond enhancing the aesthetics of your property, underbrushing plays a significant role in improving drainage and soil quality. This article explores how under brushing services in Houston can help transform your property, the science behind its benefits, and why hiring a professional underbrush clearing company is key to achieving optimal results.

The Importance of Underbrush Clearing

What Is Underbrushing?

Underbrushing refers to the removal of dense, low-lying vegetation, such as small trees, shrubs, and weeds, that can choke a landscape. Unlike full-scale land clearing, underbrushing focuses on selective clearing, leaving desirable trees and vegetation intact.

This process is particularly beneficial in areas like Houston, where heavy rainfall and humid conditions encourage rapid undergrowth. Left unchecked, thick underbrush can lead to poor drainage, pest infestations, and degraded soil quality.

Benefits of Underbrushing

Enhanced Land Usability: Clearing underbrush opens up space for development or landscaping projects.

Improved Aesthetics: A well-maintained property is visually appealing and increases property value.

Environmental Health: Removing invasive plants promotes the growth of native species and restores balance to the ecosystem.

How Underbrushing Improves Drainage

Clearing Obstacles to Water Flow

Dense underbrush can block natural water flow across your property, causing water to pool in low-lying areas. This pooling can lead to flooding, erosion, and damage to the surrounding landscape. Underbrush clearing removes these obstructions, allowing rainwater to drain efficiently and preventing waterlogging.

In Houston, where heavy rains are common, maintaining clear drainage paths is essential for protecting both property and infrastructure.

Reducing Soil Compaction

Excessive undergrowth often leads to soil compaction, as plant roots compete for space and resources. Compacted soil reduces water infiltration and increases surface runoff, exacerbating drainage issues. By clearing underbrush, the soil is given a chance to decompress and absorb water more effectively.

How Underbrushing Enhances Soil Quality

Eliminating Competing Vegetation

Overgrown underbrush competes with desirable plants and trees for nutrients, water, and sunlight. By removing this excess vegetation, under brushing services in Houston help preserve the health of your soil and promote the growth of native flora.

This balance is essential for maintaining soil fertility, as healthy vegetation contributes to the natural recycling of nutrients.

Promoting Aeration

Dense underbrush can suffocate the soil, reducing the amount of oxygen available for beneficial microorganisms. These microorganisms play a crucial role in breaking down organic matter and enriching the soil. Clearing underbrush improves soil aeration, supporting a thriving ecosystem of microbes and healthy plant growth.

Reducing Erosion

Thick underbrush often leads to uneven terrain, which can increase soil erosion during heavy rains. Removing underbrush allows for proper grading of the land, reducing runoff and preserving topsoil. Professional underbrush clearing companies often incorporate erosion control measures to ensure long-term soil stability.

The Role of Professional Underbrushing Services

Expertise in Houston’s Unique Landscape

Houston’s climate and terrain present unique challenges, from heavy rainfall to dense vegetation growth. Professional under brushing services in Houston understand these challenges and use specialized techniques to address them effectively.

By assessing the property and identifying problem areas, professionals ensure the clearing process is tailored to improve drainage and soil quality without harming the surrounding environment.

Advanced Equipment

Professional companies use advanced equipment, such as brush cutters, mulchers, and forestry mowers, to handle dense undergrowth efficiently. These tools ensure precise clearing, preserving desirable vegetation while removing unwanted plants.

Modern machinery also minimizes soil disruption, a crucial factor in maintaining soil health and preventing erosion.

Sustainable Practices

A reputable underbrush clearing company employs environmentally friendly practices, such as mulching cleared vegetation into nutrient-rich material. This mulch can be redistributed across the property to enrich the soil, improve moisture retention, and prevent weed regrowth.

Benefits of Regular Underbrush Clearing

Preventing Pest Infestations

Thick underbrush provides a breeding ground for pests, including rodents, snakes, and insects. Regular underbrushing eliminates these habitats, reducing the risk of infestations and promoting a safer environment for humans and animals alike.

Supporting Native Plants

Clearing invasive species through underbrushing allows native plants to thrive. These plants are better suited to Houston’s climate and soil conditions, contributing to a healthier ecosystem and improving the overall quality of the land.

Increasing Property Value

Well-maintained properties with clear drainage and healthy soil are more attractive to potential buyers or investors. Regular underbrush clearing services in Houston ensure your property remains in top condition, enhancing its value and usability.

Choosing the Right Underbrush Clearing Company

Experience and Expertise

Select a company with extensive experience in underbrushing and a deep understanding of Houston's environmental conditions. An experienced team will know how to balance clearing with preserving the land’s natural health.

Use of Advanced Equipment

Ensure the company uses modern equipment for efficient and precise clearing. Specialized tools help achieve optimal results without causing unnecessary damage to the land.

Commitment to Sustainability

Choose a company that employs sustainable practices, such as mulching and erosion control, to ensure long-term benefits for your property and the environment.

Conclusion

Underbrushing is a powerful tool for improving drainage and soil quality on Houston properties. By removing dense undergrowth, underbrushing prevents water pooling, reduces erosion, and enhances soil health through better aeration and nutrient balance.

Hiring professional under brushing services in Houston ensures the process is carried out efficiently, using advanced equipment and sustainable practices. A reputable underbrush clearing company not only enhances the usability and aesthetics of your property but also ensures its environmental health for years to come.

Investing in regular underbrushing is a proactive step toward preserving the value and functionality of your land while maintaining its natural beauty and resilience.

[texasacelandclearing02]

The Environmental Benefits of Regular Under brushing in Houston

Houston’s lush climate supports a rich, diverse ecosystem, but it also encourages dense underbrush, which, if left unchecked, can have detrimental effects on both private properties and the local environment. Regular underbrush clearing, or the removal of low-lying vegetation and invasive plant species, is an effective solution for maintaining a healthy landscape. For property owners, enlisting under brushing services in Houston can help mitigate fire hazards, control invasive plants, and support native biodiversity, providing broad environmental benefits. Here’s an in-depth look at the ways regular underbrushing contributes to a healthier, more sustainable environment.

Understanding Underbrushing and Its Importance

Underbrushing refers to the removal of thick vegetation, including shrubs, vines, and invasive plant species, while preserving valuable trees and native plants. In Houston’s warm and often humid climate, underbrush can accumulate rapidly, making regular clearing essential for property maintenance and ecosystem health. By reducing excessive growth, underbrushing not only benefits the landscape’s appearance but also enhances the safety and ecological integrity of the area.

What Does Underbrushing Involve?

A professional underbrush clearing company uses specialized equipment to selectively remove unwanted vegetation. This equipment can include brush cutters, mulchers, and chainsaws, allowing technicians to carefully target specific plants without damaging the surrounding landscape. Additionally, under brushing services in Houston typically offer sustainable clearing methods, such as mulching, which repurposes the removed vegetation as natural ground cover to prevent soil erosion.

Benefits of Underbrushing for Ecosystem Health

Promoting Native Biodiversity

Excessive underbrush can stifle native plant species, reducing their access to essential resources like sunlight, water, and nutrients. Over time, this crowding effect can alter the natural balance of local ecosystems, limiting biodiversity. Regular underbrushing addresses this issue by removing invasive and low-lying vegetation, giving native plants the space they need to thrive. This restoration of native flora helps support local wildlife that relies on indigenous plants for food and habitat.

In Houston, where a variety of plant and animal species coexist, underbrushing plays a vital role in conserving biodiversity. When native plants flourish, pollinators like bees and butterflies benefit, leading to healthier ecosystems. Furthermore, a well-balanced landscape is more resilient, better able to withstand environmental stresses such as droughts or pest outbreaks.

Reducing Invasive Species Spread

Invasive species are a common problem in Houston, where rapid plant growth provides fertile ground for non-native species. These invasive plants often spread aggressively, outcompeting native vegetation and disrupting local ecosystems. Professional underbrush clearing companies specialize in identifying and removing invasive plants, helping to control their spread and prevent further ecological damage.

By controlling invasive species, underbrushing contributes to a more balanced environment where native plants can thrive without competition from non-native species. This creates a stable ecosystem that supports diverse plant and animal life, promoting a healthy landscape for the entire Houston region.

Environmental Safety and Fire Risk Reduction

Reducing Fire Hazards with Underbrushing

In dense, unmaintained areas, underbrush often includes dead leaves, dry twigs, and other flammable materials. This accumulated undergrowth increases the risk of wildfires, especially during Houston’s dry seasons. By removing this potential fuel, underbrushing helps lower the risk of fires spreading, protecting both the environment and nearby structures.

In areas prone to vegetation overgrowth, property owners are encouraged to invest in regular underbrushing services in Houston. These services create defensible spaces around properties, making them less vulnerable to wildfire hazards. Additionally, fire-resistant landscapes contribute to the overall health of the surrounding ecosystem by preventing destructive fires that can disrupt plant and animal life.

Improving Air Quality

One of the lesser-known benefits of underbrushing is its positive impact on air quality. When dead vegetation and plant debris decompose, they release carbon dioxide and other greenhouse gases into the atmosphere. By regularly clearing underbrush, these emissions are minimized, helping to maintain better air quality. Furthermore, the healthier vegetation that remains after underbrushing can continue absorbing carbon dioxide and releasing oxygen, benefiting air quality for the Houston area.

Soil Health and Water Management Benefits

Preventing Soil Erosion

Underbrushing can contribute to better soil stability, as cleared vegetation can be turned into mulch, which acts as a natural ground cover. Mulching helps prevent soil erosion by shielding the soil from heavy rains and minimizing surface runoff. This is especially important in Houston’s often rainy climate, where erosion can lead to soil degradation and the loss of essential nutrients.

In addition, underbrushing improves water absorption, allowing rainwater to seep into the ground rather than washing away valuable topsoil. Healthy soil supports robust plant growth and contributes to a balanced ecosystem, further highlighting the environmental benefits of regular underbrush clearing.

Enhancing Water Quality

Dense underbrush often contributes to water runoff, carrying pollutants into nearby streams and rivers. By reducing excessive vegetation, underbrushing helps control runoff, enabling more water to be absorbed into the soil and naturally filtered. Cleaner runoff reduces the likelihood of pollutants entering Houston’s waterways, protecting water quality and aquatic habitats.

Healthy, well-maintained landscapes absorb more rainwater, which can replenish local groundwater supplies, reducing the risk of drought conditions. For Houston’s environment, this means more sustainable water resources and healthier ecosystems that rely on clean water.

Supporting Sustainable Land Management

Creating Healthier Landscapes

One of the main objectives of regular underbrushing is to create a healthier, more manageable landscape. By removing overgrowth and selectively preserving native plants, underbrush clearing helps maintain an attractive, functional landscape that requires less maintenance in the long run. This approach supports sustainable land management by preventing vegetation from growing out of control, reducing the need for extensive intervention later on.

Professional under brushing services in Houston can tailor their methods to each property, ensuring that only necessary vegetation is removed. This customized approach minimizes environmental disruption and promotes sustainable landscape maintenance practices, benefiting both property owners and the surrounding ecosystem.

Recycling and Reusing Cleared Vegetation

Another environmental advantage of professional underbrushing is the recycling of cleared vegetation. Many underbrush clearing companies turn removed vegetation into mulch or compost, which can be applied back onto the landscape. This practice not only prevents waste but also provides natural fertilization for the soil, enhancing soil health and reducing the need for chemical fertilizers.

By recycling plant material, underbrush clearing supports a circular approach to landscaping that promotes sustainability and environmental responsibility. Using organic mulch improves soil fertility and helps retain moisture, creating optimal conditions for native plants to thrive.

Conclusion

Regular underbrushing provides significant environmental benefits for properties in Houston. By controlling invasive species, promoting native plant growth, and reducing fire hazards, underbrush clearing creates a safer and healthier environment. The ecological advantages of underbrushing also extend to improved air and water quality, enhanced soil health, and sustainable land management.

For property owners, hiring a professional underbrush clearing company is an investment in long-term environmental health. These companies bring expertise, specialized equipment, and sustainable practices to ensure that underbrushing is done effectively and responsibly. Regular maintenance through under brushing services in Houston supports biodiversity, conserves natural resources, and contributes to a balanced ecosystem that benefits the entire community.

[kaaaaaaarf]

So I watched that episode of Our Flag Means Death where Ed finds the bunny and thinks it's a wolf and thought, what if Remus was a wererabbit and Sirius had no idea? Anyways, have a drabble.

Here I Am (a rabbit-hearted boy)

Hogwarts Era. 654 words. Wererabbit Remus. G.

Remus' floppy ears twitch unhappily. He had been so careful—so careful not to let his friends see the monster he becomes every full moon. He thought he was sneaky, when he made his way out of the castle before dinner—after the other boys had already left for the Great Hall, but here is Sirius, standing above him with wide eyes. He'd seen the whole thing, the whole transformation—running into the clearing before Remus could even shout at him to stop. Before his body bent and twisted violently into a monster.  Remus' tiny body shakes in fear. Finally, after an impossibly long moment, Sirius seems to come back to himself. "R—Remus? Are you—you're a werewolf?"  …I'm a what now? 

"I thought maybe you were upset about Snape ruining your Potions final when you didn’t follow us down to dinner, so I came back to find you and saw you sneak out of the castle. I decided to  follow you, but I didn't think...Oh my God. You're so...so...cute."  Remus' nose twitches in a way that he thinks sufficiently expresses his shock and distaste. He’s not cute. He’s fearsome! An abomination! Sirius, unafraid, crouches down and strokes a gentle hand over the tawny fur on his back.  Okay, well Remus doesn't hate that.  Sirius scratches behind one floppy ear, and it makes Remus’ back foot twitch. Sirius smiles. "Are you a friend, wolf? Merlin, wait til I tell James about this! Our Moony—a real bloody werewolf!" and then as quickly as he’d appeared, he's gone, running off back toward the castle. It's just as well, Remus is dangerous like this. As much as he would love some company on the moons, one bite is all it would take and he could turn Sirius, too. He couldn't live with himself. Remus has just finished snacking on some grass, and is just about to hop into the underbrush to play chase with the rabbits of the Forest, when Sirius comes running back, this time with James in tow. Great. "See James! That's Remus, he's a werewolf!"  James, who is bent over trying to catch his breath, looks up at him like he's stupid. "That's a rabbit, Sirius." "No...I saw him transform—that’s Remus. He's a werewolf." "At best that's a wererabbit." He looks down at Remus, his face twisted in thought. "Sorry Remus, just a sec. Sirius—" he looks back up at the other boy, pinching the bridge of his nose. “—have you ever actually seen a rabbit before?" "Well, not precisely...Grimmauld is in the middle of London, not exactly teeming with rabbits and the like." "Babbity Rabbity? Surely you've read Babbity Rabbity at least." "I'm pretty sure Babbity Rabbity would never make it into the Black family library. Not macabre enough." James sighs. "Okay well, I’m telling you that's a rabbit." James points down at him, and Remus twitches his nose, hoping it conveys how tired he is.  Sirius stomps his feet, insistent. “But his last name is Lupin, not Lapin! He's Wolfie McWolf, not Bunny McRabbit!” “I’m pretty sure his name has nothing to do with which were-animal decided to take a chunk out of him, Sirius!” Remus tries to hop away while they’re fighting, but Sirius spots him and scoops him up into his arms. “Oh no you don’t! Come on Remus, I’ll sneak you back into the castle—get you something to munch on. What do rabbits eat, anyway? Hay? Flowers?”  Human flesh.  “They eat grass and, like, carrots. Good call though, better get him inside before an actual wolf spots him. Come on, Remus.” And that’s how Remus finds himself, a few hours later, in a soft bed, snuggled under the covers with Sirius’ hand gently resting on his furry back. He supposes being found out isn’t so bad, and if he wakes up in the morning—human again, Sirius spooning against his back, he thinks that might actually be even better.

[milswrites]

Somewhere only we know

~ Azriel X Fem!Reader

Summary: Azriel comes to visit you for the first time in a while.

Warnings: Angsty goodness

He could hear it now; your call beckoning him closer.

The dulcet tones of your laughter echoing amongst the evening birdsong as Azriel approached.

It was a path the shadowsinger had walked a hundred times before. The bowing oak trees and the familiar tune of the flowing beck all working to guide Azriel towards his final destination.

Towards you.

Yet even the forest wasn't safe from the golden hands of time. The gnarled roots and overgrown canopy a glaring sign that it had been far too long since Azriel had last come to see you.

Where he was once able to run freely alongside you, Azriel now found himself uncomfortably squeezing through the wild underbrush. Wings tightly curling into his back out of fear of catching them on the thicket of brambles which now lined the once clear path.

Perhaps a year was too long to wait.

Perhaps Azriel should have visited you sooner.

Your voice continued to grow louder with each step taken, the wind beginning to carry the recognizable scent of your sweet perfume.

Azriel inhaled deeply, allowing the delicate aroma of honeysuckle and jasmine to wash away his worries. A calming peace, that only ever makes itself known when in the presence of your company, began to warmly settle in his chest.

"Hello my love"

Azriel called softly into the air, the gentle twinkling of a wind chime greeting him in response as the evening sun broke through the canopy above to lay a welcoming kiss onto his cheek.

"I've missed you," the shadowsinger continued, moving towards the fallen trunk of a tree in order to take a seat, "I'm sorry I've been gone so long."

Another melodic chime answered, assuring Azriel that his absence needed no excuse.

"But I couldn't miss spending my birthday with you, I don't think you would have let me"

The wind laughed in reply, a soothing breeze coming to caress his smiling cheek as Azriel lifted a shaky hand to meet the ghost of your own.

Eyes beginning to water at your phantom touch, the male cleared his throat before reaching into the pocket of his leathers. "I've brought you a letter," Azriel started to explain, pulling out the carefully folded piece of paper, "of all the things you've missed since I was last here. I wrote it all down just so I didn't forget to tell you anything."

The orange sun glowed a little brighter, so as to provide Azriel with enough light to read his letter. The forest falling into a peaceful silence in order to ensure that you heard every word the shadowsinger had to say.

"Feyre is pregnant again, I think Rhys would kill me if I didn't tell you that first," Azriel grinned at the smile of excitement he could picture you wearing at the news, taking the time to burn the image into his mind before continuing, "Nyx is convinced it's a girl, and if it is her wants her to be named after you of course. He always talks about his favourite auntie."

Azriel allows himself to pause, needing a moment to calm his wavering breath before he could say any more, the harsh lines of a frown beginning to cross his face.

"Cas says hello. He'd come here if he could, you know that. But I don't think I'm quite ready to share this place with anyone else yet. He's fine, Nesta too. They're kept busy by little Sofia most of the time, ever since she learnt how to fly she's been wreaking havoc all over Velaris."

A robin flittered down from the trees, perching by where Azriel was sat, its small head tilted in silent understanding. Appreciating the company, a slight smile flickered across Azriel's lips as he turned his watery eyes back to the letter grasped between his trembling hands.

"Elain and Lucien are finally back from their trip around Prythian. They went to Spring - to that meadow I took you to for our anniversary. She . . . she brought me back some flowers, said they reminded her of you."

Azriel's tears finally began to fall as he carefully folded the letter once more, tucking it away into the safety of his leathers, placing it into the pocket right above his heart.

"And me . . ." Azriel started, voice cracking as he tried to recall what he had done since he was last here, his surroundings taking him back to a time when you had once been sat here with him, "Well I've not really done anything at all."

The male's hands move to clasp onto the two rings resting on a chain around his neck, thumb working to brush the cool metal in the hope of receiving some comfort, "Some days it feels like time has scarcely moved at all . . . On those days I like to close my eyes and picture you - us - here in the forest. Running through the trees like we used to do, hiding from our responsibilities for as long as we could."

Azriel deeply exhaled as he watched the robin fly away, tears still falling as he continued to speak, "And then I open my eyes . . . and remember you're gone" Azriel's words are interrupted by a harrowing sob falling from his lips, "I don't know how much longer I can do this. I'm getting old my love, sometimes I worry that one day I'll come back here and you won't recognize me anymore. That our love will fall victim to the hands of time just as the forest has."

The chimes twinkle once more, a gentle reminder that you are never truly gone, the ever-changing wind whispering promises that your love was one to last for eternity.

"I know" Azriel sadly smiles, letting go of the rings in order to brush away his tears, the thought of your heartbroken expression enough to dry his eyes, "I just miss you, that's all. Not a day goes by where I don't think of you."

The trees lightly rustle in response.

Azriel stayed to talk to you long into the night. The conversation never fading, nor growing dull, even when the moon had said its goodbyes and the sun had risen once more.

If time was all Azriel could offer you these days, then his time was what you would receive. For each hour spent in your special spot, was another hour of keeping your memory alive.

Another hour Azriel got to spend with you.

When the time came for Azriel to reluctantly leave the forest, his responsibilities too pressing to ignore for much longer, the shadowsinger whispered a promise into the wind that he would return once more. Swearing that you would not have to wait so long to see him again.

With each step he took, the scent of rosemary and sweet pea grew stronger, your calming aroma fading as Azriel walked further and further away.

And as Azriel turned to look at you once more, he could have sworn he heard you calling after him. Words unintelligible as your voice became lost amongst the birdsong.

But he could feel it, the assurance that he wasn't alone.

The piece of you that had been trapped here, now safely tucked within the confines of his heart.

So carry you home he would.

[g1rlr0b1n]

Yet another commission by the super amazing and talented @ookamihanta!!! Go check out their page to see more art!!! Their commissions are still open so go check that out as well!!! I highly recommend them!!! 🦇

Blood of the Covenant (Preview)

Jon’s neck snapped over to where a silhouetted figure perched silently in a tree above. Had it not been for the scattering of birds, their frantic flapping and squawking, he may have never even noticed the presence up above. The figure crouched, hidden within the dark branches, like a predator observing, waiting to strike its prey. Jon felt a chill run down his spine as realization dawned on him. “just- just make it quick.”

Jon closed his eyes tight and waited for something that never came. Gathering his courage, he slowly opened his eyes and frantically scanned the area around the tree. The figure was nowhere to be seen. His body relaxed slightly, but before he could let out a breath of relief, the figure suddenly emerged from the underbrush, clutching a limp rabbit in his hand. Jon's breath caught in his throat at the sudden appearance and he couldn't help but shudder with fear.

“Tt,” he clicked his tongue and Jon immediately registered the sound as annoyance. He wondered if fear in its prey was becoming a nuisance for this particular vampire, it would have been almost laughable, if he wasn’t scared shitless right now.

Aside from the pounding in his chest, Jon watched on in silence as the creature expertly built a fire with dry twigs and leaves. The orange flames danced and flickered, casting eerie shadows on the surrounding trees. As the sun descended below the horizon, the fire became the only source of light, the sky now painted in shades of deep blue. The heat from the flames grew more intense, warming his skin and filling the air with the scent of burning wood. Jon’s eyes followed every move as the vampire gracefully skinned the rabbit, then with precise movements, drained the blood from the small animal. Jon’s throat tightened as the creature was skewered onto a freshly sharpened stick and placed over the embers. The smell of cooking meat filled the air, making Jon's stomach growl in hunger. The vampire seemed to have quite the sick sense of humor, subjecting him to such torture. Jon squeezed his eyes shut, trying to force his mind off of the pain in his gut.

Suddenly, an unfamiliar voice shattered the silence. "Eat," they commanded.

Confused and disoriented, Jon's eyes snapped open as he tried to make sense of the words. "W-what? Why?" His own voice came out weak and shaky.

“You clearly haven't eaten in a few days,” he stated matter-of-factly, his eyes roaming across him. Jon eagerly reached out, accepting the offering, savoring the succulent meat as it filled his empty stomach. When he finished, he crudely wiped his mouth with the cuff of his sleeve. He was still weary of the other but at least if he dies now, it would be with a full belly. The man continued to stare at Jon intently, never taking his gaze away. After a long silence, he spoke again, his voice low and measured, “how long have you been here?”

“Eighteen days,” he croaked out, feeling small and weak under the man's intense scrutiny.

The other only nodded. “Is that your canteen?”

Jon's heart sank as he nodded and replied, unable to hide the desperation in his voice, "It's empty." The sound of his own almost unfamiliar timbre only served as a reminder of how long it had been since he had last spoken to another human being…or anything close to it.

Without another word, the man snatched the canteen from Jon's hands and disappeared quickly into the dense forest. Minutes dragged on like hours, Jon could do nothing but watch as the moon dragged across the sky until it was directly overhead. With no clear sense of time, he began to wonder if he’d been abandoned once again, left alone in this desolate place with nothing but his thoughts for company.

As the last embers of the fire began to fade, Jon's gaze caught a glint of movement in the corner of his eye. He watched as the lithe figure of the man emerged from the shadows with the canteen in hand. With a quick flick of his wrist, he tossed the canteen at Jon, who winced as it thudded against his chest. “Vampires?”

Jon nodded, “yeah, we took them out but I got inj-”. He flinched, realizing suddenly that he was talking to a vampire about taking out his own kind.

The man seemed disinterested in the murder of his kin and instead chose to focus on something else entirely. “We?”

Jon swallowed the lump forming in his throat, “yeah, the guys I'd been traveling with.”

“They left you here?”

“Well-”

“To die?” he interjected.

“I told them too. I was slowing them down.” Jon’s voice came out smaller than he intended it to.

The man carried on, as though uninterested. “Kryptonian?”

“How did you-?” The man's piercing gaze landed on the prominent "S" adorning Jon's chest. Jon shifted uncomfortably, feeling foolish, “oh. Yeah.” The two sat in tense silence once more, until the question that had been gnawing at Jon could no longer be contained, “why haven't you killed me yet?”

For the first time since the man had appeared, he seemed to be taken off guard. He sat in quiet contemplation, his brow furrowed and eyes distant. After what felt like an eternity, he spoke again. “I knew your father. He was a good friend of my father.”

“Was.” Jon felt his heart drop to the pit of his stomach, “so, he’s dead then.”

“I’m sorry,” his eyes flashed with empathy, just briefly, before returning to their stoic state, “but yes. They both are.”

“It's okay,” Jon tried to reassure himself, though his voice trembled slightly. “I think...I think I already knew.” As the words left his mouth, he felt a sense of finality wash over him, confirming what he had been desperately trying to deny. His father hadn’t come looking for him, he had already known it could only mean one thing. Silence consumed the air once more, until Jon finally spoke, “so, you haven’t killed me because my dad used to be friends with your dad?”

“Is that not enough?” he shrugged.

Jon quickly shook his head, “no, I mean, I’ll take it.”

“Tt. So, don’t die on me Jonathan Kent or this will have been a complete waste of my time.”

Surprise flickered across Jon's face, “you know my name?”

The other man scoffed, “of course, I'm the son of Batman.”

“Batman? ... So then, are you ...Tim?”

“I'm insulted.” The man's expression turned from irritation to hurt, “no, I'm Damian. I'm... I'm the last living son of Batman.” A weight seemed to settle upon him as he spoke these words, as if the realization of his own loneliness had suddenly hit him like a ton of bricks.

“I'm sorry. My... my brother is gone too.” Damian allowed the silence to consume the night, he did not ask Jon any more questions and for that, Jon was grateful.

[last-starry-sky]

kinktober day 26 - wet dream

könig x f!military!reader pt. 1 (pt. 2 HERE)

[MDNI - NSFW - MIND THE WARNINGS: 1.4k, power imbalance: König is reader's Colonel but nothing implicitly happens, ymmv, unwanted/forced shared sleeping situation, fingering, biting, and dryhumping in a dream.]

tag list (lmk if you'd like to be added!): @slut-lmao, @mishaglass

It couldn’t get any worse than this. Being stuck out on some sort of bullshit wilderness/survival drill for a whole week was bad enough, but the fact that you happened to draw the short stick and were paired up with your Colonel of all people, really really really made you feel like you had been cursed. 

You managed to spy a look his way while you were packing up while your troop prepared to hike out. The man was massive: tall and muscular. It made you hope he wouldn’t expect you to carry as much as he did. Considering you would be each other’s only company for the whole week, it wasn’t his physique that concerned you the most. 

“Ready?” he asked, all six plus feet of his bulky, veiled form suddenly looming over you.

“Yeah!” you squeaked, standing up from your crouch, fumbling as you tried to thread your arm through the straps. 

He just stood there while you floundered, face going hot under his emotionless gaze. When you were done, he nodded his helmeted head to the side, indicating that you should follow him down the dirt and gravel trail that would lead you up the mountain and to your campsite. 

“You have the map, yes?” he asked once you fell in stride with him. 

“Yes sir,” you said pulling the only slightly crumpled, folded paper map out of your back pocket.

“Good,” he replied, fingers tapping along the straps of his pack. “You’ll be in charge of that.” He looked down at you as you unfolded the map. You could feel his blue eyes burning holes in the side of your face as you walked along him. “You lead. I’ll follow, for once,” he said, a crack of insane laughter rippling out from behind his mask as he bumped his gloved fist lightly against your shoulder.

You responded with a shaky laugh of your own. “Ha ha. Yes, Colonel. Great idea.”

Oh, this week was going to be absolute hell. 

You did fairly well leading the two of you along the loosely defined “trail” drawn on the map. You also did better at scaling the mountain than your Colonel, his height and bulk working against him as the ground became increasingly vertical and the underbrush crowded in. It was nearing nightfall by the time you arrived at your predetermined site. 

“Stay here,” König told you, swinging his backpack off into the dry dirt beside you. “I’ll collect some wood, get a fire started.” 

You nodded absently at him, busy hunting through your pack for your lantern so that you would be able to see while setting up the tent. As he trampled away into the treeline your brain caught on that word. Tent. Tent singular.

Lord in heaven, you prayed on your knees, tightly rolled tent in your hands, if you exist, please please please don’t make me share a tiny tent with that giant, insane man for-

König dumped an armful of branches next to your lantern. He squatted down, silently setting about the task of breaking them one by one over his knee into manageable pieces for the fire. It was your turn to stare at him, ogling his strength as you sat on your boots.

“You . . . ah, do you . . .” you rambled while watching his hands. He stopped mid-snap, head turning to you. A shiver ran down your spine at his black, eyeless stare. “Did you bring a tent too?” you squeaked. 

Your heart sank when he looked away, shaking his head. He broke the branch three more times - crack crack crack - sound ringing around the small clearing.

“Better to be close together,” he said dusting off his hands, standing up, and gathering the pieces of wood together in a pile. “Warmth. Danger,” he said striking a match, the small, warm light dwarfed by his large hands as he cupped it next to the tinder pile. 

You shuffled uncomfortably in your sleeping bag. Sure, your body was exhausted, joints and muscles tired from the long day, but you worse mentally. Every time you heard a noise outside, or the man pressed next to you shuffle, you lay awake for minutes, not knowing what to expect. You would close your eyes, tell yourself it was nothing, and then-

“Need to sleep,” he said behind you, making you shake suddenly awake with fear. “Long day tomorrow.” 

You nodded, flopping onto your side. Maybe if you couldn’t feel him staring at you, your exhaustion could pull you under. You shivered, curling down into the flannel lining so that it covered your icy nose. That’s when you heard König unzip his pack. There was a tense moment of silence before he reached over and unzipped yours as well. 

You looked back at him over your shoulder, trembling more from cold than fear. He was halfway through zipping your sleeping bag to his when he looked up, catching your eye. It felt so weird to see him like this: dressed down in just his base layer, no veil, messy hair and scarred face left open for you to see. It made you wonder how many people had ever seen him like this. 

“Share some of my warmth with you, if you don’t mind,” he said pulling the zipper together, trapping you inside with him. He laid down on his back, scrubbing his hands over his eyes before continuing. “Plenty to give.”

You lay back down, not even bothering to give a response as his body heat slowly crawled over to fill your side of the shared sleeping bag. You curled up, wrapping your arms around your chest for some sort of comfort, and finally, miraculously, fell asleep.

Warm hands stroking down your arms. 

Breath caressing your cheeks as kisses pressed across your face, temple, mouth. 

The solid mass of a leg pressing up against your core, rocking you as the hard, trapped cock sawed against your ass. 

You moaned into the night, breath pouring out like steam. 

Kisses peppered down your jaw to your neck, where a sudden bite made you bow away from your attacker.

There was a dark chuckle muffled against your skin before an assault of nipping kisses came mercilessly, one after another along with your whining moans.

“So good, maus,” a husky voice murmured against your slick neck, “So good to me,”

Strong fingers pressed against your pussy, hot arousal leaking through the thin fabric.

You shuddered, squirming and moaning, as the fingers worked clumsily around your clit.

The hips behind you came to a sudden stop, erection nestled in the fat of your ass as a deep groan rang in your ear.

“More . . . more,” you plead, hips urging the still hand to touch you again.

A growl, then the hand was pulling you tight against the solid mass behind you.

An accidental tweak of your clit had you spiraling, unwinding, crying hot tears down your chilled cheeks.

You swore you heard a voice as a hand pet over your head, soothing you to sleep.

“Ja, there you are. Sleep, sleep sweet maus.”

When you next opened your eyes, the morning sun was blazing through the open flap of the tent. Coffee was brewing over the renewed fire, and König was shaving facing away from you. You quickly pulled on your boots and jacket, trying to get up and over to the fire as fast as you could despite the slick pooled in your underwear and wobbling legs.

König looked over at you as you crashed out of the tent. You swayed unintentionally from side to side as you walked, his eyes narrowed in on you for a second, thinking, before turning back to his shaving. 

“Sleep well?” he asked, waiting for you to pour yourself a cup of the mud he had prepared. 

“Yeah,” you croaked, practically choking on the godawful brew. 

“Good,” he said rolling up his shaving kit and dumping his wash water. “Rolled around a lot. Made a lot of noise, thought you were talking in your sleep,” he said nonchalantly, clearing his throat before standing. 

You froze with the cup in your hand, eyes wide, an endless pit of guilt opening in your stomach. Oh god, you thought, last night . . . were you . . . did you- 

“Almost had to wake you up, but you stopped. Anyway, when’s breakfast?” he asked, stretching his arms over his head, exposing his hairy lower belly as his shirt rode up. You looked away as your cheeks burned. 

Perhaps this week wouldn’t be so bad after all.

[thewulf]

Together || Aragorn

Summary: Request - So I'd also thought of something with Aragorn where the reader is also an ranger and the group meets her someday on their journey to Mordor as she takes him down unexpectedly as she thinks they're enemies, so she lands on top of him with a sword on his neck and in that moment he falls for her immediately... Read Rest Here

A/N: Okay had a blast writing this one. Happy birthday anon, hope you enjoy it :)

Pairing: Aragorn x Reader

Word Count: 4.1k +

TW: Violence, orc violence, poison, death, blood, crying, angst, lotr warnings

Under the canopy of ancient oaks, the dense forest of Eriador hums with the life of creatures both small and menacing. Among them you move silently, cloaked in the hues of earth and leaf. As a ranger of great skill your keen eyes scan the underbrush for signs of your quarry. For days you have been on the trail of a band of orcs. Their clumsy passage through the woods an affront to the quiet sanctity of nature. With every soft step your hand rests near the hilt of your sword. Your long-time trusted companion in the ever-lonely wilds.

As the sun begins its descent, casting long shadows through the trees, your pursuit leads you to a clearing where the tracks are fresher. Much more hurried. Crouched behind a bush your eyes narrow upon the sight of figures crossing the distance. It was a mixed company, not of orcs, but of men, an elf, a dwarf, and others you cannot readily identify from your hidden vantage.

Driven by a mix of caution and curiosity you watch them, your mind racing with possibilities. Could these travelers be allied with your foes? Perhaps orchestrating the movements of the orcs for darker purposes? The presence of such diverse races together is unusual, but in these troubled times alliances are formed in desperation.

Deciding that the risk of letting potential enemies pass is too great you prepare an ambush. As the group nears you leap from your cover, swift as a shadow at dusk. Your target was the tall, commanding man at the forefront. Before he could react you tackled him to the ground with your sword at his throat. The shock in his eyes mirrors your own fierce determination. You’d managed to take the entire group by surprise.

"Who are you and why do you travel with such company through these woods?" you demand. Your voice a low whisper against the rustling leaves.

Before the man can reply, a powerful voice booms from behind you, "Peace, Y/N! Lower your weapon. These are friends, not foes!" Your eyes crinkle in confusion with your name that you kept so well hidden spoken so freely.

You turn slightly with your blade still pressed to the man’s throat to see an elderly man with a staff. He was dressed in a long grey cloak. His eyes twinkle with a mix of amusement and stern rebuke. He extends a hand in peace, "Forgive the suddenness of our meeting. I am Gandalf, Gandalf the Grey. You have nothing to fear from us my dear child."

"How do you know my name?" you snap as the tension raised in your voice. Few knew of your existence as you preferred the solitude of the forest to the company of towns and taverns.

"It is my business to know much that goes on in this world. Especially when it concerns those who could alter its course," Gandalf answers with a calm that seems to weave peace through the air itself leaving you rather confused by his words. Wizards, you could never understand them with their riddles.

With a frown you turn back to disheveled man sneering at him, “Tell your elf to lower his bow and then we can talk.” You pressed the blade into his neck further careful not to draw blood but to show you meant business at the same time.

The man nodded, “Legolas, please.”

The elf in the group with his bow still pointed in your direction now lowers it and steps forward. “We mean no harm to you or your lands. We seek only passage and perhaps some aid. This quest carries great weight." The elf called Legolas spoke right to you.

His words seemed sincere. They carry a sense of shared purpose. While you're still on edge the immediate threat of the group seems to wane. You slowly stand, sheathing your sword with reluctance. The man you had pinned—Aragorn, as Gandalf introduced him—rises, brushing off his cloak, his gaze never leaving yours. A mix of embarrassment and admiration passes between you.

Gandalf steps forward trying to smooth over the tension. "Aragorn leads us on a quest of great importance," he explains. "And from what I see your skills could aid us greatly. What say you, Y/N? Will you join the Fellowship and lend us your strength?"

You hesitate as your duty to your own lands weighing heavily on you. "I cannot abandon my watch. The darkness grows and my lands need protecting."

Aragorn steps forward. His expression earnest. "I understand your duty for I too am sworn to protect the lands of men in the north. But this quest... if we succeed, all lands will be safer, including yours. We need your strength and skill. I ask you not for my sake but for all our sakes."

Looking from Aragorn to Gandalf and Legolas, you're torn. The sincerity in Aragorn's eyes is compelling and there's a resolve there that speaks of his immediate respect and admiration for you. After a long pause, you nod slowly. "For the greater good, then. I will join you. But we must ensure my lands are safeguarded in my absence." It was no easy choice but even you knew you could hardly handle the orcs now… if it got worse there would be no land for you to protect.

"Agreed," Aragorn replies with a smile, a small, knowing curve of his lips. "Together we will protect all our homes. Walk with me and I will explain this further.” And so, you did.

As you walked alongside Aragorn away from the ears of the others except maybe Legolas, his voice takes on a solemn tone. He speaks of a great burden and a journey that began long ago in the quiet shire of the Hobbits.

“A darkness grows in the East under the shadow of Mordor, where the Dark Lord Sauron forges his malice into a single form,” Aragorn begins. “A ring, one of power and despair, lost for ages has resurfaced. It was found by the most unlikely of creatures—a Hobbit named Bilbo Baggins.”

He tells you how the wizard Gandalf uncovered the truth of this simple golden band. It is the One Ring, through which Sauron can conquer all of middle earth. But it is also his one point of vulnerability.

“The Ring must be destroyed,” Aragorn continues, “and that can only be done in the fires of Mount Doom where it was forged.” His gaze meets yours, impressing upon you the gravity of their task. “A Fellowship has been formed. A company sworn to protect Frodo on this perilous path. For without the Ring’s destruction… darkness will consume our lands, leaving no corner of the world untouched by its ruin.”

He pauses allowing the weight of his words to sink in. “This is our quest to see the end of the Ring and the fall of Sauron. And now you are part of this story, part of our hope. For alone we cannot stand, but together we might prevail.”

The immensity of Aragorn's tale seems to echo through the silence around you. As the responsibility and peril of what lies ahead sinks into your heart. "This is... more than I expected," you confess. Your voice betraying a mix of awe and trepidation. Shadows have been a common adversary in your solitary ranger life but the thought of a single ring holding the fate of all life in middle earth is overwhelming in the worst way.

Aragorn watches you with eyes that have seen the weight of the world but still hold a glimmer of hope. "It is a lot to take in," he acknowledges with his voice a steady presence amidst your inner turmoil. "But remember every meaningful journey begins with a single step. We do not choose the times we live in only how we meet them."

His words meant to comfort kindle a spark of resolve within you. "Then we walk this path together," you say finding strength in his unwavering resolve. "I've fought to keep darkness at bay from my corner of the world. Now it seems I shall extend my watch over the wider lands of middle earth."

Aragorn's eyes soften and a smile plays at the corner of his mouth, a rare break from his stoic mask. "With your help I believe we stand a chance. Let us go forward with hope in our hearts and a steadfast will," he says with a firm belief underpinning his words.

As you start to walk back towards the Fellowship Aragorn's tone lightens once more and he casts you a mischievous glance. "And I must say, for someone so adept at navigating these wild lands your skill at catching us unaware is remarkable," he jests. A playful note in his voice. "Even the elf’s keen eyes did not see you coming, which, I assure you, will be a source of friendly jest for many years to come."

The tension that held you moments before unravels into laughter. The absurdity of the situation finally coming forward. "I'll remember to tread lightly next time—or perhaps not," you respond with a chuckle.

From a distance, Legolas, whose elven senses miss little, looks up from his conversation with Gimli. He casts a mockingly indignant glance toward Aragorn. His eyes speaking silent volumes of an 'I heard that.' His feigned glare dissolves into a smile. Acknowledging the jest with the grace and good humor characteristic of the Woodland Prince.

The shared laughter and Legolas' playful acknowledgment bridge the space between you helped to weave the Fellowship closer together in mutual affection. It's a light-hearted interlude, reminding you all that despite the daunting path ahead you are surrounded by companions who will share the burden with unwavering support and moments of joy.

As you all move forward the sun dips below the horizon and the journey of the Fellowship grows richer by one more warrior. In the fading light Aragorn walks beside you, your strides matched. It was a simple silent acknowledgment of the bond beginning to form. Blossoming from the unexpected encounter that could very well shape the fate of all.

The Fellowship continues its perilous journey through Middle earth. The days meld into each other each bringing its own set of challenges and trials. You find your place among these diverse companions. Your skills as a ranger becoming invaluable as you navigate the treacherous terrain. Whether it's finding safe passages through impassable woods or tracking the movements of distant enemies your expertise does not go unnoticed.

Legolas often joins you on scouting missions. His feather light footfalls barely stirring the leaves. Gimli, the dwarf, though gruff, begins sharing tales of the deep mines of Moria with a relish that only grows with your attentive silence. Even Merry and Pippin find ways to lighten your load, often bringing you sweet, wild berries they gather along the way. Aragorn watches all of this with a thoughtful expression often playing across his face. In dangerous moments when shadowy figures loom and the threat of orcs feels ever-present, he stays close. His protectiveness is subtle, a guiding hand at your back, a cautious glance that lingers just a moment too long. You notice the unspoken bond growing stronger with each passing day.

As the journey presses onward Aragorn finds himself increasingly drawn to your strength and resilience. He respects your independence, the way you move through the forest, part of its shadow and light, yet he feels a burgeoning desire to protect you. It’s a feeling that stirs deep within him, unbidden yet persistent.

One bitterly cold night as the Fellowship encamps in a secluded glen your turn at watch finds you shivering against the chill. The fire is but a low glow as its warmth insufficient against the piercing cold. You hug your cloak tighter around your shoulders. You hear the soft approach of footsteps too heavy to be of Legolas.

Aragorn appears by your side his face etched with concern. Without a word he drapes his own, heavier cloak around your shoulders. The warmth from the cloak that was still holding the heat of his body, seeps into your chilled bones.

But you shake your head at his actions. "You'll be too cold," you protest trying to shrug off the cloak back onto him.

Aragorn shakes his head gently pushing the cloak back over your shoulders. "I'm used to the cold. I’m from the north you are not," he insists softly. "Keep it. It's more important that you stay warm."

Gratefully you wrap the cloak tighter around you as Aragorn settles beside you. "Tell me of your lands," he says quietly. His voice inviting you to share more than just the cold night air.

"My home," you begin. Your voice warming as you describe the hidden valleys and towering forests of your land, "is secluded and wild, full of ancient trees that seem to touch the sky. There are streams that sparkle with the clearest water you've ever seen and fields of flowers that bloom so vividly they look like a painter's canvas."

Aragorn listens intently. His eyes reflecting a growing fascination. "And the creatures," you continue, "are as varied as the plants. From the smallest bird to the majestic stags that roam freely… each adds to the life of the forest. It's a place where the world feels untouched, preserved from the scars of battle and time."

As you speak, Aragorn's gaze deepens as if he can see the very landscapes you describe. "It sounds beautiful," he murmurs looking straight at you as you spoke so lovingly of your home, "a land worth protecting."

Encouraged by his interest you lean into him, seeking warmth in more than just his cloak. Aragorn wraps an arm around you making sure to pull you closer. In the shelter of his embrace, the cold feels a world away. The moment feels suspended in time, your breaths mingling, hearts beating a steady rhythm.

Nestled in the safety of Aragorn's arm feels right even if it’s so foreign to you. You stay like that for the remainder of your watch with the warmth of his presence and the cloak combined keeping the night's chill at bay. When dawn paints the sky with hues of pink and gold, you, and Aragorn rise, knowing that while the journey ahead is fraught with peril, the warmth between you will carry you through the darkest times.

As the days stretch and the challenges of your journey with the Fellowship intensify the bond between you and Aragorn deepens with each shared glance and whispered word. The lightness in the air is palpable. Especially when the hobbits, Merry and Pippin, exchange amused looks or giggle softly whenever you and Aragorn share a tender moment.

One cool morning as the camp stirs awake and prepares for the day’s trek, Aragorn approaches you with a shy demeanor that you've come to cherish. In his hand is a small, intricately carved wooden figurine. “I made this for you,” he says presenting it with a modest pride. “It’s a bird from your forest.” The craftsmanship is exquisite. Somehow he captured the spirit of the wilderness you hold dear.

Moved by this thoughtful gesture you examine the figurine closely, the details meticulously rendered. "Thank you, Aragorn. It's beautiful. More beautiful than the bird itself," you say sincerely. At this, a blush creeps across Aragorn’s cheeks. It was a rare sight that makes him seem almost boyish, his usual composed exterior softened by your appreciation. Surprising both him and you, you wrap your arms around him in a quick, heartfelt hug—a rarity for you, as you've never been one to initiate physical touch save for cold nights.

This closeness that has enveloped you both is fortified not just through acts of tenderness but also through the trials that test your resolve. During a perilous trek through a narrow gorge, a sudden crumbling of the path catches Aragorn off-guard. Reacting with the swift instincts of a seasoned ranger you grab his arm and pull him back from the brink of a deadly fall. Eyes locked with a rush of shared relief and unspoken thanks passes between you. "Thank you, Y/N," he breathes out. His hand squeezed yours in a lingering, grateful touch.

This moment cements your mutual reliance and it's not long before it is tested again under more dire circumstances. As the Fellowship faces an overwhelming assault at the gates of an enemy stronghold, the chaos of battle quickly ensues. Amid the clash of steel and shadow you find yourself momentarily overwhelmed. Panic rising in your chest as an orc nearly breaches your guard. In that critical instant Aragorn is there, his presence a calming force. "Stay strong, Y/N. I am here with you," he whispers fiercely. His words cutting through the din of battle making sure to anchor you back to the moment.

Revitalized by his words you fight with renewed vigor, but the battle tests you further. As you engage a formidable orc chieftain his massive blade swings at you with lethal force. You parry, but the strength behind the attack staggers you. Before the orc can strike the final blow, Aragorn intervenes with a desperate shout deflecting the deadly arc just inches from you. Saving your life twice within a matter of a few moments apart. Together you rally, your movements fluid and fierce and with a powerful combination of strikes you bring the towering foe down.

The battle's intensity doesn’t immediately fade, but as it does Aragorn's hand finds your shoulder. His grip was firm and reassuring. His eyes alight with the fire of battle and something deeper meet yours. "With you by my side I believe there is no battle we cannot win," he declares his voice thick with emotion of the battle and nearly losing you. As you and the rest of the Fellowship take a moment to regroup and recover it’s clear that what you and Aragorn share has evolved beyond companionship to something profound. With each step forward towards the dark heart of Mordor your bond strengthens.

As the harsh landscape of Mordor stretches endlessly before you, the air thick with the stench of doom and the ground scarred by countless battles, the Fellowship readies itself for what everyone understands to be the final confrontation. Amid the chaos of preparations and sharpened swords you and Aragorn find a brief respite behind a jutting crag, a momentary shield from the surrounding turmoil.

Aragorn looks at you carefully. His eyes reflecting the storm of emotions raging inside him—hope, fear, determination. “We have come far, haven’t we?” he says softly. Almost lost in the clamor of the encampment.

“Yes, farther than I ever imagined,” you reply feeling the weight of every mile traveled and battle fought in your bones. “And through it all your presence has been my anchor.”

He takes your hand. His touch steady and sure. “And I will remain by your side,” he vows, “through whatever may come. No matter the darkness that lies ahead… we face it together.”

You nod. Your resolve fortified by his words. “Together,” you affirm, squeezing his hand, the word a silent oath between you.

As you both turn to face the battlefield the ominous shadow of Mount Doom looms in the distance. A stark reminder of the task yet unfinished. The air vibrates with the tension of imminent conflict. As the Fellowship lines up ready to engage the enemy forces, the battle begins with a deafening roar.

The clash is brutal. A maelstrom of steel and shadow as both sides pour their fury into each other. Amidst the chaos your focus narrows to the figures around you—Aragorn fighting with the grace and fury of a born leader. His blade a flash of silver in the dim light.

In the middle of it all the ground shakes violently underfoot. A tremor that sends many stumbling. A profound boom rolls across the battlefield echoing from the direction of Mount Doom. The combatants pause, uncertainty halting their movements as all eyes turn towards the source of the disturbance.

As if by a miracle a great light bursts forth from the mountain. A blinding flash that pierces the shadowed sky. The Ring, the source of so much pain and darkness, has been destroyed. You feel a surge of relief so intense it momentarily takes your breath away. Aragorn's face lights up with unrestrained joy as he turns to you, laughter bubbling up from deep within. "They did it! Sam and Frodo did it!" he shouts his laughter mingling with his words. A sound so full of relief and disbelief that it's contagious.

Around you the enemy falters, confusion and fear taking hold as the reality of their defeat sinks in. The forces of darkness begin to retreat, their will broken by the destruction of the Ring. As the battlefield quiets the dawn begins to break casting the first gentle light over a world freed from tyranny. You and Aragorn embrace each of your laughter mixing with tears of joy. The sound a vivid testament to the overwhelming relief of the moment. “We’re really here,” you giggle with utter relief, “it’s truly over!”

Rejoining the Fellowship your laughter continues, shared amongst friends who have become family. Watching the new day unfold the group shares a moment of elation. The shared laughter a release of months of tension and fear. With the shadow of the past dispelled, hope shines anew on the horizon promising a future filled with peace and renewal. Together with Aragorn at your side, you step forward into a world reborn.

As the harsh landscape of Mordor fades into the distance behind you replaced by the rolling hills and lush greenery of Gondor the Fellowship's journey reaches its conclusion in the grand city of Minas Tirith. Here, amidst the grandeur of the White City, the coronation of Aragorn, the rightful king, takes place—a moment of triumph and renewal for all of middle earth.

The first light of dawn paints the spires of Minas Tirith with a golden hue. The city awakens to a day of profound significance. The air is filled with the sounds of celebration; the streets are bustling with citizens and allies from across middle earth all gathered to witness a historic moment. Today Aragorn will be crowned King, an event that promises a new era of peace and prosperity for the realm.

Throughout the city banners flutter in the breeze, their vibrant colors a stark contrast against the white stone of the city. The coronation ceremony itself is nothing short of magnificent, held in the open air where the morning sun casts a regal glow over the assembled crowd. Aragorn stands before them, a figure of strength and hope, his voice resonant as he speaks the oaths of kingship.

After the formalities as the echoes of the last trumpet fade into the cool air, the new King Aragorn is surrounded by well-wishers and dignitaries each eager to pay their respects. But his eyes scan the crowd for only one face – yours. With a smile that speaks of shared secrets and promises kept he excuses himself from the throng and makes his way toward you.

You meet him halfway, your heart swelling with pride and love as you look upon the man who has overcome so much to claim his rightful place. Aragorn’s expression softens when he sees you, all the weight of his new role momentarily forgotten. “There would be no joy in this day if I could not share it with you, my Y/N,” he says. His voice was low, meant for your ears alone. His hands reach out gently cradling your face. “You have been my courage when fear would take me. My light in the darkest of times. And it is my greatest hope that you will stand by my side, not just today, but always, as my queen. Together.”

Your eyes brimming with tears of joy, meet his gaze. All the noise and celebration around you fade into a hushed silence. Overwhelmed by his words your heart answers with a silent nod, affirming your shared future.

Aragorn’s eyes flicker with a mixture of tenderness and passion as he leans in. The world holds its breath as his lips finally meet yours in a kiss that is both a seal of everything past and a promise of everything to come. It is deep and passionate, conveying years of struggle, sorrow, victory, and an unbreakable bond.

As you part with his lips, breathless and flushed, the world comes rushing back. Cheers rise around you as a joyful noise that celebrates not just a king’s coronation but the love and unity that stands as the true foundation of his reign.

Hand in hand you stand by Aragorn as he faces the people of Gondor, now truly his queen in spirit and soon in title. Together you look out over the sea of faces, over a land that, at last, can dream of peace. And in this moment you know that every step, every sacrifice, has led to this perfect beginning.

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[daryltwdixon]

The Promise of Us: Chapter 34

Your fingers tremble as you yank at the thick, stubborn vines clinging to a tree in the middle of the woods. The rustling leaves overhead are the only sound for miles, the wind’s whisper your only company. You steady yourself with a deep, shaky breath, slicing through a thick strand of vine. Kneeling down, you focus on the snare. It’s mindless work—your fingers move with muscle memory, shaky at first, but more steady with each twist and tie. Your thoughts drift, galloping away like wild horses, untethered and impossible to rein in.

Images of the prison flood your mind—the billowing black smoke, gunfire splitting the air, and the explosions that shattered the familiar walls. But what’s worse is the thought of Daryl: you never saw him. You never heard the motorcycle’s roar. By the time you broke into a desperate sprint for the woods, you hadn’t seen anyone familiar, just shadows and chaos. The cars were gone. You prayed your people made it out, even if it meant they were scattered somewhere in the dark, surviving on their own.

Did Rick get Carl out? Did Carol, Maggie, or Beth find safety? Or were they still out there, stumbling through the darkness, just like you? The memory of Hershel, collapsing onto the ground with his neck severed sears your vision. The screams of his daughters—it all rushes back too fast, too strong. You rub your face roughly, but your hand comes away wet with tears. You try to swallow the grief, but the pressure in your chest is suffocating.

You fumble with the snare, fingers slipping, and finally, you give up, slumping back against the rough bark of the tree. Your head drops forward as the sobs finally escape, ragged and harsh, each one ripped from your chest like it’s being dragged out by force. The darkness begins to settle, swallowing the woods around you, but the pain is louder than anything else.

You force yourself upright after a moment, wiping your face with the back of your hand. The realization that you are open and vulnerable in the woods hits you like a slap. You need to move. Find shelter. You force yourself up to start walking, legs heavy and unsteady beneath you, each step dragging through the thick underbrush. Muscles aching, you push forward, too afraid to stop.

Eventually, you find a small clearing, surrounded by trees that form a half-shelter from the elements. It’s not much, but it’ll have to do. You gather dry branches and twigs, hands moving with purpose, and soon enough, a small fire flickers to life. The flames are weak, casting unsteady shadows across your face, but the warmth is a temporary relief.

You sit with your knees pulled close, knife clutched in one hand. The night is closing in, and every sound feels amplified—the creak of branches, distant howls, the hum of insects. Your eyes dart around, unable to settle on anything. You try to keep them open, fear rooting you to the spot, your exhaustion weighing heavy but not enough to let you sleep.

With a quiet sigh, you huddle closer to the small fire, trying to steal a moment of warmth in this unfamiliar darkness.

❥・・❥・・❥・・❥・・❥・・❥・・❥・・❥・・❥

Sleep had been a longshot from the start. Every rustle of leaves, skittering critter, and crackle of the fire had kept you on edge. Still, at some point, exhaustion must’ve won over, because the next thing you know, you’re waking to the crisp light of dawn peeking through the trees. It takes a moment for you to register where you are, the rough bark of the tree pressing against your back, your body aching from the cold, hard ground. You force yourself upright, blinking away the haze of sleep.

However, as you lift yourself up to sit against the tree, the unmistakable groaning that must’ve unconsciously triggered you awake starts sounding closer and closer. It wasn’t the sound of any riled up walker, just one hopefully passing through. Your pulse quickens, every nerve snapping awake as the rattling breathing closes in. You get lower, trying to quiet your breathing to peer around the tree. Your heart sinks when you see not just one, but a small herd of walkers making their slow way through the woods. You screw your eyes tightly shut, gathering all your courage, sliding your knife into your hand. 

You bolt up and as quickly as your feet will allow, make your way through the woods at breakneck speed. Your feet pound the ground in a desperate rhythm as the snarls grow behind you, stirred into a frenzy by your sudden movement. You don’t dare look back; you just run, weaving through the trees, your rifle bouncing painfully against your back. 

You burst into a clearing, the sight of a stream just ahead of you, and take a moment to notice its heading to your right, downstream. That must lead you to a road at some point. Maybe to your people. Or at least some of them. You take a sharp right, hopping across the water and make your way through the woods, stepping carefully and quickly to not cause any snapping of twigs as the echo of growls begins to faintly blend into the background. 

When you finally stop, gasping for air, you bend over with your hands on your knees, the rifle swinging forward with your motion. You’re barely able to catch your breath when you hear the unmistakable snap of a twig behind you. Instinct kicks in, and you whip around, your rifle aimed.

“Woah! Please!” a voice calls out, high and urgent.

You narrow your eyes, taking in the sight before you. A woman, about your age, stands there with her hands raised in surrender. Her green eyes are striking, a sharp contrast to the deep grime that covers her face. Thick, dark curls fall messily around her shoulders, her clothes tattered and stained with layers of dirt and sweat. She’s clearly been out here for a while.

“Please don’t shoot,” she says again, her voice cracking with both exhaustion and fear.

Your rifle doesn’t waver. Everything in you screams not to trust, not to lay down your weapon. Stranger danger seemed like a joke in elementary school, but here, it was very, very real. You study her intently, searching for any hidden weapons or signs of deceit. Her wide eyes dart over you, trying to read you just as urgently.

“Are you—are you with a group?” she asks, voice shaky but still trying for casualness.

You don’t answer. You keep your gaze on her, trying to determine if she’s a threat. Her hands remain high, her stance non-threatening, but your guard stays firmly in place. You’ve learned better than to let down your defenses for anyone, no matter how desperate they look.

Finally, you break the silence. “What do you want?”

She swallows, her voice barely above a whisper. “Same as anyone—food, shelter, to live another day.”

You keep your rifle trained on her head, eyes narrowed with suspicion. The old instincts flare, reminding you of every betrayal, every ambush. Trust no one until they prove themselves worth trusting.

“Alone?” you ask, voice hard and flat.

“Yes,” she replies quickly, a bit too quickly. “Lost my group a while back. Been trying to make it out here alone.”

Your finger tightens around the trigger, just slightly. “Got any weapons?”

“Just a knife,” she admits, her tone honest, as her hand twitches before slowly lowering it to lift her shirt. Under the thin fabric, she reveals a small blade tucked into her waistband. She makes no move to reach for it, raising her hands high again

You watch her carefully for another beat, then lower the rifle just a fraction, your eyes never leaving hers. “What’s in the pack?”

She seems surprised at the question, but she quickly slips off her backpack and sets it on the ground, keeping her movements slow and deliberate. “Go ahead. Check it.”

For a moment, you stand there, eyeing her in case she decides to pounce on you. But then, your curiosity gets the better of you, the need to know for sure you’re safe. You step forward, keeping the rifle raised but angled downward. You open the pack, rummaging through it—water bottles, scraps of worn clothing, a tattered blanket, and a small first aid kit. No hidden weapons, no traps. But also, no food.

Satisfied but still wary, you take a step back, your rifle still between you. “You know how to use that knife?”

She nods. “I can handle myself. Can you?”

You snort softly, a hint of amusement breaking through your hard exterior. “I’ve managed this far, haven’t I?”

She lowers her hands slightly, eyes still cautious but holding a glimmer of hope. “We could… stick together. Just for a bit. Strength in numbers and all that.”

You hesitate, weighing your options. She doesn’t seem dangerous, and with walkers around, having someone to watch your back wouldn’t be the worst idea. You nod slowly, not entirely convinced but willing to try. “Fine. But if you try anything, you’ll regret it.”

“Fair enough,” she says, a small, tired smile tugging at the corner of her lips, “What’s your name?” 

You eye her suspiciously again, and walk on into the woods a bit further, not answering. You just wanted to find a good spot to sit after your exhausting run, not play twenty questions.

“I’m Jade,” she says, her tone turning chipper suddenly. You nod, looking through the trees that suddenly feel less hostile with another set of footsteps beside yours. But you know better than to fully let your guard down.

As the sun rises higher, you hear the distant groans fade into nothingness, and for the first time in days, the silence doesn’t feel as empty. You don’t know if this will last beyond the next night, but for now, you have one more person standing beside you, and that’s more than you had when you woke up.

“You know how to hunt?” you ask suddenly, voice still gruff but more certain now. “We should see what we can find before it gets dark.”

She nods, a flicker of relief crossing her face. “I’ve never hunted anything myself before, but I’m a good shot. Lead the way,”

You move forward, rifle in hand, her presence now a cautious comfort—an extra pair of eyes to watch the shadows, a warm body to split the fire’s heat. You might not be friends, not yet, but maybe, just maybe, you could be allies. For now, that’s enough.

❥・・❥・・❥・・❥・・❥・・❥・・❥・・❥・・❥

Daryl

Snarls echo through the woods, relentless and close, as Daryl runs hard, his boots pounding the leaf-strewn ground. He glances back every few strides, making sure Beth is still right behind him. He doesn’t fully understand how he ended up with her. One minute he was in the prison courtyard, taking down the Governor’s men, the next he was grabbing Beth and hauling her out of there.

Their feet make too much noise— dead leaves crackling, branches snapping—drawing even more of the dead toward them. But when Beth suddenly whirls around, raising her gun to face the oncoming walkers, Daryl knows what’s about to happen. The gun clicks, empty, and she stumbles back, eyes wide with panic.

Daryl reacts instantly, an arrow slicing through the air and landing square in a walker’s skull. He doesn't waste time celebrating—another walker lurches forward, and he slams the crossbow into its face, following up with a quick plunge of an arrow into the next one’s eye socket. The two of them manage to drop the nearest threats, but it’s clear they’re overwhelmed.

Daryl snags his arrow out of the one he shot and they continue to run, breaths coming in ragged gasps. They stumble into a clearing of tall grass, and push their way through, only looking back once in a while to see the walkers hadn’t made it out to follow them.  The tall bushes in the clearing offer some cover, his thoughts too blurred by adrenaline to think of anything but survival. But there’s a whisper of something, of someone, her face blazing through his mind every so often. But he pushes it away, there’s no time to think, to grief, to break down. They had to keep moving.

After they make it halfway into the clearing, the distant sound of growling fading, they collapse to the ground, lungs heaving for oxygen. But as the air begins to fill Daryl’s lungs again, the thoughts that were whispers begin to talk louder, until they’re screams. Her name, her face. The last time he saw her was leaving her on that cot, sick, feverish. Hershel had said she was doing better but he should’ve checked on her to make sure. Why hadn’t he checked on her himself? The guilt slams into him like a punch, knocking the wind from his chest. 

He gets the girl next to him up on her feet again, dragging her into the woods for more cover before the sun goes down, when they are blind.

❥・・❥・・❥・・❥・・❥・・❥・・❥・・❥・・❥

“We should do something,” he hears her say, but her voice is distant, far in the background of the chaos slamming through his head. The memories of the day, the guilt racking through him. He stares into the fire as his mind feels like itself is ablaze with thoughts, the night black around them. He stares into the flames, each flicker twisting into an image of her. Y/N, lying on that cot, her skin clammy, her breath ragged. He should’ve stayed longer, should’ve made sure she was okay. Hershel’s words echo in his mind— she’s doing better —but they’re hollow now, meaningless against the gnawing fear that she never made it out.

He clenches his jaw, trying to drive away the onslaught of images. You left her there, his mind hisses. He should’ve forced his way back, pushed through the chaos to find her. But he’d let himself get caught up in the battle, and now… now he doesn’t even know if she’s alive.

He was never one to let people close, his bitter thoughts clawing at him even more now, piercing their talons in him. But Y/N wasn’t just people, and now that feeling of whatever this was now between them that blossomed– the lifelong friendship growing into more, into intimacy that ran deeper than just physical–it twists like a knife inside him. He wonders if he’s ever going to see her again or if he’s just going to be left with the memory of her—the one thing that had felt steady in a world gone to hell.

The fire snaps loudly, sending up a shower of sparks, but he doesn’t flinch. You don’t deserve to know if she made it out, the voice in his head growls, heavy with self-loathing. It’s the truth, he thinks. He never knew how to protect the people who mattered—Merle, Sophia, now Y/N. It’s the same damn cycle, and he’s tired of pretending it’s anything else.

He feels a hollowness in his chest, a pit that keeps getting deeper with every passing hour. He hates it. Hates himself for how much he can’t stop thinking about it, for how badly he wants to believe she’s still alive. But there’s no room for hope in this world—he’s learned that the hard way, over and over. And yet, the stubborn part of him keeps pushing back, keeps whispering that maybe, just maybe, he’ll find her again.

His inner thoughts scream as if trying to block it all out, but the memories won’t leave him alone. They play on repeat: Y/N’s laughter that finally made its way back after months of her being a shell, her stubborn determination, the way she always seemed to know what he needed without asking. And then the last memory—the one that haunts him the most—leaving her behind on that cot, her eyes closed, her body still too fragile. 

He doesn’t know if he’s ever hated himself more than he does right now.

“We should do somethin’,” Beth’s voice cuts through the haze in Daryl’s mind, louder this time, but he just stares into the flames, lost in his thoughts.

“We aren’t the only survivors,” she insists, but the words only twist the knife deeper. She doesn’t get it. Doesn’t understand the weight of uncertainty pressing on him like lead. How could she be so sure anyone made it out? How could she still have a glimmer of hope when everything burned and splintered around them? When he should’ve done something?

“We can’t be,” she adds, her voice softer but determined. “Rick, Michonne—Y/N,” she says, and his eyes snap up, anger flaring hotter than the fire in front of him. 

“They could be out here,” Beth continues, hesitant at first but growing bolder. “Maggie and Glenn could’ve made it out too. They could’ve. ”

Daryl’s gaze falls back to the flames, his thoughts racing. Images of Y/N, Rick, and the others flash through his mind, tangled with guilt and regret. Beth, meanwhile, is on her feet, interrupting the swirl of chaos in his head.

“You’re a tracker,” she says firmly, “you can track.” There’s a determined edge to her voice. “Come on!

The sun’ll be up soon! If we head out now, we can—” she breaks off when she notices Daryl hasn’t moved, still staring blankly into the fire.

“Fine!” she snaps, voice rising with frustration. “If you won’t track, I will!” She pulls her knife out of the ground and glances down at him one last time before turning to stalk off into the black night.

Daryl watches her for a moment, the firelight flickering against the darkness around her retreating form. Stupid girl, he couldn’t let her run off alone. Without a word, he pushes himself to his feet, hastily stomping dirt over the fire to smother it. He slings his crossbow over his shoulder and sets off after her.

[jades-typurriter]

Cache Clearing

A piece I did in a bit of a frenzy after working with (you guessed it) Bowsiosaurus on the design for a new OC: meet Posie!! The thought process here was literally, like, no sooner than we decided on "make a Renamon" i was like "hey what if she ate a bunch of data", so, I hope you enjoy it as much as she seemed to =^w^=

CW: Weight gain, tummy/breast expansion, stern office woman is so full from Information yum

A tall, stately fox moved down the drab, linoleum-and-drop-tile maintenance corridor with the same grace, the same level and unerring gait, that one of her four-legged, flesh-and-bone counterparts might display while stalking prey through the underbrush. Though her feet ended in points, modeled as a smooth taper from her knee to a single vertex apiece, the clack of high heels echoed down the empty hallway with each step. Her purpose was singular, and her focus undivided.

She was a Renamon who had adapted to a digital landscape that was as predictable as it was unforgiving; while her predecessors were more suited to the wild west of the adolescent internet, all the precision and discipline that they dedicated to roughhousing instead allowed her to operate within the razor-thin margins of error of the corporate world. She kept things running, and that was exactly what she made her way to the server room to do now.

She waved a paw over the electronic lock on the door, an uncannily smooth, mechanical motion, made with the other paw primly held behind her ramrod-straight back. It was a far cry from the jerky, stiff displays one might expect from a physical construct, though the knob turned under her touch as though she was solid as steel. As it swung closed behind her, she approached the subject of her attention for her next task: server rack B-0, a cabinet of solid-state drives stacked even higher than she was, each loaded to the brim with trade secrets, proprietary information, logs of confidential exchanges, schematics, financial records. All of it was outdated. She had been sent by the management to ensure that it was properly deleted.

Her lip curled into a sneer at the thought. Data disposal was so… undignified. It was beneath a woman of her stature. She had thoroughly demonstrated her particular capabilities: the multitasking necessary direct intra-system traffic in real time, reducing latency; her knack for optimizing data for the most efficient storage; she had even taken the initiative to create financial projections from the figures under her care. And still they expected her to perform a task so crude that any program picked up on a shovelware site could handle it without complication! She huffed, her eyes narrowed into her typical glare, as though she wished she could melt the damned server with the infrared beams she would otherwise use to communicate with it.

Nonetheless, there was no use putting it off any longer. The 2.6 seconds she had spent ruminating could have been better spent elsewhere, and she would be remiss to waste even more time. She was the Renamon assigned to maintaining the integrity of the company’s data center, and she would not shirk that duty, no matter how uncouth it was. She unlatched the wire-mesh cabinet door, reached into the rack, and removed the first drive in the array with a soft k-chk.

Closing her eyes and bracing herself with a deep breath, she brought the disk to her snout, opened her mouth, and moved as though to take a bite out of it. Her pointed, polygonal teeth passed harmlessly through the metal, phasing as she could through any of the other surfaces in the building (though she made a point of logging her activities by using her credentials at doors, like any other employee). The data on the two plates within, however, were far from unscathed—bits parted like the muscle fibers in a succulent cut of steak, zeroed out as she pulled the drive from between her lips, swallowing the information once contained within.

She let out an almost-gasp—Pahhh!—like she was trying not to gag. It wasn’t that the data were unpalatable. Far from it; she could, begrudgingly, understand why her wild cousins were so apt to chew through any unsecured files they could get their paws on. It was the task itself that was distasteful: this was only the first bite of the first drive in the entire rack! She resented that her superiors seemed to think of her as a bottomless recycle bin. Besides, work of this nature came up rather infrequently. Reacclimating herself to the sensation of eating was always a touch uncomfortable.

She powered through regardless, knowing the feeling would settle as she got further underway. She brought the drive back up to her face, taking another bite further into the plate, as though she was gnawing off segments of a particularly thick chocolate bar; with her other paw, she disengaged another drive from the rack. She nibbled off the last morsel of data from the first drive and brought the second immediately to her maw; it was… more efficient to do it that way. As fast as possible. The sooner she could get all these units formatted, the better, of course.

Replacing the first, now-empty drive, she replaced it in its slot and reached for a third as she chewed on the second. On and on she went, paws working in perfect unison to maintain an unbroken chain of drives to deplete; she might have compared herself to a juggler if her cheeks weren’t already burning from the indignity. Electrons slid down her tongue—her mouth was watering more than she cared to acknowledge—and down the back of her throat. Bite. Swallow. Bite. Swallow. Replace. Switch. Bite. Swallow. Bite.

Her pace only increased as she continued. Of course it would. A computer performs better after it’s had time to warm up, after all. And, of course, she simply wanted this to be done and over with as quickly as possible. It was a mercy that she didn’t need to pay any mind to her volume controls, as far away from any other personnel as the data center was. Not that she was paying attention anyway, fully-focused on completing her task as she was. Nobody—not even herself—would notice the muffled mmphs and nnffs she made as she pressed on.

All the data on the disks had to go somewhere, and it was at this point in the process that that tended to become apparent. Beneath the fur on her chest, meticulously brushed and fastidiously fluffed, her breasts became gradually more prominent. At first, the tuft was enough to mostly obscure them—after all, so what if she seemed slightly fluffier that day?—but was soon outpaced. Electrical charges by the millions, now unmoored from their tidy array inside the drives, now sloshed into her, taking up more and more of her own storage space. In short order, the fluff was scarcely enough to cover just her cleavage.

One third of the way through the server rack, now. Still, her pace only increased, one drive in each paw.

Her thighs were already rather prodigious. They were the majority of her curves, under normal circumstances, and she took some pride in the matronly figure that she cut as a result. Now, they pressed closer and closer together beneath the skirt of fur that she sported, the conical abstractions of her lower extremities widening bite by bite (and byte by byte). They pressed further and further outward, straining the “garment” itself, pushing the hem further and further up along her legs; the circular patterns on her hips, reminiscent of loading symbols, became distorted, stretched. She would have thought it was a crude change, not unlike resizing an image file with improper scaling—if she were capable of focusing on anything other than the gigabytes upon gigabytes she was so doggedly downloading.

Well over halfway now. She was shoving storage into her maw two at a time, with both paws. If she was able to hold more drives at a time, she would have; as a matter of fact, it didn’t stop her from trying.

The largest component of her directory—her midsection—naturally took the brunt of the new load. Slowly, the soft, icy-blue fur of her tummy billowed out, first simply swelling as her stomach filled, then folding onto itself, rolls smushing down on each other under their newfound, still-growing weight. Soon enough, she found herself pressed up against the lower racks of the server, though even in her focused state, she hadn’t realized that she had stepped closer. She hadn’t moved any closer, of course, but she needed to step further back regardless: she found that she was beginning to struggle to bend over, straining against herself to reach the lowest-mounted drives in the array.

Finally, heaving for breath, she extended her paw for another drive and found none remaining that needed to be cleared. She blinked and, once she was more aware of herself, pushed down a sense of disappointment. Instead, she straightened herself (allowing the new mass to settle to a stop after the motion), dusted her skirt, and conjured a good riddance air about herself as she closed the server door once again. She could still find pride in a job well done, even if she was loathe to do the job.

As she stepped out once again into the hallway, ensuring that the door was securely closed—not that there was a single trace remaining of anything sensitive that had been stored there—she folded her hands behind her back and surprised herself with a burp that was most definitely ladylike. One paw flew to her snout as it echoed down the hallway, both in shock and to hide the near-glow of her cheeks. She glanced in either direction: mercifully, still vacant. Her shoulders slumped in relief, one of the rare occasions on which she relaxed her posture. Thankfully, nobody but her would know that she’d had to do one of her dirtier jobs today. She set off back the way she had came, her footsteps now playing at maximum volume—not even a clack anymore as much as a clomp.

Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed it =^w^= If you'd like to see more of my writing, have a look here and here!

[sorinethemastermind]

ik im early but i saw your trick or treat post and i wanna put this here before i forget. Treat with Sorvus?

Corvus didn't know why he was so nervous. He and Soren had known each other for years; they spent almost every day together. But there had always been something to do, some small part of himself whispered. Some foe they were facing, or a job they had to complete. Or even just the company of other people.

What if Soren didn't like him, when it was just them?

Corvus knew it was silly, but the thought still lingered. They had never really gone on a date before. Never had the option to. They'd gotten together during the end of the world, after all. And now that the world hadn't ended, they had to figure out how to be them when nothing was on fire.

So Soren had suggested a date; just the two of them and the trees and the stars. Corvus wasn't really sure what that might look like, he'd never been on a date before. (Sure, he had dated. but that's not the same thing.)

The crisp, autumn air helped to soothe his worries as he walked along, though it couldn't banish them entirely. He was nearly at the clearing they'd chosen when he began to smell smoke. Corvus' steps quickened into a run and he sprinted the rest of the way down the path. Was there another dragon? Why would it be here, of all places?

But it wasn't a dragon. It was just Soren. He was running around the clearing with a blanket, batting at the little fires that had sprung up among the leaves.

"Soren, what happened?" Corvus shouted even as he began stamping them out. But the answer revealed itself as soon as he got to the nearest bit of smoldering underbrush. Candles. What must have been close to forty of them, scattered about the clearing in various states of being snuffed out.

Corvus opened his mouth to explain why that had been a terrible idea in the middle of a forest, especially in autumn, but Soren was already shaking his head and saying "I know, I know."

They were able to snuff out the rest of the candles quickly enough, and any still smoldering leaves too. They were both coughing by the end of it though. Soren collapsed onto the ground in the middle of the clearing with a sound that was half laugh and half groan.

"So much for a romantic surprise."

"Soren, you could have burned down half the forest!"

"But I didn't." Soren pointed out, propping himself up on his elbows to look at Corvus. "It's like that saying; you can't plan a romantic evening without lighting a few fires."

"That isn't a saying." Corvus sighed, sitting on the ground beside him. Soren smiled sheepishly.

"It should be?"

Corvus shook his head, surveying what was left of what might once have been a rather cute, romantic picnic. "How long did it take you to set all of this up?"

"Oh. You know." Soren said, blowing a strand of hair out of his face. "About as long as it took to realize the candles were probably a bad idea."

Corvus couldn't help but chuckle at that. Soren stood up, shaking the now rather charred blanket out before spreading it on the ground before him. He placed a basket on it and took out two sandwiches.

"I sort of used the drinks I brought to douse the fire." he told Corvus, abashed.

Corvus scooted over to take a seat on the blanket, pulling the bottle of wine he'd brought from his satchel. "Good thing I brought some then."

"Ooo." Soren's eyes lit up. "Wine! Fancy."

Even though the clearing smelled of smoke, and the blanket was singed and damp in some places, and the sandwiches carried Soren's usual lack of toppings, and Corvus' wine wasn't as fancy as it was cheap, they still called the evening a success.

Because dragons and fires or not, they were still them. And nothing would ever change that.

[mckitterick]

Let the Platforms Burn

Tumblr is seeing massive growth thanks to the implosion of Twitter and Reddit. but migrating here or elsewhere means starting all over from the beginning, which is why users so seldom make the leap away from much-despised platforms (can you say "Facebook")

in his important new piece, Cory Doctorow argues that we need to fundamentally change the way social media and other user-content platforms operate, and give users the power to easily migrate their content and connections from site to site

he argues we need to let bad platforms burn (using the metaphor of healthy fires that clear out dangerous underbrush, preventing destructive wildfires) to make room for new, better ones without punishing users for escaping social-media prison

full piece (and podcast version) here: X

a few choice excerpts:

Today's tech giants run "walled gardens" that are actually walled prisons that entrap their billions of users by imposing high switching costs on them. How did that happen? How did tech become "five giant websites filled with screenshots from the other four?"

The answer lies in the fact that tech was born as antitrust was dying. Reagan hit the campaign trail the same year the Apple ][+ hit shelves. With every presidency since, tech has grown more powerful and antitrust has grown weaker (the Biden administration has halted this decay, but it must repair 40 years' worth of sabotage).

This allowed tech to "merge to monopoly." Google built a single successful product – a search engine – and then conquered the web by buying other peoples' companies, even as their own internal product development process produced a nearly unbroken string of flops. Apple buys 90 companies a year – Tim Cook brings home a new company more often than you bring home a bag of groceries.

When Facebook was threatened by an upstart called Instagram, Mark Zuckerberg sent a middle-of-the-night email to his CFO defending his plan to pay $1b for the then-tiny company, insisting that the only way to secure eternal dominance was to eliminate competitors – by buying them out, not by being better than them. As Zuckerberg says, "It is better to buy than compete"

it's great that we're seeing such a reinvigorment of Tumblr, but this site's delight could evaporate overnight with some bad updates (presaged in recent corporate messages). better than hoping Tumblr might stay good forever is ensuring we can leave without losing everything - and knowing we can leave would help prevent the enshittification of our beloved Hellsite

[cuddlepilefics]

Ingredients & spells

(Don't you smell familiar 4)

@flufftober

Masterlist

Chan eventually recovered from his migraine but the emptiness seemed to linger. He had started to drink more tea, honey-sweetened of course, since that seemed to be the only thing keeping the chills at bay. The others wouldn’t be able to understand how he was still feeling cold, so Chan didn’t mention it to his dongsaengs. He only brought the topic up with YoungK at some point. Despite not being in the same coven anymore, the two were still very close and YoungK still remained a great mentor to Chan. He was the one to propose a certain spell that might be able to cure his friend’s chills. They’d need some ingredients though.

That was how Chan found himself bundled up in a hoodie and coat, trudging through the still moist undergrowth of the forest on the outskirts of town. The storm had been relentless, lasting for days, so he could only hope the herbs he was looking for weren’t all drowned. It was soothing to get away from the bustling city for a while and just listen to the sounds of the forest. Since his coven could be loud and chaotic, Chan was glad that he had come alone. He really needed to clear his head after everything that had gone down. Maybe he’d be able to make peace with the situation at some point.

Even if the spell would end up in vain, at least, collecting the ingredients forced him to go outside. The fresh air helped him breathe a little easier, almost as if an invisible weight had been lifted off his chest. Surrounded by the sounds of the forest, Chan listened to the crunch of leaves under his feet and studied the bushes beside him. Had he not been so at ease, he might have startled when a striped cat emerged from the underbrush and curiously glanced up at him. “Oh, hi there, little one”, Chan cooed and crouched down, extending his hand to let the small creature sniff him. When he tried to pet it, it backed away and he got the hint. No touching.

For some reason, the cat didn’t seem deterred though and followed Chan as he picked different herbs. “It’s cause I’m a witch, you know”, he told the feline, smiling softly, “Channie caught a bad chill, so I need a spell to make it better. A spell that needs some ingredients. Are you going to keep me company? That’s sweet of you, thanks. You’re easy to talk to, you know? My friends want me to talk to them but it’s hard, cause they’re kinda overbearing. I know they mean well and are worried about me but they couldn’t understand even if I talked to them. They’re not lonely like I am.” He shuddered violently, almost dropping the bundle of herbs before he could slip them into his satchel. “Are you lonely, little one?”, Chan hummed, secretly hoping the cat would come a little closer, so he could pet it.

His wish shouldn’t be granted though, the cat always lingering just out of reach despite seemingly very invested in what the witch was doing. Chan didn’t know why he told the cat about everything that was going on. It helped in a way. Saying it out loud lifted the weight off his chest, so he knew why his friends were so desperate for him to talk but it wasn’t ease to open up about something so vulnerable if it was to someone, who might judge and who didn’t have a chance to relate in the slightest. Chan would’ve loved to stay out in the forest longer, mainly so he could enjoy the comforting presence of his little companion longer, but he was truly chilled to the bone, fingers so still he struggled with gathering his ingredients. Crouching down to try and pet the cat one last time and ultimately failing once again, Chan whispered: “It was nice talking to you. Sorry for trauma-dumping like that. I’d promise that I’d stop by tomorrow and bring you a snack but I doubt I’d ever find you again, so thanks again for listening.”

Chan made his way home once he had everything he needed, the cat following him to the tree line before disappearing into the underbrush. Seeing how hard he was trembling, Changbin ushered the older straight to the bathroom and started a hot bath for him. “I know the spell is supposed to warm you up but that won’t be of any use if you can’t even speak the words because your teeth are chattering so badly”, Changbin scolded when Chan tried to argue. Not that he really minded taking a hot bath, hell, it sounded heavenly to be completely honest, but Chan had never done well with being fussed over, so the younger’s concern overwhelmed him.

The bath had been nice and although it wasn’t nearly enough to stop his chills, he was at least functional enough to perform the spell. His dongsaengs left him alone to work in the kitchen, not wanting to get in the way. They were glad that he was working on improving his situation instead of moping around, so they wouldn’t discourage him. Felix popped in from time to time, flying his practice rounds between the living room and kitchen. Chan didn’t mind him, rather did he enjoy the little visits and made sure to secretly sneak him sunflower seeds. They were Felix’ favorite snacks and his happy chirps never failed to make Chan smile. Jisung surely was lucky to have him even if they had been through a lot together.

Eventually, Felix’ trips to the kitchen stopped. He had tired himself out and the warm wafts of steam coming from the made him sleepy. Chan enjoyed them though, warming his hands over the pot. The bubbling sound had something soothing too and Chan softly hummed the incantations, only slightly surprised when the liquid changed its color. If only summoning a familiar could be so comfortable and relaxing. It truly seemed the only thing on his mind lately, even haunting him in his sleep. Mostly, it had been nightmares lately, Chan feeling the magic and warmth being sucked out of him, only to be replaced by this cold and painful void. Almost like it had felt during the last failed ritual. At least, after downing this potion, the dream became more neutral. He had felt so drowsy, he had barely managed to clean up the kitchen before curling up on the couch, a comfortable warmth spreading from his tummy to his chest. No sooner than he had closed his eyes, Chan saw himself sitting on the floor surrounded by his friends. He knew the chants by heart now and they repeated over and over in his mind as his eyes darted behind closed lids.

Suddenly feeling his hands grow warm, Seungmin looked at them before being hit by a sudden wave of exhaustion. Jeongin nudged him, seemingly sensing something too and growing uneasy. With how out of sorts Chan had been lately, Seungmin didn’t want to burden the leader with his concern and went to seek out Changbin instead. He didn’t have to go far though, his hyung already heading down the hallway with his own hands stretched out in front of him. Changbin’s palms emitted a soft white glow but the look on his face was one of confusion and fear. “You’re okay, Lixxie”, Jisung’s voice came muffled through his bedroom door before he joined them, his panicked familiar in his palm. Making eye contact with Changbin, Jisung muttered: “Something’s absolutely not right here. It feels like something’s draining my power. Can you feel it too?” The older only showed him his hands, the power visibly draining from his palms. “I-I can feel it”, Seungmin stammered anxiously, Jeongin pressing himself against his leg.

Now properly terrified, Changbin rushed to the living room to check on Chan. The eldest seemed to be in deep sleep, his lips moving slightly but fast. Almost as if he was reciting an incantation. Looking down at Chan, Jisung frowned: “Is he having another nightmare?” – “I don’t know but we got to wake him”, Changbin gasped, staring at his hyung’s lips, “Whatever he’s doing, he’s draining us.”

[dawnclan-duskclan]

Mothpuddle hated the Season of Waterwings. She hated the clouds of grey mist that frizzed her long fur, hated the splattering of chilled droplets drooling from heavy leaves, she even hated that she had no one to keep her company, no cat to complain to.

She was alone.

There were some missions she simply couldn’t trust warriors to help with, not without hurting themselves in the process, and that was a risk Mothpuddle wasn't willing to tolerate. 

Because Mothpuddle was on the hunt for deathberries.

Yes, those deathberries. They did have some medicinal use in the right doses, like any other herb in her stock. Because in a way, all herbs were poisons and therefore, all poisons could, potentially, be cures. She liked to have some deathberries around, just in case, hidden in the far reaches of her herb stores, behind a boulder that was horrible to remove or replace, but that ensured that the more dangerous substances she kept weren't in reach of curious kits, or warriors, or any other cat stupid enough to poke around where their nose didn't belong.

Not that Mothpuddle allowed any cat to poke around her herbs for any reason.

So even if the rainy groves made her bones ache, she pressed forward, wrinkling her nose when mist-drenched leaves tipped water across her ears as she shouldered her way through the dense underbrush of the Daylands.

She scowled. Another clearing, bare of anything useful.

The fog pushed down on her like a physical force, growing heavier and heavier the further into the Daylands Mothpuddle ventured. The pelt on her back kept some of the wet off, but the sodden thing also added weight and so did little to help her mood. She spotted a Waterwing flying her direction and had just enough time to duck under a cluster of dense palmetto before a deluge of cold raindrops

The water would be good for the plants--even this early in the season, the deciduous trees glittered with dewy buds, nearly blinding where Sunglow hit them, and many of the bushes were flush with soft, green leaves. Supple sedges cushioned her paws, keeping them blessedly free of mud so long as she picked her way carefully from tussock to tussock.

She was drawing close to the Horizon, the Sun crystal directly over her head. It was impossible to scent anything in this weather: not only did the wet fog muffle smells, but the overwhelming perfume of rich, wet soil ached on her tongue, so bitter she could taste it. She wouldn’t be able to scent if a DawnClan patrol had come by recently, but she did keep her eyes towards the east, scanning the undergrowth for movement each time she found a vantage to do so. Even in this dismal weather, the lone healer really shouldn't go further, not without an escort. If Boragebud knew how close she'd gotten now, she'd never hear the end of it as it was.

With a defeated rumble, Mothpuddle gave one last glance for the late winter berries, then turned around. Water carved rivulets of her scowl.

She could have plotted a new path back (slightly north, perhaps, where the soil was wetter) in hopes of covering new ground and potentially coming across the berries she sought. But she opted to follow her own paw-prints to DuskClan's camp, as she'd mentally mapped a few minor herbs she could bring back. It was a consolation prize at best to gather a few shoots of tansy near the edge of the forest, hardly enough to fill a single pouch on her side, but if that was all MoonClan deigned to offer her, then that's what Mothpuddle would take.

At least the golden molly left the heavy fog behind in the Daylands. Only a few stubborn tendrils of mist and a scattering of heavier rain drops from solitary Waterwings made it into the Dusklands, where the layer of soil grew thinner and thinner, unable to support the deep roots of large flora that dominated the Daylands and its wealth of eternal Sunglow. Trees, then shrubs, and then even grasses and clovers fell away as her paws transitioned to smooth stone and occasional drifts of moss that made up the Twilight. 

Home.

FIRST || 0.2 >>

[scribbling-dragon]

Crown of Antlers

Chapter 5: Hallowed Halls

summary:

An introduction to the Halls of Rivendell. A newcomer guided by a careful hand.

(ao3 link)

(masterpost)

(9,092 words)

Ailwi and Alfsol are waiting, as he instructed, just outside of the Cod Empire’s borders. Their horses are tied to nearby branches, though that action is more to prevent them from tripping over their loose reins or becoming caught on a nearby bush rather than any worry that they might escape- the knots are far too loose to do anything and they are also too well-trained to even attempt it.

Jimmy’s eyes widen when Ailwi and Alfsol reveal themselves from the underbrush, and Scott takes a moment to consider how this might look to him. His lips quirk up at the edges as Jimmy glances at him, pupils slitted as he stares at him.

“Did you think I walked here?” He asks, gesturing to the horses. Jimmy’s eyes remain wide, even as he nods slowly, watching his guards as though expecting them to lunge forward and attack him. Really, is there so little faith here? “I would hardly have made it on time if I walked here from Rivendell.”

“I…well, I suppose not,” Jimmy says. “I just didn't expect-” he waves at Alfsol’s turned back “-the guards.”

“Can hardly leave without us, hm?” Alfsol yanks on her horse’s saddle as she speaks, slipping a few fingers under the girth and testing how tight it is. She frowns a moment later, muttering something under her breath before she continues, “Tawaren would pitch a fit, and then we’d all have to deal with that.” She snorts, shaking her head.

Ailwi has remained silent throughout this encounter, nervously looking between him and Jimmy, then back again. The question is clear in their eyes, though they look far too worried to actually voice their thoughts. He shakes his head when they choose to meet his eyes, holding the gaze until they turn around, pulling themselves onto their horse.

“Besides,” he continues, “I’ve found myself becoming rather fond of them, and their company is bearable when the trip is long and slow.” It would be far quicker for them to simply push their horses to their limits and arrive as quickly as possible, but to do so would only end in him arriving windswept and unkempt; not at all the impression he ever wishes to make, especially not when he was meeting the highly esteemed Cod Council for the first time. They have done a rather good job of keeping out of his sight for this long, but, judging from their regard of Jimmy, perhaps he needn’t have worried so much.

“You flatter me, sire,” Alfsol says, pulling herself into her saddle easily, though perhaps not as gracefully as Ailwi. “I’ve found myself growing rather fond of you too. Though your attitude could use a little work.”

“Never just a compliment with you, hm?” He untwists his own horse’s reins from the branch he had looped them around a few hours ago, tugging her closer to him, smoothing a hand over the side of her neck. She turns to bump her nose against his shoulder, snuffling about in his pockets for any treats.

He turns back to Jimmy, almost expecting to turn and find that the Codfather had disappeared back into his swamps, deciding to take his chances there rather than with him. He’s pleasantly surprised to find him still stood there, watching his horse with open fear, as though she’s spontaneously grown a second head. He looks back, checking on her. He’s rather fond of her really; Glorandal is a wonderful example of his empire’s horses, with strong legs, thick enough to rival some tree trunks. She blinks at him now, breath hot through his gloves when he raises a hand to stroke at her nose.

“She won't bite,” he promises. “She’s rather lovely, really.”

Jimmy continues to watch her with apprehension, eyes raking over every inch of her, as though studying her. His voice, when he responds, is quiet. “I've never ridden a horse.” He looks faintly embarrassed, the fins he has in replacement of ears twitching backwards, flattening almost to the sides of his skull before the movements stop completely.

“Then I suppose it’s a good thing you won't actually be riding her, hm?” He loops the reins over Glorandal’s head before releasing them, knowing she is far too good to move. He slips a hand into the crook of Jimmy’s elbow and guides him forward with a soft touch. He ignores Alfsol’s scoff, focusing on pulling Jimmy closer to the horse.

The man seems as though he’s a mere moment away from startling and disappearing into the swamp, never to be seen again. And Scott would really rather that they return to Rivendell while it’s still light and the mountain paths are slightly less treacherous. His hand slips from the crook of Jimmy’s elbow to his wrist, gently uncurling his fingers and pushing his hand forward.

Jimmy tenses as Glorandal sniffs at his hand, fingers twitching when she almost begins nibbling at the tips of his fingers. Truly, what does he expect her to do? Rip his entire arm clean from its socket as easily as breathing? She’s hardly Mary, who would sooner eat your fingers than let you ride her.

“See?” He keeps his voice quiet, just between the two of them as Jimmy brushes a hand over Glorandal’s nose again, a little more confident than he was before. “She’s really quite nice. All I need you to do is make sure you don't fall off, and even then I will catch you before you can even begin to slip.” Jimmy shudders as his breath ghosts over the delicate webbing of his fins, and Scott tucks that particular detail away for examination later; he ignores the bell-like laughter in the back of his head, and the way Ailwi turns their head away, as though embarrassed to watch him.

He slips around Jimmy, hand slipping over his wrist, touches still light and fleeting. Jimmy follows after him anyway, watching as he hooks a foot into the stirrup, pulling himself up in one fluid movement. His cloak sweeps over Glorandal’s back, and Jimmy flinches away, squeezing his eyes shut as though preparing for an impact. When nothing comes, he squints his eyes open, watching Glorandal with all the caution you would approach a wildcat with.

He leans down, extending a hand towards Jimmy. Jimmy takes his hand immediately, not pulling his gaze away from Glorandal’s face for a long moment. When he does, he seems almost surprised to see their hands joined, eyes darting up to meet his. The palm of his hand is warm, even through his gloves, and he’s certain Jimmy can feel the icy chill of his own skin too. If he does, then he does a rather good job of hiding it, face not even twitching with slight discomfort as he looks back up, seeking directions.

Scott brushes Aeor’s quiet murmurs away, focusing back on Jimmy. “You can step on my foot, if you would like.” He offers, “Or I can direct us to a rock or fallen log to help you get up.” Glorandal is quite a tall horse, and Jimmy’s shoulders just barely come up to her own.

“Step on your foot?”

He smiles at Jimmy’s reaction, the small squeak in his voice. “I assure you I won't feel it, steel-toed boots are certainly not something to scoff at.” He readjusts his grip on Jimmy’s hand, slipping over the bones of his wrist as he grips more at his arm than his hand, preparing to aid in pulling him up.

“I, uh, I suppose not.” Jimmy still looks rather nervous, bouncing on the balls of his feet before he seems to decide just to go for it without a single warning being sent in Scott’s direction. Scott leans back to assist Jimmy with hauling himself up, as well as avoid bumping their heads together. The bells on his antlers chime as he leans backwards, matching almost perfectly with Aeor’s laughter. He can see the faint glowing of gold, just beyond Ailwi, but he refuses to look in the God’s direction.

At least Alfsol will feel better about her horrendous lack of grace when mounting and dismounting, Jimmy has truly put her to shame.

Scott shuffles back slightly, adjusting for the extra space that Jimmy is taking up. There really isn't space for them both in this saddle and the leather of it digs into him uncomfortably. Jimmy shifts in the saddle as well, spine digging into Scott’s front as he leans backwards. He stiffens a moment later, breath turning a little harsher, loud and slightly rasping as he breathes.

Scott slips his arms around him, sliding his thumb along the leather of the reins as he readjusts his grip. He nudges Glorandal forward, encouraging her into a brisk walk with a small squeeze. Jimmy’s breath hitches as she moves, jolting at first, then relaxing as she settles into the gait and adjusts to the added weight. He’ll have someone check her when they return to Rivendell, but he’s certain the extra weight won’t have done her any harm.

“I need you to be as still as possible,” he murmurs to Jimmy as they walk through the thick forest, quickly slipping onto a dirt path. “Any movement you make, she will feel, and if there’s two of us moving, it might confuse her.”

Jimmy nods, the tickle of his hair brushing along the underneath of Scott’s jaw. He’s tucked himself rather securely against Scott’s chest, even if he remains as stiff as a metal rod.

“If you continue to tense like that, this is not going to be a pleasant ride,” he says. Glorandal snorts as he nudges her a little faster, not quite trotting but also not very far off. Jimmy stiffens further in the saddle, knuckles white from how hard he’s gripping the pommel.

“How else am I meant to sit?” Jimmy hisses back. “Do you want me to fall off?”

He laughs, head dropping, chin almost bumping against the top of Jimmy’s head. “No, of course not. I would catch you before you fell, either way. Just…relax a little. Move with the motions.”

“Oh, yes, because that’s so easy,” Jimmy snorts. Scott finds himself smiling at the biting edge in his voice, much preferring this version of Jimmy rather than the one that refuses to speak in front of him. “Just relax, while riding the massive animal that could trample you to death without even thinking.”

“Glorandal would not trample you to death. She refuses to step in puddles, she’s hardly going to step all over you. She’s far too fussy for that,” Jimmy doesn't respond, and he sighs, sitting a little taller so Jimmy’s hair stops tickling at his face so much. “Just go with the movements, imagine it like you're in the water- when you get pulled into a strong current do you fight against it?”

“I- no. That’s how you die, and I quite enjoy living.”

“Then just think of it like that, if you put too much energy into remaining tense, you're going to grow tired quickly and slip off far easier.” Jimmy goes lax so quickly that he does almost fall off the side of the horse, slipping just slightly before Scott is pushing him back into the centre of the saddle. “Perhaps not that much, but that is better.”

He gives Jimmy a few more moments to find the balance between relaxing too much and too little, before nudging Glorandal forward a little more forcefully, bridging the gap between walking and trotting. It becomes far bumpier then, Jimmy stiffening against him initially, before realising that it’s far less sickening to sink into the saddle. In fairness, it is far easier to sink in like that with stirrups than it is without, so he is already putting Jimmy at a disadvantage.

Glorandal keeps tugging at the reins, trying to yank him forward and give her more slack so she can pick up the pace. He cannot tell if she’s simply eager to gallop or return to her stable. He keeps at the slow trot for another few minutes to make sure Jimmy isn't sick when they begin to go faster. It is almost silent, the only sound around them the crunching of gravel beneath hooves and the wheezing breaths Jimmy keeps letting out.

Jimmy doesn't look green around the gills when he checks on him, and he’s remained mostly relaxed so far. The only incident so far was when Scott’s chin collided with the top of Jimmy’s head, leaving both of them grunting in pain and shying away from the other. He pretended not to hear Alfsol laughing at them for that one.

When he’s certain of Jimmy’s ability to hold onto his lunch he nudges Glorandal again, heel digging into her side as she slackens the reins, giving her the space she’s been craving. She pushes her head forward almost immediately, pushing forward into a canter. The bumpiness smooths out as Glorandal finds her paces, though Jimmy takes several minutes longer to settle into the new speed.

He’s gripping Scott’s wrist rather than the pommel of the saddle now, but he doesn't seem to have noticed this yet. Scott doesn't comment on it, far more focused on the way he can feel the heat bleeding through his sleeves from the singular point of contact. It’s far hotter than anywhere else they're touching, leaving him almost dizzy with the sensation.

He shakes it off a moment later when he almost gets a branch to the face, ducking at the last moment and praying his antlers don't get tangled again. The trees around them blur into a mass of green and lime, the colours melting into one another as they continue to pick up speed, gravel skittering behind them.

He can hear the hoofbeats of Ailwi and Alfsol’s horses behind them, keeping pace at a respectable distance. Though not so far behind that they risk being hit by a stray spray of gravel.

They veer to the left when the path forks. It takes them away from Mythland’s capital, deeper into the forest bordering Mythland and Gilded Helianthia. Jimmy clings to his wrist so tightly he can almost imagine his bones grinding together. It’s nearly enough to stop him from guiding Glorandal with slight twitches of the reins, keeping her on the centre of the path.

Did Jimmy not believe that he would save him from falling? Did he simply lack that much faith in his newest ally? But if that were the case, then why would he agree to ride to Rivendell with him? He could have easily declined politely and suggested an alternative meeting date, where the Codfather could travel to Rivendell himself. Or is he really that desperate for whatever information Scott might be able to give him, desperate enough to follow him even when it places him at a disadvantage. There is no advantage with following him into his domain, especially not when Scott has his name. Perhaps there is some truth in calling the Codfather impulsive- more likely to swing first and ask the questions later.

He leans further forward, ducking his head until his lips are close enough to brush against the delicate fins adorning the sides of Jimmy’s head. They shiver as he exhales, the fine membranes quivering as his breath ghosts over it. He smiles at the repeat reaction, satisfied that it wasn't just a one time thing from their proximity. He inhales slowly, pushing the further thoughts away as they attempt to invade the front of his mind again, before speaking. “I am going to start galloping in a moment. I would recommend you hold onto something.”

Jimmy stiffens in front of him, spine digging into his ribs. It makes him too uncomfortable to lean over in this way, and he’s forced to pull back until Jimmy is no longer wrapped so securely between his arms. The jostling of the horse hardly helps, Glorandal’s wide strides pushing them into one another.

They cross the border from Gilded Helianthia into Rivendell.

And he feels the exact moment they leap across the invisible barrier, Glorandal launching into a gallop as he encourages her forward. The ice sings in the air around him, the cold stinging in his cheeks as it brushes icy hands over his face, welcoming him home, even after such a short absence. The cold sings in his blood and he grins at the feeling of it sparking through his veins.

Jimmy shivers in front of him, curling in on himself slightly. He still holds Scott’s wrist, though his grip is less bone-crushingly tight than before, giving him a larger range of movement. Scott huffs out a laugh at Jimmy’s reaction, before leaning a little further forward, close enough that Jimmy’s hair brushes against his face again.

The small points of contact between them make him shudder, something warm slithering down his spine. Those small points of contact are far more noticeable than the warm weight pressed against the front of his chest, though he’s not certain how such small points of contact manage to elicit such a reaction when they're already pressed so closely together.

He swallows down the words he was going to say, finding that they have turned to syrup in his throat, sticking there and making his tongue feel heavy and useless. The words in his mind swirl around each other too, refusing to order themselves in a sensible way. He can hardly even remember what he was going to say anymore, losing the words in the sticky tangle of thoughts currently clogging his throat.

The first gate they pass through is small and old, creaking as it opens. The guard inside of the tower takes several, long moments to respond to Alfsol’s shout. Scott cannot see into the dark recesses of the tower beside the gate, but he does manage to spot the flash of the soldier’s armour, as well as hear the sudden rattling as they realise just who, exactly, it is waiting at the gate.

They're ushered through rather rapidly after that, and Jimmy looks around them curiously at the small village they pass through. He slows, briefly, as they cut through the town centre, so as not to startle the children playing some complex-looking game beside the well.

They pause to wave at him, several of the children running up to grin at him, but still keeping a respectful distance from the horses. He smiles back at the small elves, waving back at several of them as they pass through. The elves stare at Jimmy, as well, some of the adults pausing in their business to take in the codfolk riding with the Elvenking, before recognising the mask pushed back on the top of his head.

Then they're through the village and picking up the pace again, careful to remain within the bounds of the hedgerows surrounding them. He’s not certain what is being planted in the fields around them currently, but several look as though they've already been harvested, only stubble left behind.

“I didn't know you grew things here,” Jimmy says, sounding slightly out of breath as he speaks. The rocking of the horse has decreased, but the motion would still be uncomfortable for someone not accustomed to riding. “Doesn't everything just…die?” He makes a small, choked-off noise in the back of his throat a moment later, shoulders stiffening as he waits for a response.

Scott frowns at the reaction, straightening his own back to avoid the way Jimmy’s spine digs into his ribs, made even more uncomfortable by the jostling of the horse. “No,” he says. He can hear the small amount of amusement in his own voice, even as the wind does its best to snatch the sound away from him. “But we only grow specific crops, ones more resistant to cold. Like over there,” he nods, towards one of the only fields still filled, brimming with shades of crimson and red. “Poppies are rather good at surviving.”

“Huh,” Jimmy says, small and quiet. Scott doubts he’s even meant to hear it. “The more you know, I guess.”

The fields gradually turn to houses, the beaten dirt track beneath them transitioning into cobbles. And then they really do have to slow, their winding path up the mountain coming to a rather abrupt halt as they reach the first of the larger gates.

Alfsol yells up to the guard in the tower in elvish, asking for entry through the gates. The guard peers down a moment later, a flash of silver from the dark recesses of the tower and a brief sound of metal on metal. He tips his head back, bells jangling as they shift on his antlers, swinging in the breeze. The guard disappears rather quickly after that, and the gate swings open promptly, quiet on well-oiled hinges. Seems he really does need to see what’s going on with the outer villages, then. Or at least find some better soldiers to station out there, if the ones currently occupying the small village have begun to slack off.

There’s three more gates before they begin ascending the final slope up to Rivendell’s capital. This slope is far steeper than the previous ones, being the more private entrance to the stables than the public entrance. Which takes far longer to climb, both due to the crowds and the gradual sloping nature of it. But it means their food arrives at their door with little trouble, no produce rolling from the carts and taking a plunge off the side of the mountain.

Jimmy continues to shiver, his bare arms breaking out into gooseflesh as he leans further back into Scott. He’s far more tense than he was at the start of the ride, which is quite something, because he doesn't think he’s ever met someone quite so scared of a horse as Jimmy is.

Their arrival into Rivendell is quiet and subdued. Just as Scott likes it. They dismount the horses with little fanfare, other than Alfsol getting her foot caught in one of the stirrups, almost falling flat on her face as she attempts to dismount, with at least some of her dignity intact. He turns away from her, pressing a closed fist to his mouth and reminding himself that she will punch him if he laughs at her, again, and that those punches tend to bruise for weeks. He’s not risking it.

Scott dismounts first, cloak sweeping heavily behind him as he steps back from the horse, holding out a hand for Jimmy to take. Jimmy only hesitates for a moment before he places his hand into Scott’s awaiting one, carefully slipping from Glorandal’s back. A stablehand is waiting nearby already, and Scott beckons him over, instructing him to check her over, to ensure that riding with two people hasn't done her any damage.

The stablehand nods, before taking the reins and leading Glorandal away. Alfsol and Ailwi are already waiting for them, prepared to walk them further into the city and back to the Palace. Jimmy continues to shiver, and it’s then that Scott truly registers how unsuited his clothes are for the near-top of a mountain. Scott frowns at him, at the way he’s tightly holding himself, as though he’s attempting to physically cling to every scrap of heat.

Jimmy jumps as Scott swings his cloak around his shoulders, settling it comfortably around his neck and tucking the ruff away from his face and ears. Jimmy stares at him with round eyes as he clasps the front of it, tugging it forward a little further when it goes to slip backwards.

“It’s slightly too large,” he frowns, watching as the bottom of it almost trails in the dirt behind Jimmy as he walks. “I do apologise.”

“No, it’s uh, it’s fine,” Jimmy goes to shrug the cloak off, even as his teeth continue to chatter. “I really don't need it, I swear.”

“I would really rather you didn't keel over where you stand,” Scott clasps one of Jimmy’s hands between two of his own, halting his efforts to remove the cloak. “Please, just keep it on, if only for my peace of mind.”

Jimmy hesitates for a moment longer, before slowly pulling his hand out from between Scott’s, tucking the cloak around himself a little more tightly, wrapping himself snugly inside the folds of fabric. “Alright.” He nods, slowly. “Thank you.”

“Splendid, now, shall we continue?”

Ailwi is looking away again, face flushed a light shade of pink and refusing to meet his eyes. Alfsol has no such qualms, twisting her face into a mocking grin and making a rude gesture. “If only for my peace of mind,” she mocks, slipping back into elvish.

“Shut it,” he snaps back at her, though it has no real bite behind it. And she must sense this, as she simply laughs at him. Jimmy watches them carefully, eyes dancing back and forth between them before looking away again. Scott’s rather relieved he chooses not to ask whatever question is lingering in his mind, as he’s uncertain of what his own response would be.

They draw more than a few stares, curious eyes lingering on their small party for longer than is strictly polite. But no-one makes to stop them, and they slip through the drifting crowds easily, aided by the two royal guards forging a pathway through. Jimmy looks around the surrounding buildings with interest alight in his eyes, tugging Scott’s cloak tighter around his shoulders.

There is nothing more than a little scrutiny towards their group, which, he supposes, is understandable from an outside perspective. Two royal guards, a codfolk, and the Elvenking walk through the streets late at night. It sounds like the beginning of one of those bad jokes Cormac is so fond of.

The Royal Library is still open, doors cracked just slightly and allowing the golden glow from within to spill out into the steadily approaching dusk. The students coming and going don't even spare him a second look, either too tired to register their surroundings or too used to him slipping in and out of the library when the fancy takes him.

He nods, politely, to the guard stationed at the door. It’s done more for formalities and for the peace of mind of the scholars that maintain the books within its walls. Hardly anything catastrophic will happen to a building in such close proximity to the Palace, but Leukos insisted, citing that the scholars would drive them insane if Scott refused to take action. And Leukos is rather good at their job, and it would be a hassle to find a new Librarian.

Jimmy’s breath hitches as they enter the atrium, head tipping back and fingers loosening their tight, almost strangling grip, on his cloak. He looks…strange, swathed in the colours of Scott’s empire and bathed in the gold light that the library has. It makes something in his chest shift a little at the sight, and he’s forcing himself to look away before he can linger on the emotion for too long.

“When you said you wanted some books to reference, I thought you meant, like…an office,” Jimmy finds his voice again, head dropping back down to look at Scott. He looks rather unimpressed, eyes flat and voice even flatter, even as he continues to look around. “Are you sure you're gonna be able to find the books we need?”

“Of course,” he should feel a little offended at the question- really, for Jimmy to question him in such a way. He could navigate this library with his eyes closed and hands bound behind his back, though he would certainly look an idiot whilst doing it. “The library is organised,” he says, “meaning that it is arranged in a logical sense making it easier for those using its services to find the books that they might require, whether that be for leisure reading or more academic pathways of-”

“Alright,” Alfsol’s hand lands heavily on his shoulder, pulling him down a little bit as he has to compensate for her height. “I’m sure we all know what something being organised means, yeah?”

“I would hope so,”

“Good, great,” Alfsol pulls her hand off his shoulder, dusting his shirt off before dropping them back to her sides, an entirely unnecessary action as her hands weren't dirty in the first place. She smiles up at him. “Does that mean we’re relieved of our duties? Only because it’s rather late in the evening, and I had this wonderful date later on, really, the things she does with her-”

“I don't want to know that.” He holds a hand up, cutting her off and praying she doesn't continue. “If you continue to torment me like this I will send you to etiquette lessons.” Alfsol’s face scrunches up at the threat but still continue to grin, looking far too pleased with herself for it to be healthy.

He sighs, heavily. He almost casts his eyes skyward, looking for help from some benevolent God. He glares, instead, at the place where Aeor stands, looking far too amused for a creature that has no eyebrows. Or any way of visibly communicating His amusement. “You can go,” he waves his guards away.

He walks further into the library, smiling at the students that look up at him as he passes, dragging their eyes away from their stack of books and references to greet him momentarily. Only one set of feet hurries after him, almost tripping over his tail as he sweeps it to the side.

“Are you sure that was a good idea?” Jimmy asks, falling into step beside him, hands twisted in the fabric of his cloak again. He seems to rather like it, or perhaps he simply likes the comfort of having something in his hands. “What if something happens?”

“If something were to happen, I assure you, it should not be me you are worrying about.” He smiles pleasantly as he speaks. The bookshelves come to an abrupt halt and he steps out from the stacks, eyes set on the desk tucked away into the back corner of the library. For such a large building, Leukos seems to have chosen the smallest desk in existence. And the desk only looks even smaller with the papers stacked on it.

Scott’s certain that he’s never seen the actual wood of the desk, with it perpetually covered in books and tomes and stacks of paper that need to be filed and sorted. And really, they should be looking into obtaining an apprentice. Especially as they never seem to be at their desk.

He taps a finger against the edge of the desk as he thinks, looking around, waiting to see if Leukos is going to appear out of thin air in a few moments. They do it sometimes, appearing in the most unlikely places; he’s certain it’s an attempt to scare him witless, but they never seem to realise that they shuffle their wings far too much to be considered at all subtle.

“Are we…doing something?”

“In theory,” he responds, looking around and giving them a few more seconds. “Come on, let’s go find our missing librarian.” Jimmy makes a small noise at that, as though he’s going to ask a question. Scott doesn't give him the opportunity, rounding the desk and pulling the office door open.

There’s a loud sound of commotion when he sticks his head in. Leukos looks up at him guiltily, holding a hand of cards. Several of those cards are set between them and the other occupant of the room.

“Cormac,” he greets, slipping back into elvish. “What a surprise to see you here.”

“Hardly,” xe laugh, lounging back against the small sofa. Xe hold a hand of cards too, though xe have far more cards than Leukos does. Feathers are scattered across the floor, black and white mixing together, as though a storm recently ripped through the room. “I'm here quite often, actually.”

“Sire,” Leukos stands from where they were sat, abandoning their cards on the floor. They brush their clothes down hurriedly, fixing their collar as subtly as possible, as though Scott hadn't already noticed the way it was nearly ripped open. “And…guest.”

“Yes, yes, guest. On other matters, do you have those books ready for me? The ones I reserved.”

“You have a guest?” Cormac perks up, abandoning xir cards too to crowd in the doorway, leaning over Leukos and around Scott to peer at Jimmy. “My oh my, you sure do move fast, hm?” Xe grin at him, leaning a little further out of the doorway to wave at Jimmy. “He certainly does look rather nice in blue, doesn't he?”

“I hadn't noticed,” Scott lies through his teeth. “This is the Codfather,” he introduces, moving back to Common for Jimmy’s benefit. “Codfather, this is Eilianther and Ingolmondur.” He gestures to them as he introduces them.

“Nice to meet you,” Jimmy says. He smiles, though his eyes look like a prey animal’s: darting around and looking for any means of escape.

“Oh, yes,” Cormac pushes forward, nudging Scott out of the way not-so-gently. “Really, it is always so wonderful to meet someone new, especially from so far away. Codfolk, right?”

“Yes?” Jimmy’s eyes glance over to Scott, before he looks away again just as quickly, staring at Cormac with a strange intensity. “Does Codfather mean nothing to you?”

Cormac laughs, “Oh, Scott, I like this one.” Xe pat Jimmy on the shoulder, ignoring his confused look.

“I’ll get those books for you,” Leukos says, slipping away from the small gathering, further into their office to retrieve their reserved books. Scott watches them go, not missing the small tug at the edge of Cormac’s rather rumpled shirt. He gives xem an unimpressed look.

“I'm off-duty,” xe defend. “School day’s over, even if they're all intent on working themselves to death in here.”

“Eilianther is not off-duty, even if you are.” He reminds. “You will see each other plenty later, can you not contain yourself?”

“Well, I came here with good intentions,” Cormac says, then stops, xir eyes darting over to Jimmy. When xe continue, it is in elvish rather than Common. “I received a note from one of my apprentices earlier. The guest you wanted to greet has arrived and is waiting for you.”

“Is it time sensitive?”

“No.” Xe shake their head, more hair coming loose from its tie and falling across xir face. “They can wait several more days, if needs be.”

He considers it for a long moment, studying Cormac’s face, watching for any twitch of muscle that might betray that xir words are not completely truthful. Xe watch him back calmly, gaze not wavering.

“Good,” he nods. “I will be by tonight, make sure they are prepared for greeting me.”

“Of course,”

“And here are your books,” Leukos doesn't waste any time thrusting them into his arms, leaving him to grunt from the impact and the sudden weight, adjusting himself to hold them more securely. He’s watched them bring several students to tears over a bent page before, and he’s hardly daring enough to damage a book directly in front of them. “Please do not disturb me for the rest of the evening unless you've managed to set something on fire, thank you.”

“Your service is impeccable as always.” All three of the books he had wanted are here, each of them on a similar topic but written by different authors. He’s rather certain two of these authors threatened a duel over the contradictory information in their books.

Cormac rests a hand on Leukos’ shoulder before they can duck back into their office and away from the outside world, murmuring something into their ear. Leukos stiffens for a moment, before meeting his eyes and nodding. Wonderful.

“Have fun with your new…ally, make sure you treat him nicely!” Cormac calls, just as Scott is several paces away and certain he was safe. He refuses to turn back to look at xem, knowing it would only give them more satisfaction.

The books make a satisfying thump as he dumps them on a nearby table, pulling out a chair and sinking into it. Jimmy sits opposite him, laying his hands carefully on the table as he eyes the books in front of them.

“Ta-da,” he gestures at the books, “a solution to your problem. Or, at least I hope they are.” He taps at the closest cover, a thick book, bound in blue leather and painted with swirling designs. “This author is rather good with most of their environmental examinations, but it is always best to have more than one source for something, hence, these two.”

“These are in Oceanic.” Jimmy says, pulling one of the books towards himself, the furthest from Scott.

“Well, they are written by seafolk,” he says, “I would be surprised if they chose to write in Common when this is a distinctly water-based problem.”

“You know Oceanic?”

“I can read it, yes. Though my spoken leaves much to be desired. Though I suppose there are just some noises that my throat cannot make.”

“Ah,” Jimmy glances down at the books, thumb brushing over the spine carefully, almost reverent. “These books look…old. Where did you even get them?”

“A friend gave them to me,” he knows the page for this particular problem, flicking open the book and skimming through the pages until he reaches it. “A very old friend, before you ask. I thought it might be useful to me, and she had no use for them by that point. And she never asked for them back.”

Aeor still stands nearby, unobtrusive in his presence, taking on the form of a young fawn rather than his usual choice of a towering stag. The fawn gives him a disapproving look, and Scott frowns back at Him.

“Right,” Jimmy nods slowly, “yeah. Forgot…that.”

“What?”

“That you're kinda old.” Jimmy’s mouth twists at that. “Ocean’s tide, how old are you?”

“That’s not a very polite question. How old are you?”

“Younger than you.” Jimmy snarks back. “Though that’s probably not very impressive.”

“Not really.” He studies Jimmy again. He certainly is younger than him, but…perhaps not as- Aeor’s disapproving presence grows heavier on the edge of his mind, and he pulls himself away from those thoughts. He glares at Aeor again, mocking the God silently for how He can barely see over the edge of the desk to stare at him. Aeor’s ears flick backwards in discontent, and then He’s gone a moment later, swallowed up by the air around him.

He ignores the sudden disappearance of the God, allowing himself to be drawn into the book in front of him. It’s thick, but the section he’s looking for is rather short in comparison to the rest of the book. The words are close together on the lines, almost blurring into one another and he has to re-read lines several times to make sure that he’s actually understanding what is being said.

He notes down the key points on a piece of parchment next to him, quill scratching lightly at the paper. Jimmy doesn't make a single sound, absorbed in both of the books, jumping back and forth between the two books. He has a notebook next to him. He writes, though without the need for any ink, his pen seemingly producing its own as he writes.

The pages are slightly warped from water damage, the pages crinkling as he smooths them out with a careful hand.

Something groans, and he looks up just in time to watch Jimmy’s head thunk against the table. The sound echoes around them, and he winces in sympathy. His head is rather well-acquainted with the edges of these tables and he knows just how much they hurt when you manage to catch the edge of them. Jimmy makes a wounded noise, lifting his head to cradle it in his hands.

“Having fun?” He asks, before he can think it through.

Jimmy huffs out a breath, still cradling his head delicately. Scott can see his eyes from between his fingers, flashing bright despite the shadow he casts over his face. “What do you think? This is ancient Oceanic, and it’s late, and I haven't eaten since this morning.”

He frowns at Jimmy’s complaining, watching as he slumps back over the desk, though far slower than before. The only sound accompanying his slow descent to laying halfway over the desk is the soft clink of his mask tapping against the wood.

“Is this…not the standard Oceanic still?” He glances at the pages in front of him, thumbing the corner of the page before remembering that Leukos has eyes everywhere in this library and stopping. It would utterly destroy his reputation if Jimmy watched Leukos rip him a new one over slight damage to one of their precious books.

“No,” Jimmy groans into the table. He lifts his head slightly just to drop it back again, landing with a thunk. Scott reaches a hand out to stop him when he lifts his head again, cushioning the table with his hand instead. “You're lucky I know this.”

“If this isn't the standard…why do you know it?” He’s still not certain Jimmy isn't lying to him, taking advantage of his lack of knowledge and the passage of time to trick him into believing this isn't still the correct form of Oceanic. He winces, thinking about the students that he will be needing to break this revelation to in the near future. He can leave it to Cormac, xe would deal with it far better than he could ever hope to.

“The Ocean Queen taught me.” Jimmy says. “She writes almost exclusively in it; she has scribes to translate for anyone that might read it, but she doesn't want her scribes seeing something that’s being sent to me.”

“Huh,” how interesting. To think that the Ocean Queen simply writes in an ancient language that only a few know. “Does the Mezalean King speak it also?”

“He can write it, but he’s pretty shit at it.” Jimmy laughs to himself, shaking his head. “He came to me for help, as though I’m any better.”

“You seem to be coping rather well,” he gestures to the page of notes, written in something that vaguely resembles the Oceanic he knows, but also not quite- a few of the letters appear to be different, swirling in different ways. He’s not sure of how it translates to actual words, but it looks both more complex and less than the apparently ancient version.

“I don't think I can continue with this,” Jimmy thunks his head down on the table again, forgetting that Scott’s hand is still lying there, so he just ends up resting his face in Scott’s glove. He can feel the warmth of his breath on the palm of his hand, warming his skin even through his gloves. He shudders at the feeling, lifting Jimmy’s head just enough to pull his hand out from beneath the weight of his head. “I…do you think I can return at another time to continue reading these, Elvenking?”

“You can come by and read them tomorrow morning,” he responds. His frowns at Jimmy. “Don't call me that.”

“What?” Jimmy blinks up at him.

“Elvenking,” he replies, “I told you a name you could use.”

“I, what?” Jimmy seems genuinely confused, squinting at him. Scott worries, for a moment, that he’s knocked the sense out of himself with the repeated, harsh descents to the table. “Isn't that, like, something really important to you?”

“My entire Council calls me Scott. I would hardly be giving them my true name, hm?” He tilts his head to the side. The jangling of bells on his antlers is loud enough in the silence around them that he almost startles at it. Jimmy jumps, looking around them worriedly, before relaxing back into his seat. “Please,” he reaches a hand out again, only hesitating for a moment, before he lays it over Jimmy’s hand. “I would feel as though I am a pretty poor ally if you insist on continuing to address me by such a title.”

“Ah, yeah, alright,” Jimmy nods. He keeps his eyes averted, fixed on the table. Scott frowns at the reaction; is Jimmy worried about his reaction? Is he scared that there might be some secret layer to this agreement that he cannot see? He wants to assure the other man that there’s nothing of the sort occurring here, but he’s not certain on how to say that without making it appear even more suspicious than before. “Alright.” Jimmy repeats, slowly pulling his hand out from beneath Scott’s, tucking it beneath his cloak, close to his body.

“Come,” he stands, pushing his chair back across the carpeted floor silently. He’s certain the only other people currently in the building are Leukos and Cormac, but there might also be a student still studying, and he would rather not disturb them. “You said you hadn't eaten since this morning, and we can hardly have you starving here, hm? What would be said about our hospitality?”

“You are already plenty inhospitable,” Jimmy laughs, ducking his head. He freezes for a moment, laugh choking itself off, before he continues, watching him carefully. Scott very carefully does not react to that, only smiling a little to himself, nodding along silently. “Living at the very top of a mountain isn't exactly screaming for someone to come visit you.”

“There weren't other empires around when Rivendell settled,” he sniffs. “The only other colony was what would become the Ocean Empire, and even that was only groups of seafolk interacting for resources rather than living as a collective.”

Jimmy halts, Scott jerking backwards to make sure the door doesn't swing shut on Jimmy’s face as he pauses. He looks around, craning his neck to peer over his shoulder whilst also making sure that he doesn't scrape his antlers along the door. Jimmy’s eyes are wide as he stares at him. “Are you that old?” He squeaks out.

“No.” He’s a little offended, frankly. Axen might be that old, but he certainly isn't. Does he look that old? “Do I…look that old?” Aeor scoffs at him, muttering something to Himself about vanity. He shoves Aeor away, firmly pushing him from his mind and shutting him out. He mentally places a mental chair under the mental handle.

“No!” Jimmy lurches forward, arms out and waving, eyes wide with panic. “No, no, definitely not. Just, uh, I don't really know how you can tell how old you are, because you're definitely a few centuries old, right?”

“Yes.” He nods. “I wouldn't be able to rule the empire unless I was more than two centuries old. Handing the rights to a kingdom to such a young elf would be irresponsible and, quite frankly, just stupid.”

“Ah, right,” Jimmy nods along. He’s far closer than before, from his lurching forward in worry motion, and Scott can almost feel the warmth radiating off of him as they stand there, close enough that Scott could reach out and touch him if he wanted to. He doesn't, allowing himself to be content with watching Jimmy pull his cloak a little tighter around himself, seeing the way the fur ruff brushes against his chin and tucks around his neck. “Uhm.”

Jimmy looks up, towards the very dark night sky. The clouds block the majority of stars, leaving them in grey and black darkness, lit by only a thin sliver of a moon.

“You won't be returning to the Cod Empire for the evening,” he says. He doesn't mean for it to come out so threatening, but Jimmy stiffens anyway, his easy demeanour switching into something far more wary. Scott sighs. “I meant that it would be far too dangerous to traverse the mountain path with horses at this time, and returning to the Cod Empire alone and without a horse would simply be begging for an ambush.”

“I couldn't impose on-”

“Nonsense,” he waves it off. “I may as well treat you to the entirety of Rivendell’s hospitality whilst you're here, no? Besides, do you really want to go through Mythland to get back to the Cod Empire? This late at night?”

Jimmy scuffs his feet along the ground for a few moments, the cold air swirling around his face in clouds of breath as he thinks. Scott watches him, only reaching out to adjust him in one direction when he almost turns down the wrong road. “I suppose not,” he manages, when they're almost through the Palace gates.

Jimmy looks up at that moment, gasping as he sees the Palace they've stopped in front of. Scott winces at his reaction, placing a hand to his back and pushing him a little further forward, waving off the guards that begin to make their way over to investigate the sudden disturbance. When they see who it is, they relax, far too used to his nightly exploits out of the Palace to register it as anything unusual.

It’s easy to find a maid still willing to fetch some small things from the kitchens, and Scott sends her off with a smile and several nuggets of gold for her efforts. He watches her go, before turning back to his personal rooms, slipping himself back inside.

Jimmy is still stood in the place he left him, hands loose at his sides and cloak slipping over his shoulders, threatening to fall loose from how the clasp has been undone. Scott tucks it a little more firmly around his shoulders, which seems to bring Jimmy back to himself, realising that he had been staring at Scott’s personal rooms for far too long already.

Jimmy jerks back, face flushing as he mutters a quick apology.

“There’s no need for apologies here, it is just the two of us.” He pats Jimmy on the shoulder. “Though I can understand your wonder, the rooms truly are rather large.” His seating area is certainly the largest part, though it wouldn't look like it with the bookshelves crammed against the walls and the various seats scattered around the room.

There’s a quiet knock at the door and he turns back to thank the maid once again, retrieving their meals from her with a nod. She scurries down the hallway, past a set of patrolling guards, and he locks the door behind her.

“It’s not much,” he apologises as he guides Jimmy over to the small dining table, tucked neatly away in the corner. He hardly uses it, preferring to take his meals in the kitchens where he can speak with his staff and ensure that they are content with their work. He’s found he also picks up some rather lovely tidbits when he sits in there, one ear pricked for the latest gossip on that lord or this lady. “But hopefully it’ll be enough to tide you over until morning.”

It’s some of the leftover breakfast pastries, cold and a little bit stale, but they're still plenty nice. He eats in silence, allowing Jimmy a few moments to take in the rooms around them, even though he wants nothing more than to lay down in his bed and sleep for ten hours.

“You can sleep in the guest room,” he says, when his plate is empty and Jimmy is chewing the last mouthful of his food. “There should also be some nightclothes in there, seeing as you don't have your own. Though I am uncertain of how well they will fit you,”

“It’ll be fine, it’s nice enough of you to even let me stay overnight.”

“I could hardly leave you outside in the cold, especially not when you seem to get cold so easily.” Jimmy still wears his cloak, keeping it tucked tightly around himself. Jimmy seems to realise this now, hands flying to the fur ruff, beginning to pull it off. “Don't,” Scott interrupts him, “keep it, I don't mind losing it for a little bit. Especially not if it provides you some comfort.”

“I,” Jimmy flushes. “Are you sure?”

“Yes,” he smiles. “You’ll probably take better care of it than I will.”

Jimmy blinks at him, long and slow. He’s tired, both of them are in reality, but Jimmy is far more open about his tiredness. It does not surprise Scott, with how much they've managed to do today and the possibility of Jimmy’s lower tolerance for remaining awake for days on end.

“Your room is just through here,” he takes the initiative here, guiding Jimmy into the room before he has to carry him in there himself. Aeor’s presence lingers over his shoulder as he stands in the doorway, watching to make sure Jimmy doesn't fall over his own feet.

Aeor doesn't appear beyond a slight wavering in the air beside him, the slight glow of faint, white mist drifting over his shoulder. Scott feels His presence anyway, standing with his spine straight as Aeor lingers on the edges of his mind. But Aeor does not voice whichever thoughts it is that is keeping Him hovering in such a way.

“You don't have to watch me,” Jimmy says, after a few long moments. “I can figure out how to get into bed without supervision.”

“I do apologise,” he steps back from the doorway, unable to tear his eyes away from Jimmy’s face, watching as his eyes seem to glow in the darkness, spilling a faint light over his cheeks. He had thought the man had brown eyes, but they're a rather dark amber, in reality.

He pulls the door closed behind him, but not quite all the way, leaving it open just a crack.

He doesn't retire to his own rooms, settling himself in one of the seats scattered around the room, holding a book but not reading it, thumb tucked between the pages only to make it look as though he is doing something while he waits.

Only once he’s certain that Jimmy is asleep, or close enough to sleep that it doesn't matter either way, does he stand. He keeps his footsteps light, tail brushing just above the floor as he slips out of his door once more, shutting it carefully behind him.

He feels almost guilty about slipping away while he has a guest, even guiltier for not breathing a word of this to Jimmy. He can only hope that he does not wake while Scott is away.

This could not wait a day longer.

[adrift-in-thyme]

Ooh, you’re taking drabble requests? :D Could I get something with Legend and Warriors maybe? Angst or fluff or whatever (though you know I love hurt/comfort XD) Love your writing!

-Sky Floor

Thanks so much for the request!! 💖 I went with hurt/comfort ;)

Sorry it took me so long to write this! Hopefully it proves to be worth the wait

Warning: an animal is trapped and injured in this fic. It’s not graphic but keep yourselves safe!

Fic beneath the cut

————————

Legend has been gone for two days.

Hard as he tries, Warriors can’t stop the worry from seeping in, spreading past his careful defenses. The vet can handle himself, that much is for certain. But to disappear the way he did, so soon after they had been separated from the others and during an intense monster fight, it’s more than a little concerning.

When a day of searching ends with no sign of the veteran, it becomes even harder to keep his spirits up. The guilt certainly doesn’t help either. It drags at his heels, eating at him as he trudges onward.

How could he possibly have lost track of him? He’s usually so attentive to his surroundings. But Legend had been there one moment and gone the next, and he has no one to blame except himself.

The veteran has to still be alive, though. Warriors won’t entertain the alternative.

And then, on the morning of the third day, while searching a new part of the woods, he hears it.

The sound emanates from behind a nearby bush, an incessant banging and thrashing that echoes throughout the clearing. Warriors comes to an abrupt stop, frowning in its direction.

He’s no stranger to the many noises of the creatures that scamper throughout the forest. They frequently keep him company when it’s his turn to scout out the area, sometimes even playing about his feet as he walks. The rustling of their romps through the underbrush, the excited squeaking and chittering as they burst forth from it—these are familiar to his ears.

But this is different.

There is no playfulness here, no light-hearted mischief. These movements are panicked and violent, a terrible, unmistakable rhythm of flesh colliding with metal.

Something—or perhaps even someone—must be trapped.

Drawing his sword, Warriors steps forward. It’s a precaution that will likely be unnecessary. Still, one can never be too careful, especially considering the current situation. For all he knows a monster could be lying in wait, ready to pounce.

But when he pushes aside the delicate leaves, it isn’t a monster he sees. Though, Warriors is inclined to think a monster might make a bit more sense.

Caged in a small trap before him is a very angry, very pink rabbit.

The creature is in the middle of driving its shoulder into its enclosure, pure murder spelled out in its gaze. But then it catches sight of Warriors and stops short. Its body goes rigid.

It stares at Warriors and Warriors stares back. He blinks, trying to make sense of what he’s seeing.

Out of all the things he expected to find this is definitely not one of them. A caged animal is normal enough. No doubt a nearby villager set this trap in hopes of garnering a meal or protecting their crops. The appearance of said animal, however, that’s decidedly not normal.

He may be a city boy, but he has enough experience to know rabbits aren’t usually pink-furred and blue-eyed. Nor is their gaze usually this sharp, this…human.

Warriors tilts his head, chewing the inside of his cheek. If he’s being honest, this is all a bit disconcerting. Still, he can see the damage from here, the unnatural bend of its left leg, the blood trickling down from its forehead. And it makes his heart clench.

He can’t very well just leave it here…can he?

With a sigh, he sheaths his sword. At this point, it would likely be better to just let the inevitable happen. With these wounds, the rabbit is unlikely to survive in the wild. But the very thought of leaving it to its fate sends a fresh streak of guilt shooting through him.

Besides, some small part of him has begun to wonder if maybe, just maybe this strange event has something to do with Legend’s disappearance. So, he bends down and reaches for the cage door.

“Hey, little guy,” he murmurs, with a small smile. “Don’t worry, I’ll get you out of here.”

He hasn’t even managed to unlock it, however, when the rabbit levels him with a blistering scowl, opens its tiny mouth, and speaks.

“Congratulations, you found me. Now, drop the act.”

Warriors freezes, eyes going wide. He must have finally lost it because he’s almost certain that animal just talked.

…and sounded an awful lot like Legend too. And while finding their missing veteran in this manner wouldn’t be the strangest thing that's ever happened to him, it definitely makes the top ten.

He leans forward as though a better look will clear up things.

“Vet?! Is it really you?”

The rabbit’s—no Legend’s—expression doesn’t change. He can see it though, the utter terror peeking out from behind the anger. And is it just him or are there slight tremors running through his tiny body?

“Don’t you dare feign stupidity.” The vet jabs a paw in his direction. “I know who you are and you’ve got no right taking his form.”

Taking his…Oh.

The pieces are beginning to come together in his mind. The picture they paint isn’t a pretty one.

“If you’re gonna kill me, just get it over with,” Legend continues, voice brittle and bitter. “But don’t you do it looking like Warriors.”

Warriors reaches for the door again. It’s not a complex trap—though it’s certainly an effective one—and he manages to get it open quickly.

“I’m not here to kill you,” he assures, motioning for his friend to exit. “And I’m not the Shadow.”

Legend gives him a look of pure hatred and doesn’t budge. Warriors waits there, holding up the door for a few moments more, then sighs. He offers the vet his hand.

“Here. I must at least smell different than he does.”

Tentatively, Legend drags himself forward, tiny nose twitching. When the blow he is undoubtedly expecting doesn’t come, he gives Warriors a couple of good sniffs. And finally, his body relaxes.

“See?” Warriors grins. Relief washes over him in dizzying waves. “I told you it was me.”

Legend shudders, looking ready to either collapse or begin crying. Warriors can’t be certain which.

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” he snaps, but there is no venom in his shaky tone. He bats away Warriors’ hand and drags himself from the cage. “And that’s just my luck. Now, I’m never gonna live this down.”

Warriors looks back down at the trap, inwardly cringing. If the vet thinks he’s going to tease him about this, he’s sorely mistaken.

“I’ve been looking for you for days. Is this where you’ve been the whole time?”

Legend slumps, not meeting his eyes.

“Not the whole time.”

There’s a story behind that statement. One that is likely long, and unpleasant, and, unfortunately, necessary for him to hear. But before Warriors can press, a familiar screech shatters the relative silence.

He has never known animals to pale, yet in that moment Warriors is certain Legend does.

“Monsters,” he breathes. “The Shadow must’ve sent them after me.” He turns to Warriors, eyes wide, and terrified, and almost pleading. “I can’t fight in this form! I’m helpless!”

There’s an edge of barely concealed hysteria to his tone now. Warriors steps forward and scoops the rabbit off the ground. Legend lets out an indignant squeak, which he ignores.

“You won’t have to fight,” he says, quickly scanning the area. There’s a small cave nearby, and he heads toward it. “We’ll conceal ourselves here, let them pass by. If they still spot us, I’ll take them on.”

Legend has gone rigid in his grasp, but at that he slumps, looking defeated. And when Warriors tucks himself away in the darkness of the cave, his friend still held to his chest, the veteran doesn’t protest.

They sit in silence, as the monsters thunder past. Warriors half expects one of them to catch sight of the cave and take interest. But not one of them dares to break from the stampede, save to peek behind bushes and trees. And it isn’t long before their squeals and shrieks fade into the distance.

Warriors blows out the breath he had been holding.

“Looks like we got lucky, vet,” he says, a relieved grin pulling at his lips.

They’re safe, at least, for the moment. There are other things to worry about now…such as the tiny rabbit currently shivering in his lap.

He looks down at him, just barely resisting the urge to run a hand through his fur. “You okay?”

Legend shudders, ears drooping, eyes averted.

“I’m fine.”

He’s most definitely not, but Warriors lets it slide for now.

“Can you drink potion in that form?” He asks, already rifling about in his pouch for one. The veteran’s wounds look rather painful.

But Legend shakes his head. “It won’t work the same. I’ve gotta change back so it can actually heal me.”

“And how do we change you back?”

“With a moon pearl…or the Master Sword. Neither of which we have access to at the moment.”

Warriors sighs. “I’m sorry, vet.”

“It’s not your fault this form is useless.”

Legend’s body gives another little shiver. Though he glances at the entrance to the cave, he doesn’t move.

“It is my fault for losing track of you, though.”

Now, Legend looks at him, eyebrow raised in an unimpressed expression.

“What’re you, my babysitter? I can take care of myself, you know. I’m the veteran of hero business.”

Warriors lets out a dry chuckle. “Touché.”

He brings the veteran a bit closer, finally giving in to the urge to pet his silky fur. Though Legend hardly looks thrilled with it, he doesn’t pull away. He even begins to relax a bit after a few moments have passed, leaning into Warriors’ touch unconsciously. And when Warriors smooths a hand over one of his ears, he lets out a tiny sigh.

“This form isn’t all bad, you know,” the captain says, and Legend gives him a knowing grin.

“Why, because I’m soft and fluffy?”

A grin of his own lifts Warriors’ lips. “Maybe.”

The veteran hums. He shifts, settling in a bit more cozily on Warriors’ lap. Already, he is beginning to drift, exhaustion dragging at him. Warriors isn’t surprised. Though he doesn’t know the specifics of his unfortunate ordeal, he is certain it was anything but pleasant.

And if Legend feels safe with him, even while in this vulnerable (and frankly, adorable) form, he is glad of it.

“We’ll find the others,” he assures him, quietly. “Sky will be more than happy to help you out. You’ll be back in your Hylian form before you know it.”

And then we can get these injuries healed, he thinks as his fingers bump against a cut.

Legend gives another hum of acknowledgment.

“Hey, pretty boy?” He murmurs after a pause. “Thanks.”

Warriors smiles.

The sooner they reunite with the others, the better. For now, though, it won’t hurt to spend a few more moments here, watching the moon rise behind the hills and feeling his friend’s soft fur beneath his fingertips.

[terrible-eel]

"Astarion and Gale finally have a chance to have some time alone together and figure out a few sexy work-arounds to Astarion's touch repulsion"

Because I've been completely obsessed with bloodweave recently I thought I might as well get some of their cursed romance out of my head. I think I might turn this into a longer thing eventually.

Astarion walked down a small trail behind the encampment. The moon pierced the forest canopy, cascading over the dewy grass. He smiled to himself, watching it move gently in the wind.

“It looks like puddles of moonlight,” he thought fondly, stepping through the pale blue ripples, feeling the icy dew soak into his clothes.

The air out in the wilderness made him feel light and peaceful again. There was a rightness in the underbrush and little rivers that he would scarcely allow himself to feel in the company of others, but on the way to Gale's tent he was content with a solitary embrace of what the night had to offer… Which made approaching the tent all the more solemn.

Astarion began to roll the sleeves of his tunic shirt absently as he thought, an age old tell of his nerves.

He and Gale had been exchanging glances and small flirtations where they could manage as their camp grew larger with refugees. Neither of them felt comfortable letting any of their companions know of their affairs, sexual or otherwise, and it had left them exchanging letters and subtle conversations during the rare moments when they could find each other.

Fortunately, forming a more permanent settlement while they waited out the conflicts had allowed them the opportunity to meet up again. Gale had taken his tent far into the woods, using some excuse or another. Nobody paid him any mind, just as they paid Astarion no mind as he made his way out into the forest "for a hunt."

"Gale? It's me!" Astarion called from a few paces away.

Gale threw open the flap of his tent quickly upon hearing Astarion's voice.

Astarion’s heart skipped a beat, shock clear on his face. He quickly forced his jaw to shut but still stared with brows raised at Gale.

Astarion felt so underdressed for the occasion in his jodhpurs and old tunic. He didn’t even consider fastening a belt this time, but Gale was carrying himself beautifully in a fitted top he had never seen before. It was a deep enchanting purple, almost black, and though it was a long sleeved garment, there were expertly tailored openings revealing his collarbones and shoulders. Gale’s olive skin in the firelight was almost more than Astarion could take, but he made himself absorb the rest. Around his neck hung a long silver chain and turquoise pendant, which allowed his eyes to trail down to his pants. Beautiful purple brocade ran up the sides of the black fabric. He also took note that he was barefoot.

“Well, the least I can do is take my boots off before entering,” Astarion thought in embarrassment.

“Come in, Astarion,” Gale said with a knowing smirk, inviting the vampire in.

“You look lovely,” said Astarion, glancing up as he pulled his boots off, hoping Gale didn’t notice his shame.

“I’m glad you think so, I’ve been meaning to show these garments to you, I figured you may be interested in their design.” Gale boasted, clearly proud of himself for drawing such a reaction from Astarion.

Astarion smirked. “Well I’m clearly interested in the form they’re designed for.” To that Gale turned quickly away, moving further into the tent.

It was a modest thing from the outside, but Astarion was just as taken aback as usual when he walked in. It was much bigger on the inside, giving the appearance of a private study. Bookshelves lined the walls between things in jars and bottles. Astarion barely understood most of it, but he was familiar with a few things here and there. Of course there was a desk and a million half written papers thrown about, but in the middle of the room was a comfortable sitting area with large ornate pillows and furs over beautifully woven woolen rugs to keep the cold out.

The bed lay unattended in the corner. Astarion half wondered when Gale ever actually slept before a bone chilling sensation encompassed his body. Gale had taken him in his arms. The scratching of his beard felt like spiders. The light touch on his back burned like ice water.

And then the kiss. At first it warmed him to the other feelings. Astarion allowed himself to settle into the entanglement, trying to ignore the shivers like nails scraping against iron. Gale's mouth was warm and welcoming. Astarion tried to remind himself of how much he wanted it. How many weeks he had spent crafting letters of what he hoped they would do together; about their plans after their return to Baldur's Gate. He had even been so bold as to suggest they stay together in Gale's home in Waterdeep.

Astarion was desperate for a life where an embrace from Gale meant something romantic. He wanted the sunlight to rouse both of them from their dreams and to be able to cuddle into his shoulder as dawn sang sweet birdsongs.

"Why can't it just be like that now?" Astarion lamented as something crept into his mind. Books. Shelves like Cazador's. His study. Cazador taking notes. Astarion lay bound and watching him from a table-

Astarion pulled away quickly. Gale didn't try to hold him as he left his embrace. Gale had watched Astarion lose himself before and responded immediately with a loud distraction, hoping to pull him back to the present.

"Astarion! Let's start over, alright? You step outside now." Gale ushered Astarion back out of the tent.

The sudden feeling of icy dew on his bare feet and the soft smell of pine trees began to bring Astarion back to his senses. Gale hurried away and returned with two cups of hot chocolate he seemed to have had sitting for a while.

“He must have prepared that for me,” Astarion thought with a flutter in his chest that he prayed would not turn to guilt.

Gale swung one flap of the tent up and stood at the threshold.

"Let's start over, " he said again brightly. "Hello Astarion! Welcome to my room. I've made a drink for you- oh hells how long has it been cold- '' A purple glow came from his hand and the drink began to steam. "No matter, there you are." He placed the cup in Astarion's hand. The warm ceramic had grooves pressed in by some potter’s hand. Astarion began to trace the marks, feeling a sense of calm at the gentleness of the handcrafted object.

Astarion loved to watch Gale be charming. Perhaps the wizard didn’t know it, but whenever he began to show even a hint of what was on his mind, Astarion was charmed.

"Now, my dear, would you like to come in? I've added a little space since it will be the two of us. I wasn't sure if you would want your drink sweet, but I took the liberty of guessing you would. You do seem to have a sweet tooth."

Astarion finally smiled. "You're not wrong in that," he said, tasting the drink. "Oh, this is quite good. You really shouldn't have, sweetheart. Too many nice things and I might think you're flirting with me."

Gale smiled back with all the warmth he could manage. "There he is. Gods, I really need to stop approaching him so aggressively," Gale silently berated himself before speaking out loud:

"Well we couldn't have that now, could we. I suppose these biscuits I picked up at the market will be much too sweet and suggestive then. I will have to have them for myself," Gale said, opening his palm and pulling a small ginger jar to himself with his magic. Astarion intercepted it and tucked the jar under his arm, forcing Gale to release his hold before the thing shot out of Astarion’s grasp.

"No way you're retracting your sweets from me," Astarion chided, flopping down on Gale's many pillows. "I'll be eating all of them myself now," he said, making a valiant effort to do so.

Gale took a seat next to him. "Fine, I surrender. It's more fun watching you eat them anyway... I do love to see you satisfied."

Astarion lounged on his side and propped himself up on an elbow enough to look up at Gale. "I'm sorry for my behavior. It's just one of those days, it seems."

Inwardly, Astarion lamented. "I don't deserve someone so gentle. Look at him. I need to get myself under control. This is what he's been waiting for. I can't go back on every promise I've made. I need to stop behaving like a ridiculous child.-"

Astarion was pulled from his thoughts by Gale's gentle fingers running through his hair. His big warm hand was such a surprising and wonderful sensation. He leaned into the touch as he drank his cocoa.

"I'm so thankful I can see him happy like this," Gale thought, watching the man's expression soften as he settled down. "This is how I always want to see him. Just content and smiling. Maybe I'm going insane, focusing so hard on another's happiness again, but it feels different this time, I think. Astarion has been thinking of me as well. His little handmade gifts. His tending to my affliction. Rage towards our enemies as he comes to my aid... No. I know he's different." Gale wondered at Astarion as he leaned down to place a kiss on his forehead.

To Astarion these things finally felt right, but he knew that they would only go on for so long before the expectations would arise. He leaned onto Gale's lap, hoping to savor the affection before everything went sour.

"How would you like to have me," Astarion blurted out before he could catch himself.

"I'm sorry?" Gale asked, pulling his hand away.

"We had talked about this, why did I have to say that-"

"Remember we had-" Gale began.

Astarion sat up to face Gale directly.

"Talked about that, yes, I recall. I'm sorry. Look, frankly this is a situation we have both been anticipating, and with that anticipation there must be some expectation, no?" Astarion’s voice broke. He sounded more meek than he liked.

Gale pondered for a moment before responding: "Hm. I suppose… perhaps there is a bit too much of that. I myself am finding it difficult to know whether I'm going to be satisfactory for you. I had offered you the option to fuck me again in that letter…" Gale hesitated, and Astarion reached out and placed a hand over his, maintaining a reassuring grip until the man was able to continue. "Truth be told, you're the only man I had ever allowed to bed me at all, let alone in that way. I have no real reference with which to compare my own performance, I fear I am likely inadequate."

"Oh love, no, there's nothing to compare. I'm here because what I feel for you makes everyone else irrelevant to me." Astarion placed his cup and jar of sweets down on the floor and began to stand, bringing Gale to his feet along with him. He guided Gale into his arms, holding his left hand in his right, and pressed his body to Gale’s, swaying a little as if dancing with the man.

Astarion continued, “Let's just be here together now, in each other's arms, free of expectations," he whispered, feeling Gale lean into his shoulder. "You're wonderful in bed, but more than that, you're my treasure. You're who I want to spend my days with, as well as my nights. That's by far more important. I want nothing more from you than your love."

Gale's shoulders tensed and his face began to feel very hot on Astarion's collarbone. It was rare for Gale to become shy about anything, but Astarion was managing to find more and more ways to elicit the response recently. Together they tiptoed around the concept of love as they danced in silence.

"Alright. No expectations." Said Gale as he wrapped his arm around Astarion. "You have such a small waist. It just fits so perfectly in my hand."

"Hmm, perhaps it was made for your hand then," Astarion purred into his ear. "To hold, to caress, to scratch as I am inside you..."

Astarion could feel Gale's hand curling around the fabric of his shirt as Gale hid his face again. This time Astarion peeked down to see Gale's olive skin turning a deep crimson.

Astarion carried on, "There's my blush. Does my mage wish to feel me again?"

Gale's breath hitched in his throat, a delicious sound to Astarion. He had to have a taste of those lips. This time Gale's mouth tasted like chocolate. Warm and soft, his tongue coaxing Astarion for his kiss to go deeper, Astarion gladly moved in, eliciting a moan from Gale that made Astarion's body tense with arousal.

Gale's hand traced up Astarion's back and he felt that cold shivering malice run through him again. Slime like a snail's trail. Icy, dripping liquid. It was beginning to feel awful again. Slowly, Astarion began to pull away once more, taking a few steps back.

"What is it? You can tell me. Is it something I did?" Gale's voice was purely concerned. Astarion could tell consciously that he didn't want to hurt him, but the feeling was impossible to explain.

"It's not you, it's just…" Astarion looked down at the ground, hating that he couldn't bear to look Gale in the eye. He knew how pathetic he must have looked, but the idea of facing Gale was an even worse prospect than whatever the man thought of him at that point.

"It's just that tonight isn't really working for me…" Darling was usually the rest of his sentence, when these kinds of things came up; some flirtation to ease the tension, something to mask his worries a little, but all of that was gone. All that remained was hesitation and too much fear.

Gale felt an ache in his heart as he watched Astarion pull away. He hated to see that enchanting confidence be swallowed up by an anguish someone else had put there. Gale approached Astarion, reaching out and quickly drawing away when he saw the elf curl into himself.

"That's absolutely fine, Astarion. Another time, perhaps?" Gale took a step to the side where Astarion was staring off to, trying to at least meet Astarion's eyes.

"If he can see my sincerity, perhaps he would at least take comfort in the fact that everything is alright at the moment." Gale thought hopefully.

Astarion flashed him a glance through his lashes. When he saw Gale's worried expression, he turned on his heels, running both hands through his own hair in exasperation.

"Agh it's nothing so serious, it's not that I'm truly uninterested! Gods, I'd happily be fucking you right now! It's just the idea of sensation; the pressure of bodies is repulsing me, and of course it's happening now of all times! Right when we finally have time alone together, after so long. And then there's the hunger, I haven't fed properly in two days! This unpleasant mess-" Gale cut him off before he could continue.

"Might I interject with a solution -what you're going through is a relatable experience, if I'm being completely honest. It's not something I am taking lightly, I assure you. I may know at least a little of what touch repulsion may mean to you, is what I mean to say-"

Gale's voice, the notes of confidence and comfort, filled Astarion's ears like the low hum of a song. He could feel his jaw relax and his shoulders drop. Gale continued.

"There were points where an overabundance of affection from my goddess would become too much. Whenever I had experienced these awful, skin-crawling sensations, nothing my lover could do was a comfort to me. Contact was simply unbearable. And I believed that was that. That I was this untouchable, unlovable mess. To think I would be useless to her as a lover filled me with dread- well it didn’t help that she berated me for my performance issues, but it wasn’t that I was uninterested. It was just too much and too often. And the expectations she had for my performance…well perhaps her expectations were uniquely high as well. The more time I spend with you the more I understand the amount she would take from me while giving nothing in return."

Gale's words struck Astarion.

"So he truly does understand. He has nothing to gain by telling me this point of weakness…then why? Is he simply attempting to comfort me?" Astarion turned away from Gale and smiled. "He's too soft. The fool. So much more tender than he should be."

But the thought of intimacy; the thought that someone would want to share so much vulnerability with him just so he felt less alone in his needs, soothed his anxieties almost instantly. A blush rose in Astarion’s cheeks. Meanwhile, Gale had continued.

"However, there are very simple ways around things so pedestrian as physical contact with a body- that is, if you're still interested in something sexual, we needn't-"

This time it was Astarion's turn to interrupt.

He turned back to face Gale, this time locking eyes with hungry intensity. He wanted to savor Gale's next words. "I'm all ears," Astarion said in a low voice.

The sultry tone caught Gale off guard.

"Fuck. Don't give me that look," Gale thought as he felt a wave of arousal run down his abdomen.

Astarion could see more color rush to Gale's cheeks, a blush deepening over the human's neck. His heartbeat quickened in Astarion's ears, his scent filled his nostrils.

Gale struggled to keep his composure as a predatory shift overtook Astarion. As attractive as the idea of being taken by Astarion's instincts was in theory, he knew that Astarion had no true desire for intimacy past his vampiric needs, so he continued.

"Just because I can't touch you, doesn't mean I can't give you pleasure," Gale said with an eyebrow raised. Astarion bowed his head, peeking up hungrily. The posture of a beast on the prowl… And Gale could sense he had just become the prey.

"Is that so…" Astarion asked, taking a step towards Gale, who swallowed hard, attempting to move past the erotic focus Astarion had on him. "Then show me what you have in mind."

Another step and they were only a foot apart. Gale wanted to reach out and kiss him, to comfort him with touch, but he only smiled and kept his hands at his sides.

"Are you sure you want this?" Gale asked, searching Astarion's face for an honest answer. A smile crept up the corner of the elf's mouth and he raised his brow as if to suggest he continue.

"Then get on your knees." Gale instructed with more authority than Astarion thought he had in him. Astarion obeyed, curious where this would go.

"My abilities are not to be overlooked. Behold-" Gale raised his right hand, bending it at the elbow, pointing two fingers up and twisting his wrist to the side. A glowing purple ribbon fluttered into existence. Astarion watched the thing wrap itself gently around his wrists.

"Why is everything he does so beautiful?" Astarion thought as he let the ribbons draw his arms gently behind his back until he was secured in comfort.

Before he could think further, a sensation of pure pleasure ran up his arms, tingling and exciting but not overwhelming. It was enough for a soft moan to escape his lips. Then another stroke of pleasure, this time stronger, pulsing down to his groin so fast he thrust his head back in a gasp, and there he saw that Gale was standing directly over him now.

"This is better than I expected." Gale thought, admiring Astarion's body, watching how his heavy breaths escaped moist lips. Astarion was his now, finally, after so many nights of laying awake knowing that he was off with someone else, knowing that he was feeding on someone else's blood... No. Not this time. Now it was he who would be available for Astarion.

"I'm the one who's going to provide for you. I'll be the one who sustains you and makes you feel like this, more than anyone else. I’ve waited my turn."

As he spoke, the waves of pleasure grew in intensity. It was better than the touch of light fingernails on Astarion's skin, it was as if he was made of nothing but liquid pleasure. Gale was inside of every nerve in his body. Gale was going to take him over completely.

Astarion couldn't help but let his back arch, couldn't stop himself from gasping, couldn't stop the tight confinement of his erection pressing hard against his pants. Gale's words felt like they were burrowing down inside of him, erotic for their content but also hypnotic, like a spell was being sung into his heart. But it wasn't mind control. This was something so much more gentle. It was as if Gale was somehow cradling his joints, caressing his lungs, nurturing this feeling of pleasure; enveloping him in something Astarion could only guess was love.

"I'll be the one coursing through your veins from now on." Gale said as that magnetic hypnotism only increased in Astarion. Gale reached for the knife at his side and sliced a deep cut down his palm, spilling his blood onto Astarion's face. It dripped down his cheek and pooled between his lips.

At first Astarion recoiled, expecting the burning acrid taste to make him retch, but somehow, past the initial sour taste, past the burning in his heart as he swallowed, there was something sweet. Something like a fresh plum, just picked from its tree. He had never been so aroused from blood. His eyes rolled back for a moment and then he shut them hard. The blood kept coming.

The drops were like rain falling down inside of him, coating his throat, suffocating him. His head rattled like thunder. Shadows and rainstorms and dark fields. He lapped at the dripping wound. His tongue thrusted out, seeking the cut. It felt like he was finally satiated after starving for years. He drank and moaned and allowed the blood to pool down his face. It was the dripping caress of a lost lover; the answer to some divine mystery he had contemplated for that year in the dark.

He licked at Gale's hand until the ache in his pants was too much.

Astarion finally opened his eyes to see Gale's expression. The man was looking down at him with brows knit, the soft sheen of sweat at his temples, his mouth ever so slightly open. Astarion had to give him a teasing smile.

"Will you be the one to provide me some more now? Will you satisfy me?" Astarion nipped gently at Gale's pinky. "Will you fill me up like this every night?"

"Fuck, Astarion," Gale said in a low voice, biting down on his lower lip.

With his free hand repeating the same waving gesture, Astarion could feel the strings of his pants be undone. His nakedness instantly met with an unexpected wave of pleasure like something was running from the tip down the entire shaft, drawing out thrusts from Astarion as invisible motions pumped him at a tantalizingly slow speed. Gale raised his bleeding hand and squeezed more onto Astarion's face as he arched into his thrusts.

"That's it. Let me take you completely," Gale breathed as he watched Astarion's eyes widen.

He looked like he was begging for more, and with each plea, Gale quickened the pace, feeling his magic inside Astarion, pressing hard into his prostate until his moans became gasps. The feeling was dizzying but Gale began to support Astarion, commanding his magic to hold the elf up as he played with his body.

Astarion could feel this invisible force pressing into him, wrapping tightly around his thighs and neck, gliding down his body lightly enough to make him squirm. He shivered in pleasure. Astarion could barely lick his lips as the blood spilled down his throat. His moans were almost inaudible whimpers.

Gale’s voice was breathy with desire as he spoke. "Gods, you are impossibly beautiful,” he said, savoring the way Astarion's whole body began shaking as the sensations became unbearably intense.

“Now, come for me.” Gale’s voice filled Astarion’s mind until he felt himself lose control. With a sharp breath hitched in his throat, Astarion began to come as commanded, and the force that held him pushed the orgasm further and further until Astarion finally let out a gasp and his body relaxed, spent and exhausted.

Gale lowered him down gently so he could sit on his knees, still shaking, breathing heavy. The ribbon that bound him still gave him light pulses of pleasure.

Astarion didn't want the ribbons off yet. To be held by something so pure was blissful. It was Gale's intent, wrapped in his hands. He gripped the ribbons hard and looked up at Gale again.

“Take off your clothes,” Astarion said hungerly.

“Are you sure? But you had said-” Gale was cut off by Astarion’s voice, dripping with lust. “I said take them off. I want to feel your cock down my throat.”

“Are you sure?” Gale repeated with some hesitation.

“Darling, I’ve never been more sure of anything.” Astarion waited on his knees, pants down at his ankles, Gale’s blood beginning to crust along his neck. He was exactly where he wanted to be. The warmth of Gale’s blood was bringing him clarity like he had never imagined. There was nothing in the world but this room and this man in front of him, who’s muscles moved under soft skin, who’s arms rose above his head as he removed his shirt, whose pants came down tantalizingly slowly as he undid small knots at his hips, revealing a full and beautiful erection.

“Now come here, my doll, you can touch me now. I want to feel your hands as I take you.”

Gale looked away in shame. His modesty only served to attract Astarion further to him. He could feel his own dick begin to harden as he watched the crimson blush rise in Gale’s exposed chest. Gale reached out a hand and brushed Astarion’s bloody, sweaty hair from his face. He took Astarion’s cheeks lightly in his hands.

The two men held each other’s gaze for a moment. Both could feel their stomachs flutter with anticipation.

“Oh gods he’s perfect. I can’t be without him. I need him,” Astarion thought in wonder.

“How can this be happening? I’ve never needed someone so badly in my life. I need to be with him,” Gale thought with adoration.

Astarion slowly opened his mouth and leaned forward. Gale gently moved Astarion’s head, guiding his dick straight into the elf’s mouth, and then pulling back a little again, slowly back and forth, coaxing a moan from deep in Astarion’s throat. The sensation made Gale shiver.

Astarion moved down the shaft, taking him even deeper until Gale could feel the back of his throat. Gale’s hands gripped hard in Astarion’s hair as Astarion began lightly sucking and licking. Gale began to lose more and more control, soft moans escaped his lips which he threw a hand up to silence, but the grip in Astarion’s hair only tightened as he felt Astarion begin to lick at the base and back up to the tip, lapping at the precum he couldn’t repress. And again Astarion took him in his mouth, this time almost completely.

“Wait, I don’t want to choke you-” Gale breathed. He could feel Astarion’s mouth curl into a smile around him.

Astarion pulled away for a moment to say “my love, I don’t need to breathe. I’m dead.”

“Ah-but-” Before Gale could protest, Astarion’s mouth slid quickly around him again, this time even further. Gale watched Astarions eyes begin to tear up as his throat was impossibly filled. He could hear Astarion’s moans, feel Astarion choking, yet he continued that sucking pressure, moving even deeper. Gale couldn’t help it, he took Astarion’s head in both hands and began to thrust into him. The deeper he went, the harder he thrusted, the harder the moans from Astarion.

“Ah! Fuck! The sounds you make!” Gale exclaimed over the choking sounds of Astarion around his cock.

Gale pressed even harder, until all Astarion could do was whimper. That was enough to send Gale over the edge. He shuddered, letting himself thrust deep into Astarion’s throat, filling the elf’s mouth with cum. Astarion continued to suck through his orgasm, finally opening his mouth to release him, gasping as he tried to breathe through the cum that had begun to leak from his nose and throat.

“Gods! I’m sorry!” Gale cried as he released the ribbon tying Astarion's wrists and summoned a handkerchief which Astarion gladly took. Gale leaned down, trying to hold Astarion’s shoulders, but Astarion waved him off as he cleared his airways.

“Are you alright? What have I -” A sharp laugh cut through Gale’s fretting.

“Hush, Gale! Hah, you’re ridiculous.” Astarion giggled between coughs.

“That was fun for me, see?” Astarion gestured casually to the cum running down his leg. “It only took having you in my mouth to make me finish again. You have no idea what that does to me.” The deep purr of his voice made another shiver run through Gale.

“Can I please hold you, Astarion?” Gale asked.

“Yes you may, my love.” Astarion replied with a chuckle.

Astarion found himself in Gales' embrace faster than he anticipated. It was a fierce hug that held more passion than he was expecting. "I'm sorry. I was afraid I went too far." Gale mumbled into his neck. Astarion softened at the kindness, slowly allowing himself to return the embrace.

Astarion wiggled loose to look at Gale, who wore an expression of uncertainty, so he offered a reassuring smile. "Gods," Astarion complained with mock drama. "I feel I must have woken the whole forest, let alone the camp." Gale smiled back at that. They both couldn't help but laugh.

"I think we're fine. I have enough paranoia to put a little soundproofing around us," Gale said as lightly as he could.

A blush was returning to Gale’s cheeks. His bashful demeanor made Astarion's chest ache with adoration.

Gale asked with some hesitation: "What did you think? Did you like it?"

Astarion blinked. Beyond the surprise, there was this tender bubbling in his chest which he didn’t anticipate. “He’s too soft,” Astarion thought. But his judgment was gone, replaced with a deep admiration for the man’s kindness.

Astarion let his expression soften. He let that feeling wash over him; let the affection show through his eyes. More than anything he wanted Gale to know what he meant to him.

“You’ve done something for me like no one else has, Gale. You’ve seen me. Of course it was uniquely amazing, but more than that, you knew just who I was going in, and you chose to do that. More than satisfied, I’d say I’m charmed. I’ve never known anyone like you.” Astarion placed a hand on Gale’s cheek as the man's eyes widened a little at his words. “I think this is the first time I’m actually in love.”

Gale wrapped Astarion in his arms and tightly squeezed until Astarion collapsed helplessly, unsure what exactly it meant, until into Astarion’s hair he heard Gale whisper: “I love you too.”