#would take maybe centuries to disappear from her skin

[wcrstarter]

pretty much everyone on my dash is posting HC about injuries/scars/traumatic events their muses went through. tempting to do a meta on scars/old injuries and the ways vampiric rapid healing complicates that for sonja.

[envy-of-the-apple]

pretty please—a beauty & the beast au except reader is the beast??? and pretty boy gojo/geto is oh so helplessly 'trapped' in said 'beast's castle? and reader (or shall we call her Ms. Beastie) wants nothing to do with 'em and is sulking about her curse. she very openly tells him to leave if he'd like, but for some reason he sticks around like some bugger. i'd love to see your take on this au, please and thank you :3 it would also be very funny to throw furry accusations at gojo/geto, but maybe that's js me loll

oh! how about Miss beast thinks Gojo is beauty, but he's actually Gaston.

You find him out in the snow, half-dead, surrounded by wolves. Maybe its your remnant of humanity left, but you take him back to your castle and nurse him back to health.

As soon as he wakes up, he's a nuisance. Cocky, full of himself. Even when he's too weak to feed himself, he's shamelessly flirting when you're feeding him yourself. At times, you have to hold yourself back from dumping the soup on his face.

You hate him. Mostly because he reminds you of yourself. He's egotistical and selfish, and what you used to be like before the curse. It's jealousy too. He has flawless skin and isn't covered in disgusting hair.

He mocks you, lying to you. Tells you you're beautiful when you and him can both see the claws. The teeth. You hate him.

You've had enough when he tells you he loves you.

You kick him out when he's fully healed. He stays right outside your gates for hours, but you don't care. You need him gone. You needed to forget what you could have been.

He leaves later that day; he returns with an army.

He's talked about his village before, but you never once thought he's something like a prince there too. Fighting against Gojo would have been easy. Trying to hold off 20 men with spikes and daggers?

You stand no chance. You're tied up like the animal you are, dragged out of your castle like a hostage.

He's not scared of you. That's another thing you hate about him. From the day he first saw you, he's never been afraid. Even when your growl and thrash within your binds, he coos like you're a sweet puppy.

His endgame becomes clear when he brings in the witch you saw a century ago. She looks worse for wear, courtesy of Gojo's minions. It takes next to nothing for Gojo to get her to undo the spell. Your binds get looser, as do your clothes. your fur disappears, its replaced by skin. Human skin. You're back.

A few days ago, you would've been happy.

Now, reduced from a beast to a mere pet, you can only watch in horror as Gojo's grin gets more feral.

You realize too late that it wasn't a curse, it was protection from the real beasts.

[ahhhwomen]

I don’t know why I bite.

Vampire Empire

Part 1

Pairing: DarkVamp!Wanda Maximoff x DarkVamp!Natasha Romanoff x Fem!Reader

A/N: We are going to ignore how long I disappeared, okay thank you. Also, y/n will not be in a proper relationship with the girls, she will very much be viewed and treated like a pet not a partner, but she will obvi still get the love.

Disclaimer: English is not my first language. All mistakes are my own.

AU Warnings: Human pets, abuse, violence, possessiveness, probably incorrect vampire lore, angst, panic attacks, hurt/comfort, kitten play (?), also this is not a Carol positive fic (I have nothing against her, but I needed a villain), death (later on)Minors DNI 18+

Summary: Your Master is a cruel woman, but you would never stand a chance against her, but what if they can?

Word Count: 3.5k

The keys jingle in a pattern.

With each step, the clash of metal calls out. It changes tune, depending on the day. If she’s tired, she drags her feet, it’s a slower melody. When she’s angry, there is a harshness to the smashing of the chain against her belt and a thud to her heavy boots.

You don’t know what her happy steps are, you think the sound would be smooth. Maybe, like she´s floating?

You wonder if you are ever going to hear it? If you are being honest with yourself, you don’t really know if you want to. At least her other behaviors are predictable, you can handle predictable, uncertainty however, that is an entirely different game. Not one you are very keen on playing.

Today, her steps boom like thunder, and her keys shriek like lighting.

Chills run down your spine; you press against the cold concrete wall. It scratches your skin. You press harder and cower closer.

You are shaking as she sweeps around the corner of your prison; she’s frowning today.

But…?

It hurts.

From yesterday. It still hurts.

She always gives you a day.

It still hurts.

You need a day.

It doesn't matter. You know you can’t stop it.

You close your eyes and submerge yourself in the void. You don’t like the dark, but she doesn't like it when you see.

Your cage opens with a shriek. You flinch as she touches your face, she is breathing down your neck and you feel yourself panic as she struggles with your collar.

It's never good when she takes away your collar.

Before you do something stupid, like fight back, a soothing voice guides you. It’s a whisper, that only you can hear. Drag in slow breaths, in for four, hold for seven, out for eight. Rinse and repeat. You do as they tell you.

You're in a sunflower field.

The heavy feeling in your stomach is from the big dinner you had, half an hour earlier.

The sun is setting, and you are smiling and laughing as you run through the field of flowers. They're ginormous, almost bigger than you. There is a weight to them as you push past. They scratch and irritate, but it's only temporary, so you keep laughing to yourself.

There is a whip to the wind, the sound loud and frightening. The flowers are louder, so you pretend not to hear. They rustle and dance in the harsh wind.

It's dark, but the yellow glow of plant life guides you. You don’t know where you are running to, maybe home, maybe the ocean. It matters not. You are happy, just you and the flowers.

When the wind calms and the sun peaks over the horizon you know it’s time to leave.

You trek through the soil and ignore the sharp stones that prick your pale skin, you wish you could stay, but it’s time to return.

You open your eyes when she leaves. She almost killed you today.

It's okay.

You deserved it.

Tomorrow, you rest.

Maybe.

Natasha smirks over the rim of her whisky glass. One would think the blonde would be professional after almost a century of doing business, yet she still stomps around like a child throwing a tantrum when she doesn't get it her way. The redhead almost feels bad for the poor pet that was going to be at the end of Carol's rath tonight, almost.

“Knock, knock.” Wanda stands in the doorway, her knuckles lightly tapping against the dark oak.

She’s dressed modern today. Her suit is fitted to perfection, it hugs her waist and expands her hips. She also went for a smokey makeup look, her eyeshadow a mix of dark brown and black, her lips a deep amber, just like her suit.

If attraction could kill Natasha would be one dead woman.

She smiles at her wife before signaling her in with a wave. She’s surprised to see Wanda, her wife comes by occasionally, and she has always dressed nicely, but this is new. Due to her desk stealing her view, Natasha can't see, but she can hear her wife's high heels as she passes through the threshold. Same color as the suit she imagines.  

“What brings you here?” Natasha questions as she pours her wife a drink.

Wanda settles herself in the plush chair in front of her wife before bothering to answer. “Do I need a reason lovely? Maybe I just want to see my beautiful wife in her place of work.” Wanda grins while the other redhead hands her a glass of whiskey. Neat, just how she likes it.

Natasha scans her wife with suspicion, she wants something. She can tell by the way Wanda leans her body slightly to the left while her lips lift into a flirtatious half-smirk.

The shorter redhead lifts her eyebrow. “As nice as that may be, why are you really here?”

Wanda deflates slightly at her wife’s accusatory tone. She is right, of course, but Wanda was hoping she could butter her up a little before getting to that. Wanda will have to ask her out on a date soon and make herself a little less predictable.

She is ashamed to say it's been a while since their last dinner date, or movie night for that matter. However, it's hard to find the time when you have been married since the eighteen hundreds, and you both work more than any human would be capable of.

Which brings her to her point.

Wanda pulls in a breath, “I want a pet.”

Before Natasha can get a word in Wanda continues to ramble all in the same breath, “And I know, I know, we have already gone over this. But I'm lonely. The business has been slow since the Stark clan agreed to our peace offering. And while you are busy here, I want someone to come home too.” Wanda keeps her tone open and light.

She wasn’t here to accuse her wife of not giving her enough attention, they both knew that their different work would keep them apart, but while Wanda would spend long nights in her home office, Natasha would spend them in her company office on the other side of the city.

Natasha drums her fingers sharply against her desk, she wants to shut the idea down immediately.

Having a frail human pet would mean having a weakness. Natasha knows her wife well. She knows her wife will get attached, and she knows it will never end well for either of them.

On the other hand, she understands her wife's needs. Natasha spends most of her days in the office, working to uphold their cover, while Wanda spends her days all over the city settling their other business. Their schedules never align either, Natasha works days, Wanda nights. She has to admit, it doesn't sound half bad to have someone to come home to the few nights she can afford it.

Wanda is waiting with bated breath as her wife concludes.

“You have already set up the meet, haven’t you?”

Wanda gapes slightly but conceals it before her wife sees. She knows her too well indeed.

She slumps into her chair, “Yes.” She lifts her finger to stop Natasha from commenting, “In my defense, I was coming here to get your approval.” Natasha chuckles to herself.

“And if you didn’t get it your way?”

Wanda smiles bashfully, “Then I would go without you.” Natasha has to blink away tears from how hard she laughs, she is gripping her stomach, wheezing while answering, “I would expect nothing less my love.” She rights her posture and wipes a tear from the corner of her eye. She glances at her wife hiding her blush behind luscious red locks.

She can never say no to her.

Clapping her hands together, she responds. “Fine, you win.”

Wanda practically shines with mirth and joy, “But,” her companion eyes her carefully, nodding to confirm she´s listening. “I get to pick the name that goes on her collar.”

The other redhead huffs, “Fine, but it better not be something stupid.”

Natasha shrugs and her wife leans over the table to slap her shoulder in warning. Natasha smiles all the same and shakes her head, “Yeah, yeah, nothing dumb.” As much fun as she is having with this, she is a busy woman.

She runs her hands down her black suit, thinks of what paperwork to finish, and mumbles a question about when they need to leave while sorting through the latest update about their progress on Project X. Wanda, without missing a beat, states a simple, “Now.”

Nat drops her pen and pinches the skin between her eyebrows. Wanda shrugs half apologetically as Natasha fixes her with a hard glare.

Rolling her eyes, Natasha grumbles a short, “Right, we better get going then.”

It's been almost a decade since she has set foot in one of these shitholes. Nothing has changed, the cages are just as small, and the odor stinks the same, alcohol, blood, and fear.

Wanda shifts uncomfortably as they wait for the salesman to get his spreadsheet, Natasha silently watches from the sideline as he sorts through a mess of paper and fast-food containers to find what he is looking for. She chastises Wanda for not finding a better establishment. Back in their time, this was the usual, but nowadays they have far better alternatives.

Wanda leans against Natasha to whisper, “It was the only place by a few miles Tash, and it’s the only place we have time for.” Natasha stays unimpressed. Wanda smirks at her wife and tucks a strand of loose hair behind the other redhead's ear before discreetly licking the shell of it and whispering sweetly, “I will make it up to you.” Natasha shivers under the attention and the salesman grunts a weak, “found it” before leading them into the main hall.

The ocean swishes in the background as you lie on your blue, shark-themed blanket in your modern bikini. The sun gleams over your head. Your skin stings and you shift onto your stomach, you must have forgotten sunscreen again.

Nonetheless, you purr under the shine of good weather; you wish you had taken a book with you. Maybe next time. For now, you stretch out and lay your bare arms against the warm sand. It will be stuck in every crevice, but it's nice.

A light breeze passes you.

You suck in a big breath, it burns, but you ignore it. It smells of salt and….. salt… and….?

Ice-cream.

It smells of salt and ice cream.

You think you may stay for a while today. You might visit tomorrow, but you would rather not.

If it doesn't burn too much, you hope to sleep tomorrow through. After all, if you are really lucky, you may not wake up again.

This place is even more depressing than Wanda had anticipated.

She and the other redhead had been to a similar place a few decades ago, but this was just sad. Not even the potent scent of blood can get her to ignore the uncomfortable sound of churning, empty, stomachs.

If they lived in a different city she would have taken her wife to a more humane operation, but with limited time comes limited opportunity.

The male and female sections are separate, in the left hall she can smell the odor of young men eager to please, while in this hall she can see the curious and smell the fearful. The gruff man showing them around had introduced them to a few pets by now, but she had to admit they were not what she was hoping for.

There had been one pet she took a slight liking to; a young woman, in her mid-twenties, she was in the puppy section, an enthusiastic little thing. But in the end, she was a little too pushy for Wanda’s liking, Natasha hadn’t seemed too keen either, so they left it there.

The kitten section wasn’t too bad, but every time she thought she was building a connection, Natasha would step into the pet's line of sight and they would cower away one by one. She knows her wife is putting on a stern face to test the poor little things, but it was starting to piss her off big time.

Wanda rolls her eyes as the feeble man struggles with yet another lock, she lifts her suit jacket and checks the expensive gold watch ticking away, fifteen more minutes or they will have to come back another time. Given that this was the only available time she and Nat had had in a few weeks the dire truth of not getting a pet today was settling in.

“Here she is, now she's not much to look at, but since you wanted to see them all,” the man shrugs and Wanda has half the mind to bite his head off. Before she can do anything of the sort Natasha takes her by surprise by stepping into the cage before her.

Nat ignores her wife as she steps into your cage, she has seen you before.

You were Carol's pet, or at least she thought you were. But it seems you were a less permanent part of the blonde’s life. Your cage was different, it was slightly bigger, the poorly dressed man had said something earlier about you being a leased pet.

You look horrible. She is studying you from a few feet away and she can still see the horrors you must have been through.

She knows Carol is violent, it's why she has spent so long trying to negotiate with blondie. Their clans were never on the same page and yes, threats were constantly made, but this was something else. Natasha would never think the pathetic woman would do this just because she could.

She hears Wanda step in and gasp at the sight of you.

You are lying on the hard floor with your back turned to them, a rag the size of a hand towel barely covering your bottom. Your hands are stretched out under the lamp, the only heat source you have, you have been beaten to a pulp. There are deep lacerations covering you, your entire body is one big bruise, and dried blood covers every crevice of both your skin and even part of the walls. But that was not what caught either of their attention, no, it was the lack of life they could sense from you.

Natasha kneels a few feet away from you and studies you carefully.  Her hand rests against her cheek as she tries to focus on your heartbeat. It beats, but there was something off about it. It's slow like you are asleep, but she can hear in your breathing that you are still conscious.

She tilts her head and talks off-handedly at the man behind her.

“Is she sick?” She hears him scoff but ignores it in favor of closing her eyes and trying to feel you.

“Of course not-“ He waves his hand, “all that,” he gestures at your body, “was her own fault.”

Before Natasha has time to reprimand the pig, she hears a crunch behind her followed by a heavy thud.

She huffs and raises herself slowly before opening her eyes and looking at her wife with her peripheral vision. “I thought we agreed to not kill anyone today.”

Wanda stares at her with empty eyes. “No. We agreed on not killing any innocent people tonight. As far as I am concerned, I am just following his logic, after all this was all his fault.” Wanda gestures at the dead man's body.

Natasha turns to her wife while rolling her eyes.

Wanda ignores her wife's sass and looks past her to take you in once more. “Who is she?”

Natasha shrugs and gazes at you over her shoulder. “She was Carol´s plaything, but I guess Carol never owned her like I thought.” Wanda raised her eyebrows in surprise and stared at Nat, “That’s y/n?”. Her eyes move down to you again, “last time I saw her she sure as hell didn’t look like that.”

Natasha nods and crosses her arms in thought, “well it seems Carol is an even worse owner than she is a negotiator.”

The last time Wanda had seen you was when she joined one of Natasha’s meetings a few months ago, you were a new thing back then. You had scars, but they were pink and healed, you were a skittish little thing, but you ate, you had some color to you, and you sure as hell didn’t feel like this.

You could feel their eyes all over your body. You hated it, you never liked it when people looked too hard or thought too long, it always meant the same thing. They were assessing whether or not you are a feasible option as a pet. You know you aren’t, you know they will scoff and turn their backs to you as if you disgust them, like you don’t deserve to breathe the same air as them.

You get it though, they are probably right.

Usually, such a thing wouldn’t bother you, you are used to it by now, but there was something about their scents that put you off, you felt out of place even more than usual, and you hated it.  

You were too focused on pretending to be asleep to assess what the heavy thud against the concrete could have been.

Whatever it was, must have had something breakable inside of it as you could hear a clear crack as something bounced off the floor. You decided you didn’t care, you only cared about the sudden voice that took over all the space of your enclosure. Powerful enough to command any and every room, you know this voice. It belongs to one Natasha Romanoff, and suddenly the voice behind her made sense too. You had only seen the redhead once, but you would remember her anywhere, just as commanding as her wife, and even more scary, Wanda Maximoff.

If you weren’t scared before, you were positively shitting your nonexistent pants now.

You try to keep your breathing even so as to not show any hint of awareness, you have no idea what they could be doing here. Had Master sent them? Were these the last moments you would have, were you going to die in this tiny, claustrophobic hellhole?

You were panicking, and you know they can sense it. Feel it. No matter how many times Master called you such, you weren’t an idiot. You know what they are, you know what they can do, what they will do.

As you hear one of them take a step closer you turn into a stiff board. You stay completely still as you feel your lungs start resisting the air you desperately try to force into them, you have this sudden need to flee or to bear your neck and beg for them to finish it quickly. Right after the thought passes your mind you shrink in shame, Master will kill you for ever thinking of bearing your neck to another.

You can hear them pause for a moment as you feel their eyes on you again. You have been made.

You don’t know what comes over you, you don’t know where you suddenly find the strength, but before you even know what you are doing you are leaping towards the women, your hands ready to claw out their eyes if need be.

You know they are stronger, faster, and smarter than you could ever wish to be, but this is a survival instinct, nothing makes sense, nothing matters. And as you collide into a warm body and start ripping into it, to the best of your ability, you realize, you have no idea what you are doing.

Natasha knew what you were about to do, possibly before you, and as you crashed into her and started scratching and ripping at anything you could get your hands on, she realized that maybe you still have a chance at this life. For the first time during their little visit, she can feel something in you, it’s small, scared, abused, but there is a will there, a will to live, a will to fight. That is more than most in this bleak city.

She holds you gently as you rip apart her coat, tear at her skin, and bite her hands. She hears Wanda take an uncertain step toward the both of you, unsure of what to do. But Natasha waves her hands nonchalantly and asks Wanda with a calm voice to stay back.

Natasha understands that to her wife you must look positively rabid. You were in the kitten class, but you were fighting Natasha as if you were a fighter dog. All teeth and claws. However, compared to Natasha, you might as well have been a mite.

No matter how hard you try, you can’t pierce her skin, can’t topple her balance, you can’t win.

Your fingers dig into the soft skin, your nails gripping and tearing, but nothing happens. There is no skin underneath your nails, no blood, no sight of damage against pale skin. You bite the hands that hold you, and you can hear your jaw creek as you strain your weak body, but the skin doesn't break, the only blood you taste is your own.

You are scared, you don’t know what to do, there is no sunflower field to hide behind, no sea to drown in, you feel powerless, even more so than she makes you feel.

You don’t know what they want, you don’t want to die like this.

Even after all your effort goes to waste you can’t give up, you have to keep trying, you have to-

“Stop.”

Wanda looks at you with an unreadable expression, you look up in terror as you realize you can’t move your body. One simple word, in one simple tone, has made you paralyzed.

[professional-yapper]

Aonung x Albino reader? 🙏🙏

Burn

Aonung x Albino! Reader

Warnings: sunburn ig?, awkward Aonung (he can't flirt to save his life this is true James Cameron told me himself), teasing as flirting, the tribe they're from is giving cult x

"This is stupid, Vipka," you huffed, ducking under a branch as you followed your twin brother's ghostly figure closer and closer to the edge of the dark forest that your tribe inhabited.

"Don't be a wuss!" he called back, flashing you a sharp grin. "We might find something cool!"

You rolled your eyes. "Yeah, or we'll find something dangerous, get ourselves killed, and end up in the Nothing. Eywa's word is that we stay here, in the Dark, where it's safe."

Vipka rolled his eyes right back, bounding towards you, grabbing your arms and giving you a little shake. "That's what the elders say. If Eywa wanted us to stay here, she wouldn't have made me so curious about what's out there."

You gritted your teeth, but couldn't find a proper response to that beyond a muttered, "That's blasphemous." And you relented, following your stupid, reckless brother towards the edge of the forest.

Not that you were sure there even was an edge. After all, no one besides the elders actually knew. You and Vipka were only heading in the direction that the elders went in when they left the village for reasons you and Vipka weren't allowed to know.

It really could just be the forest, going on forever and ever, and you would keep going until you went crazy.

A silent prayer formed on your lips, to Eywa, who had cared for your people even after they had been foolish enough to burn their Spirit Tree down. All that was left of the centuries-old catastrophe was a charred old stump held in reverence.

Once, your uncle had whispered a story to you of tribes far away, where the sun shone brightly and their Spirit Trees grew strong, and they could even connect with their dead through the Trees themselves. It seemed fantastical to you, who had grown up knowing upon death your people would go into the Nothing and never be heard from again. Eywa's punishment for her disobedient children.

But after all... You wondered if it could be true. If you and Vipka walked far enough, would you find a tribe with no Nothing, with a Spirit Tree that grew and flourished and kept their ancestors safe?

You didn't know whether to hope so or not. Would you even be able to return home once the elders discovered yours and Vipka's disobedience? Perhaps Eywa would punish the tribe again. Maybe your family personally.

Once again you called for Vipka, but he ignored you and his pale, slender form disappeared into the trees, running now, fuelled by the adrenaline of doing something so forbidden.

Not that this was forbidden, just wandering through the Dark. But it wasn't really the Dark, anymore. The dark green of the foliage had bled away into a lighter hue, punctuated with bursts of colours. Flowers and plants and fruits that you shied away from, eyes wary as you picked your way through this new world.

You shielded your eyes against the strange light filtering through the trees, golden and hot against your skin, which was already taking on a queer pink tint that you recognised vaguely.

The elders were often this shade when they returned to the tribe. Vipka had overheard them calling it... the Burn?

You couldn't be sure, but you covered your flushed arms with your hands and kept going.

A squeal suddenly pierced the warm silence, and you froze, ears dipping and tail waving with brisk worry. "Vipka?" you called, taking a few stilted steps towards the source of the sound.

Another squeal, but definitely not Vipka. An animal of some kind. And voices. Loud, cheerful, calling to one another as they got closer, evidently following the squealing thing.

Hunters, maybe.

Not from your tribe, for sure.

You began backing up, preparing to turn and run like hell all the way back home. Vipka could keep going for all you cared, could be caught and eaten alive by the tribes beyond the Dark.

A large animal burst out of the undergrowth and you shrieked in fright, leaping back and colliding with something or someone, falling down in a jumble of arms and legs.

The animal veered away at your cry, thundering in a different direction.

"Damn!" the thing that had fallen down with you swore, shoving you off unceremoniously. "You scared it away, skxwang!"

"Fuck you!" you spluttered furiously, climbing to your feet and rubbing your lower back. You were angry. Fucking furious.

But then the strange Na'vi stood up, and you considered that it might not be a good idea to square up with him.

He was built like a tree. Broad and muscular and a weird shade of blue. Twice your size, at least. Could absolutely crush you into dust.

You didn't want to stick around and find out.

But before you could run, he grabbed your arm, pulling you back, staring at you hard with his weird pale eyes, dark curls plastered to his brow, entire body covered in sweat. "What are you?" he asked.

You shoved him in the chest, but he barely shifted, which was a solid blow to your ego. You were one of the stronger members of the tribe, and it scared you to think Na'vi of his size and strength were roaming wild out here.

Why would the elders ever come out here?

"You're one of those white Na'vi, right? From the deep forest on the other side of Awa'atlu?" he prompted, ears flattening as you kept quiet.

You stiffened. "How do you know that?"

"Your people- what do you mean, how do I know that? Your people come and talk with my dad all the time. You should probably cover up, by the way. You guys burn real easy," he added, tone almost friendly as he released your arm, seemingly realising it wasn't helping.

He knew? He knew of your people. He knew of the Dark. He knew the elders.

"But you're, like, my age," he continued, tilting his head. "I thought your people were all old and wrinkly. That's why you're white, yeah?"

You frowned. "Only the elders ever leave the Dark," you said slowly, wondering just how much you should tell this boy.

He chuckled, a surprisingly reassuring sound, even though he was holding a spear with the other hand. "What's the Dark? Is that what you call the place you're from?"

You nodded.

"So you guys don't see the sun much, huh?" he said carefully, glancing up at the blazing white spot in the sky above.

A swift shake of the head, and you didn't bother to follow his eyes. You could feel the sun well enough as is. Your skin felt flushed, hot, and it stung when you touched it.

Though the pink was a nice colour, you had to ask. "Is it poisonous?" you asked, trying to keep the distress out of your voice, running your fingers down your arm.

Another warm chuckle, and now he was looking at you with interest, which made your heart beat a little quicker. "No, you're just burning. Sunburn, you know? Cause you don't see the sun much-"

"Ever," you interjected briefly, stealing a glance above, at the great blue mass above you that went on forever, careful to keep your eyes away from the sun, though spots still danced in your eyes when you looked back at him.

He blew out a breath, curls jumping off his forehead briefly. "Okay. So you're from a freaky tribe where you've never seen the sun and live in the dark all the time, in the forest where the leaves are so thick the sun can't get through... What are you doing here? Did you run away?"

"Kind of?" you said, wondering what he was doing as he turned and scooped up a knife off the floor, then turned and started walking. Should you follow him?

"Are you coming?" he called back, gesturing for you to follow. When you caught up, he gestured for you to keep talking.

"I was following my brother Vipka. Leaving the Dark was his idea. He wanted to know where our elders go," you continued, tongue growing looser the more time you spent with this strange boy. Which might've been a bad thing. "Eywa cursed him with curiosity."

The boy nodded slowly, absorbing this. "And where's your brother now?"

"He ran ahead and I lost him," you shrugged. "But he'll turn up, either at your village or back home, if he gives up."

"I'm Aonung," the boy said briskly.

You told him your name, and he repeated it back to you carefully, grinning like it was an inside joke between you two.

"I'll take you home with me, then," Aonung shrugged. "My mother will know what to do. I- we can look after you till your elders return to my village." The tips of his ears flushed and you smiled, pleased with the sight, though you didn't know why.

"Sounds good," you hummed.

"Are all girls in your tribe as pretty as you?" he asked abruptly, looking straight forward as if scared to see your expression.

You blinked, then smiled again, wider, flushing, though you thought he probably wouldn't be able to tell since you were so 'sunburnt'. "Dunno," you chuckled. "I'll bring you home with me one day and you can see for yourself."

"I don't think they are," he said, glancing down at you and smiling, lips curling downwards.

"You haven't even seen them yet!"

"No, but I trust my gut," he said, slapping his abs with a proud look

"Oh, yeah? Was it your gut that made you run into me, too?"

"That- that was fate. Mother Eywa intended it."

"Or maybe Eywa cursed you with clumsiness. A deadly combination with how short-sighted you apparently are," you teased.

He gave you a little push, laughing. "Shut up! Why were you just standing there, is my question!"

You pushed him back, not bothering to put any effort into it, as the results remained the same and he didn't break his stride. "I've never been this far from home! I was taking in the scenery!"

"Taking in the scenery," he scoffed. "Take in this scenery." He got close to your face, which was probably meant to be intimidating but only made your ears drop bashfully, tail curling against your calf, suddenly shy as his nose almost bumped into yours.

He lingered for a moment, then seemed to realise his theatrics had gone wrong and backed up. "I mean- sorry, that came out wrong."

"No, it's okay, I like that scenery just fine too," you grinned, and he rolled his eyes in embarrassment.

"What?" you taunted, following him as he kept walking, more than happy to tease the hell out of him. "I thought you wanted me to take in the scenery!"

"Shut up."

"Make me."

I'm patenting this tribe actually, this freaky albino tribe, because I want to write lore for it. Let me know if anyone wants to read said lore. Enjoy anon! I had fun with the world-building!

[preciouslittle-bhaalbabe]

Not one to beg.

Soft, sweet and fluffy mostly plotless smut brainrot because these two have made a small hole in my brain and they won't stop kissing ;w;

(this is the first time i've ever legit written any kind of smut so be gentle, if you can)

Ft: Astarion x my durge Tomie

It had been a few weeks since the party. Since the night Astarion and Tomie spent together. Astarion thought it would be just the same as any other seduction. But it wasn't.

Her touch, her skin, her voice, her blood. He craved it like a drug. Not only that, but she made him feel truly wanted. Not just his body, but his company. His time. Every time he insisted they give her neck a break and go hunting, she was right there with him. Tail swishing back and forth excitedly. She could never hide how much she enjoys being around him. He hated it, but he knows he shares the same feelings. She feels like home in a way he hasn't felt in centuries.

When she did let him feed, the rush of desire that floods into him is nearly impossible to bear. He has to stifle moans and keep his body from needily pressing against hers. She must have felt it. There's no way she couldn't. But she never said anything. She hasn't tried to instigate intimacy once since that night. Despite the near constant flirting, small cheek kisses and innuendo exchanged between them. Astarion is shocked. Some nights he had to settle for his own hand just to alleviate the yearning. She was driving him insane and she had no idea. Or maybe she did, and this was all on purpose.

That sly little minx.

One night, Tomie delcared she will be going off to bathe in the nearby lake.

"Alright! Don't take too long, dinner is almost ready" Gale says.

Tomie nods and begins to walk towards the lakes direction with a small towel and some soap. Her tail swishes and she casts the quickest sly glance at Astarion. A hint of a smile on her pretty lips. He watches as she disappears into the treeline. That was the final straw.

"I'm going for a walk" Astarion says. Not waiting for a response from the others. Walking in the opposite direction of Tomie to not rise suspicion. He will double back once he's far enough away from the camp. A few moments of aimless wandering and racing thoughts. Should he do this? Was she avoiding it for a reason? But if that's the case, why would she be teasing him so much? Gods, it's like he can smell her from here. Warm, spicy, indulgent. But wait, how? Did she get hurt?His pace quickened from a casual stroll to a sprint. Now rushing towards the direction of the water he hears small curses and gasps of breath. Not wanting to scare her, he hides behind a tree and peeks at the scene ahead.

She was in her undergarments, washing her day clothes in the lake. She had accidentally sliced her hand a little with a rock. Nothing too serious. She cast heal wounds on it within moments and looked around, making sure the blood didn't draw any predators. Once content, she went back to washing her clothes in the water then wading in herself. Still in her underclothes. She closed her eyes and floated there for a while. Looking truly at peace.

It's now or never. Astarion emerges from a tree, just the same as he did the first time.

"There you are" He says.

"Oh! Hi Astarion! Come to do some washing?" Tomie asks. A sweet seemingly innocent smile on her face. But a small glint in her eye indicated to him that she knew EXACTLY what she was doing.

"Something like that. I was drawn to the scent of your blood, I wanted to make sure you were alright" He tries to add as much velvet to his voice as possible. He's done this thousands of times before. Why would this be any different?

"Such a worrywart, don't tell me you've started to care have you?" Tomie says. Her voice soft as silk, putting his seduction attempt almost to shame. Tomie effortlessly swims to the lakeshore and emerges from the water, dripping, her undergarments clinging to every curve. Her ivory hair wet and slicked back, effortlessly cascading down her shoulders. She was a vision. She gently shakes herself off a little then meets her eyes with his. Her bright red eyes and cat-like pupils shine in the moonlight. He had never noticed that her eyes glow like that before. She approaches him and he finds himself leaning his back against the very tree he was hiding behind. He felt almost dizzy.

"Now, why don't you tell me why you're really here?" Tomie purrs. Her hands behind her back, leaning forward slightly. Her tail slowly waving side to side.

"Well" Astarion scoffs. "Isn't it obvious??" He's supposed to be the seductive one. Making people swoon with just a few words. How is it that this woman flusters him so?

"Not to me. See, I prefer when someone is direct. I want to know exactly what you need from me" Tomie brushes her fingertips against his arm, sending tingles all the way through his body.

"Darling, I'm not one to beg but-"

"No no, I don't want you to beg. I just want you to tell me".

Tomie's torso is flush with his now. Her tail twitches with anticipation as she continues tracing her fingertips against his arm. Looking up at him sweetly. He takes a deep breath and sighs once he realises he hasn't been breathing since she came out of the lake.

He takes her hand and starts kissing each fingertip, Slightly cold from the water. He drops the sensual facade. Neither of them want this to be a performance. In between kisses he admits to himself and to her:

"I need to taste you again, to feel you, to indulge myself in you". He says. His voice earnest and wanting.

"I want the same" she says. There's a hint of relief in her tone as she wraps her arms around his neck. They both rest their foreheads against each other. With a deep sigh he places both his hands around her waist, running them up and down her curves.

"Then why didn't you say anything? I've been losing my mind these past weeks" Astarion says, his voice gentle and low, barely above a whisper.

"I...I never want you to do anything you don't want to do" She cups his face in her hands and rubs her thumbs along his cheekbones. He melts into the sensation. She moves her head back to look directly into his eyes. Her expression so sincere, so gentle.

"I noticed how distant your eyes looked last time, and I know your experiences with sex haven't been exactly...Pleasant. I wanted to wait until you were ready."

"You sweet, generous thing" He places a small pecks on her cheek and forehead while she giggles. In one swift motion, he ducks to the side and spins her around so now she's the one against the tree.

"Ha,déjà vu" Tomie giggles.

He's tired of waiting. He grabs the back of her head and presses his lips against hers. She wraps her arms back around his neck and gently runs her fingers through his hair. He presses his thigh between her legs, causing a soft, sweet moan to come out of her. He slowly removes his shirt in between deep kisses, and unbuttons her damp undershirt with swiftness and skill. He will never get used to that feeling of skin to skin. She is so warm, so soft. Several weeks of pent up desire flood through him as he explores every inch and curve of her body with his fingers. Low moans and growls come from deep within his chest. Finally, he releases her so she can catch her breath. Her lips are pink and puffy from the kisses, her cheeks and ears flush with blood and desire. She moves her hand from behind his neck to his face as he play bites at her fingers. Giving her one last deep kiss then trailing smaller kisses down to her neck, brushing some of her hair out of the way.

"May I, darling?" Astarion purrs.

"Of course, Astarion. Always."

"Gods, my name sounds so sweet coming from you".

Holding the back of her head steady, he licks and kisses the small puncture scars on her neck made from previous encounters. He gently bites down and starts drinking her life essence.

"Hmmph" He groans in pleasure with every swallow. He holds her closely against himself. Craving to touch as much of his skin to hers as he can. He feels the warmth of her blood spreading between both of their bodies. Her blood alone is enough to drive him to madness. He starts to feel the slight buzz he gets when full. He unlatches himself from her neck before he drinks too much, gently licking the beading blood from the wound and his lips.

*sigh* "You are delectable, you know that?"

"You've mentioned it once or twice" Tomie coos.

"You're alright?" Astarion says. "Not lightheaded or faint?" He holds her face in his hands and kisses her nose.

"I'm perfectly fine" Tomie smiles.

"Good. Now where were we?"

He resumes kissing her. The sweet copper taste from her blood still on his lips. They clumsily find a soft patch of grass and lie down, Astarion on top. He presses himself against her skin as if he can't get close enough. They start rolling against each other in a slow, melodic tempo. He doesn't want to rush. He stops kissing her and sits up for a moment. Taking her in. Her chest rising and falling with every breath. Lidded eyes full of love and desire. Her mouth slightly open and lips parted.

"I think I need to taste you again, my dear"

"Oh? I'm not sure I have enough blood for tha- ah!"

He kisses his way down to between her legs. Gently massaging her flesh, and kissing and biting her inner thighs. He slowly removes her underwear, damp with water and arousal, and moves his kisses closer to her aching sex. He looks up at her again from between her legs.

"May I, darling?" Astarion says with a smirk.

"Gods yes." Tomie says, breathless.

"Ah ah, yes what?" Astarion says coyly.

"Yes, Astarion".

A low moan comes from deep within him as he wraps his lips around her slit. His tongue slowly parting her lips to expose her clit. Her sweet juices covering his mouth within moments. He kisses and licks her clit slowly and gently, then with more force. Tomie starts to squirm and shake from the sensation. When he is sure she is about to go over the edge, he stops.

A dissapointed sigh comes from her.

"Don't worry darling, I'm not going to leave you hanging".

He removes his pants and exposes is throbbing length, sopping wet from arousal. He comes back up to meet her lips and presses deep kisses against her. He brings his elbows up to prop himself up while cradling her head. He hooks his leg under hers and brings it upwards. Then slowly slides the head of his cock between her slit tentatively. Rocking back and forth. A frusterated moan comes from her between kisses and with a laugh, he decides they've both had enough teasing. He finally slides himself in. A small whimper threatens to escape from his lips.

"Gods, never make me wait that long again, my dear" Astarion says breathless.

"Never again" Tomie moans.

They rock together in smooth motions, slowly at first then increasing in speed and desperation. Tomie pushes against him and they roll over so that Astarion is now lying on his back.

"You don't have to do all the work you know. Let me spoil you for once" Tomie purrs.

She slides herself back onto his length and begins to thrust her hips in rhythmic motion. Astarion places his hands on her hips to keep them steady. She looks stunning riding on top of him like this. Taking him in completely. She leans forward and they continue to rock and kiss against each other. Small whimpers come from Astarion as he grips her tighter. Thrusting more vigorously. She can't hold herself back anymore and rides into her orgasm. Legs shaking slightly and her pussy pulsing against his throbbing cock. He's not far behind, they both moan into each others mouths between kisses as they pass over the edge of bliss. Tomie collapses onto Astarions chest as they both giggle. Astarion wraps his arms around her and strokes her back. They both stay silent for a few moments. Cuddling into each other and slowing their breaths down.

"So, what do you think Gale made for dinner?" Tomie asks, looking up at him. Astarion lets out a hearty laugh.

"I don't know, but I'm sure it's nothing compared to the meal I just had."

Tomie giggles, then relaxes back onto his chest. He doesn't quite know what they are, or what he's feeling. But he does know that this? This is nice.

[paperbag34]

Hazbin Hotel roleswap au concept? maybe?

Got bored, started thinking about "What if Alastor found Vaggie instead of Charlie", snowballed a little from there.

_______________________

Edit: an expansion: How Deals Work

_______________________

What's swapped in this AU:

For now, only Alastor and Charlie.

Alastor remains largely unchanged. He's still the Radio Demon, the terrifying overlord with a meteoric rise to prominence after killing multiple century-old overlords and broadcasting their screams, then disappeared after a fight with the TV Demon, Vox.

But, now after seven years of. well. Radio silence (lol). His radio has begun broadcasting once more. And unexpectedly, what the voice on the radio speaks of is not the brutal murder of Overlords, but instead, a pet project of his. The Hazbin Hotel, an establishment accepting all, and under his protection, with its insane goal of redeeming sinners.

No one really knows what made the Radio Demon take on such an impossible, foolish task, thuogh speculation is abound. Vox, in particular, likes to ridicule Alastor on his shows to the point where it's a bit of a running gag for his viewers. No one knows anything, except that these days, the Radio Demon is often seen around a winged cat, and an odd, gray-skinned girl.

Charlie, on the other hand, is the Princess Of Hell. To the common sinner, not much is known about her. She's more of an abstract presence since her role has her with responsibilities that don't et her get out as much. What is known is that sometimes appears after an Extermination, you can catch a glimpse of the third-most powerful demon in Hell looking around the devastated circles, cataloging the destruction.

While it's unknown how much of Hell's ruling she actually does, most of the things she attaches her name to have to do with the Extermination, or more accurately, the aftermath. Ways for sinners to get back on their feet after the exterminators pop in and trash shit, for example. Most of the Overlords don't really like having to do this, but even the greatest detractor puts the programs in place with some level of competence, after how the last Overlord to disobey her rules was... Punished.

______________________________________________________________

So, why the change of heart? Why would Alastor suddenly decide to try to redeem sinners? In a word: Vaggie.

During that particular Extermination Day, Vaggie crawls in an alley, injured and in pain. Lute left her alive, but her eye will never grow back, and she left her torn-off wings to rot in a trashcan a few steps away. Leaning against a dumpster, she decides she needs to rest.

Normally, she'd be afraid of sinners finding her, but she knows from the few of her former colleagues that she's talked to that were trapped in Hell after the Extermination ended and had to be extracted, that Sinners actually have a bit of a grace period after an Extermination, where violence is at an all time low. (She doesn't know this, but this is actually a decree by the Princess of Hell).

As she begins to drift off, however, a shadow falls over her. In canon, this would be Charlie, deciding to help what she thinks is a demon lucky enough to escape the Extermination with only a missing eye for it.

Here, though, the responsibilities of the Princess keep Charlie in her office, working and unable to go see what's been happening with the devastation. Here, her eyes snap open as she senses the aura of an Overlord, and right before everything goes dark, she realizes with horror, that whoever this demon is, he knows she's an Exorcist.

_________

When she awakes, she's tied to a table, restrained by dark tentacles that radiate demonic power in a room lit by a single bulb. The demon from before walks in, introducing himself as Alastor, and he asks for her name.

Naturally, she ignores him, instead demanding to know what he wants. She considers threatening him that she could call Exorcists down to extract her, but she knows that she's considered a traitor, and it'd never work. For some reason, the demon acquesious, and he explains that he's curious what exactly managed to harm an Exorcist so badly.

As an Overlord, he's seen and even fought off Exorcists before, and he's seen what happens when a demon harms one. They get back up. Tear an limb off and they regenerate, punch a hole through their chest and they'll be down for a while, but it'll close and they'll keep going. Suffocate one and given time, they'll start to breathe again. Even the more thorough methods of disposal simply result in the Exorcist turning into golden light and reconstituting themself or flying back to Heaven.

So, four years into his "sabbatical", when he followed the scent of an unfamiliar type of blood to the sight of an Exorcist missing their wings and an eye, he was naturally very interested. Knowing what, exactly managed to permanently harm an Exorcist is invaluable knowledge for an Overlord, after all, even though he's on a sort of sabbatical.

He threatens torture if she doesn't tell him how to kill an angel, even proposing a Deal where he won't use the knowledge against her (as long as she doesn't attack him) if she tells him. It's his turn to be surprised, however, when she just laughs, rejecting his deal only to just tell him the answer: the only thing that can harm an angel permanently is angelic power. He couldn't kill her even if she wanted him to, and with the guilt she's feeling and the pain she's in, she actually kind of wants to die.

Alastor, after some prodding, gets her to spill her story, and sensing opportunity, offers another Deal; for her to work under him in exchange for his protection, or if not, she can just leave, and he'll let her go. Demons gain power from having Deals, after all, and having one with an Angel is far too tempting.

Vaggie, believing that this is the best option she has, and that she'd probably not have to do that much more than what she'd have to even if she struck out on her own, accepts the Deal.

_________

Two years later, the two have formed a sort of "friendship?"with each other. It helps that despite Alastor being Alastor, with all the cruelty that implies, since Alastor's basically decided to disappear from politics, he has no real need for any sort of "enforcer" role for Vaggie, and she's more of an assistant than anything. She's also friends with Husk, having bonded over the collective experience of Alastor having them in a Deal, though it is strained at times since Vaggie's Deal is so much more lenient while Alastor owns Husk's soul.

It also helps that Alastor did defend her during Extermination days whenever some Exorcists tried to attack them. He doesn't want to lose his Deal with an Angel, after all!

Eventually, the topic of what goes on in Heaven when they're not down in Hell exterminating demons comes up between Vaggie and Alastor. It's all well and good until Vaggie mentions a woman she knows, and how she talks about her beloved son, and Alastor freezes. That woman? It's his mother. After some talking, Alastor tells her that his only real regret to what he's done (being a serial killer) is that his mother would be heartbroken that he'd turned out like that.

The conversation eventually turns to if Alastor could do someting she'd be proud of now, and, well. He's in Hell, there's not much he can think of right now that'd have the large impact he would want it to have. And honestly, while it does eat at him, he's had decades to make his peace with the fact that his mother would be severely disappointed in him now.

But the idea of doing something that'd make his mother proud stays with him. And eventually, after a conversation with Vaggie he comes up with the idea of redeeming sinners.

And so, one year later, Alastor's radio comes back up, and sinners start hearing of the Hazbin Hotel.

[lanitalay]

Cowboy like me

a/n: besties be warned this is my first time writing smut

azriel x reader one shot inspired by the Taylor Swift song

word count: 1.3k

warnings: smut!

Now you hang from my lips like the gardens of Babylon.

Azriel looked at her like he was looking in a mirror. He remembered how she laid on his bed, curled up on her side, snuggling with the thick covers. It had been lifetimes, centuries since they had seen each other. Last he heard she was in the Continent, living as a courtesan. She must have a fortune. With her devastating beauty, quick wits and disarming charm it was never difficult to discover interesting, compromising and incriminating information. That’s why she was one of his most trusted spies. 

He never thought he’d run into her in Adriata. She stood on the main balcony of the Summer Court palace, looking at the ocean. He admired how she could adapt to any environment. In Night Court black she was intimidating. In Summer blue she was dazzling. The wind made the flowy fabric of her dress hug her curves. Her hair was shorter now. Back when they knew each other it came down to her waist. Now, it did not touch her shoulders. He could recognize her anywhere, with any hair, any dress. He could recognize her in the dark, blindfolded.

He knew every inch of her skin. Every scar. Every freckle. 

His wings tighten as he makes his way over to her. She must be expecting him. There is no way she did not know he would be visiting on official business. “Summer suits you” his words reach her before he does. He takes the next few steps slowly as he comes to stand next to her.  “Must be the sun and salt air” he knows she won’t look at him yet. “Night also suits you” his hands are placed behind his back. “Maybe, in another life” she brings her hands to the railing of the balcony. Azriel can’t help but notice there is no ring or any marker that indicates she is in a relationship. It did not surprise him, they were similar in that way. Whatever intimate relationship they once shared had been strictly nocturnal and he was perfectly fine with that. It was only when she had given him her letter of resignation that he yearned for more time with her. The nights suddenly not enough. 

“Are you residing here permanently?” Her lips quirked up at that “permanent is not a word I would use to describe anything about me”. He could use that word to describe how she had a perpetual place in the back of his mind and, if he was being honest, his heart. 

“How long are you here for?” The question brings him out of his head “until tomorrow”. She hums. “You never told me why” he had been wondering ever since she had gone. “It was time for something new” now she turns her head to meet his gaze. “Was it something I did?” She looks away again “no”. “Then what was it?” She breathes, her chest rising from the action. “You know what it was”. He goes to ask again but before he can formulate the question she says “I have a meeting, see you around”. She walks away and into the palace, disappearing through a hallway. 

A knock wakes him up. He goes to open the door, already knowing who’s on the other side. “Sorry to wake you” she says and steps into the room. “It’s alright” she’s in a nightgown “why are you here?” He had never seen her look nervous “you know me better than anyone Az” she said gently and he had a feeling that was the voice she used to get men of power to fall to their knees “and…” she closes the space between them “I’ve missed you”. 

He forgoes the mask of indifference and grabs her face, meeting her lips in a searing kiss. Gods, he missed her. His whole body ached at the thought of her. A surprised sound escaped her as he bit her lower lip and slipped his tongue in her mouth. Her hands instinctively went to his hair, like they had done for years. She pulled him away from her and he could  have moaned at how her pupil had blown out and her lips had gone puffy “what?” His voice was desperate and she smiled “I just have a feeling that this is gonna be one of those things” and kissed him again. He wasted no time in lifting her hips up, her legs wrapping around his waist as he walked back to the bed. 

She fell back on the mattress and he swore he had never seen anything more beautiful. He crawled on top of her kissing and biting his way to her lips. He wanted to take his time with her, savor every inch of her skin, every moan and every movement. She had other plans and made it so she was now on top of him. His hardened cock smothered beneath her dripping heat. She removed her robe and nightgown in one motion. Her nipples peaked with arousal. Azriel growled and sat up to bring her right breast to his mouth, sucking and biting with his other hand he pinched and pulled at her left breast. Her head fell back, loving the sensations flooding her but needing more. She pulled him away and took her panties off and threw them at his face. Azriel caught it and breathed in the concentrated scent of her arousal. She got up from his lap and made to undress him. “Az I need you now” he flipped her so she was on her back and at his mercy. 

He pulled out his cock and gave it a few rough strokes. She was aching for him, her cunt fluttering around nothing. He took her in, legs bent and spread wide just for him. He ran a hand up her leg until it reached the apex of her thighs and without warning pushed in two thick fingers. He brought them to his mouth and tasted just how needy she was. “You wanna taste?” She nodded desperately and she moaned as he pumped his fingers a few times before bringing them to her mouth. She sucked and slurped up the liquid. When he took his fingers out she begged “Az, please” he loved seeing her plead for him. “You want my cock?” She nods “say it”. “I want your cock” he thinks he can see tears welling up in her eyes. 

Her pussy is throbbing, he brings his cock to her cunt and slides the tip from her sopping hole to her soaking clit, teasing. Her tears spill “Az, please fuck me”. With one slow, frustratingly slow stroke he sheathes himself inside her. She grabs his face and kisses him, she can taste herself on his tongue. His thrusts turn into pounding. The pace brutal. She moans when he bites her neck and thumbs at her clit. With trembling hands she runs her finger along the lines of his wings, like she knew would drive him crazy. He hisses and bites down harder. Her pussy is throbbing, her climax near. “Cum for me, baby. Be good for me” she has no control as a wave of pleasure crashes into her. She moans his name until it's just incoherent mumbles “where do you want me to finish?” She’s still spinning as she wraps her legs around his waist and pulls him deeper “fill me up” he thrusts into her until he reaches his high, his cum coating her walls. Her legs are still wrapped around him as he bends down to meet her lips. 

“Stay with me” he says, arm draped around her waist keeping her back flush against his chest. She thinks for a moment. “I can stay with you if you promise me forever”. They don’t speak the rest of the night. They drift to sleep in each other's warmth and he knows that by morning she’ll be gone.

[galpalaven]

in shadow

Pairing: Astarion x Fem!Tav (Miz'ri Jhalavar) Word Count: 2500~ Summary: The shadow-cursed lands are filled with nothing but undead. Miz'ri makes sure that Astarion isn't going hungry. Also on AO3!

The shadow-cursed lands are filled with nothing but undead. 

At first, he holds out hope that they will encounter more cultists, or maybe a mostly-alive squirrel here and there. Surely not everything is dead out here, right? There are animals and people alive and well within the moon shield at the Last Light Inn, of course, but drinking from any of them would surely be met with outrage and hostility.

Not everyone is as understanding as his drow, after all.

He doesn’t need to eat, of course. He’s survived far longer than a few days without blood, but he hadn’t realized how used to being full and sated he’d gotten. As a few days becomes a week, he starts trying to readjust to the feeling of emptiness and hunger that had been his constant companion for the last two centuries. The discomfort greets him like an old friend, as his strength starts to wane and his head begins to feel far lighter than it had in weeks. The sharpness of his senses dulls as the hunger settles into his aching muscles, sinking into the marrow of his bones, taking its rightful place in the forefront of his mind.

It feels almost like it had never left, by the time they start heading for the towers.

The trip theoretically should only have taken them a few hours of walking, but the shadows are hungry and they only get hungrier the deeper into the curse they venture, making it slow going as they keep needing to fight off ravenous wraiths and shambling undead. They haven’t made nearly the amount of progress they were hoping by the time they have to make camp, lining the perimeters with lanterns to help ward off the shadows in the hopes that they can get some rest before they venture forth once more.

Aside from the looming threat of death, the red leaves make quite a pretty sight against the light of the fires burning around camp. They almost look like flames themselves, he thinks, watching the firelight dance. He avoids the main campfire tonight, unable to stand the tantalizing smell of cooked meat floating into the air as Gale cooks dinner. 

He’s almost succeeded in mentally detaching himself from his body entirely when a familiar face steps into his line of sight.

Miz’ri smiles when their eyes meet, and he feels his own lips twitch with the urge to mirror that expression.

The darkness of the curse looks right against her dusky grey skin, he thinks idly, watching her run a hand through her silky, starlight hair, hanging loose around her shoulders for once. The pink of her eyes seems extra soft in the firelight, sending a strange, swooping warmth through his stomach as she clears her throat and starts to speak.

“Would you like to come to my tent in a bit?”

Ah.

The combination of emotions that wash over him — like ice water dumped over his scalp and running in chilly rivulets down his spine — confuses him. There’s a part of him that grimaces, thinking of the inevitable disgust and self-loathing that will crop up some time in the middle of the night, but that isn’t the part that confuses him. The part that’s strange is the excitement and warmth that blossoms in his stomach — the tingling anticipation of her lips on his making him nod before he can actually think about his answer.

Her face lights up, and then she disappears again, darting off towards the campfire with a quick, Great, see you in a bit!

Perhaps this would be a good distraction from the yawning void that is his stomach, he reasons as he forces himself to his feet. Perhaps he can lose himself in the taste of her lips and the gentle caress of her hands, in the feeling of those web-like scars on her back.

Maybe this time he’ll be able to forget himself for a few hours.

Despite the doubt that drapes itself over his shoulders like a cloak, he still makes his way over to her tent where it sits near the edge of camp. It’s more of a real tent now than it had been in those early nights, offering more privacy against their merry band of misfits and protection from the elements. Brushing aside the flap that serves as the door reveals a nice little set up of bedroll and fur blankets that she must have shoved into that bag of holding they found not long after they all decided to travel together. The firelight filters through the tent softly, and the coziness of the set up makes it quite easy to pull his shirt over his head, spreading himself out on the soft furs with a quiet sigh.

As he waits, he tries to busy himself with thoughts of the last encounter they had. Of the feeling of her lips on his neck, her fingers in his hair. Of the way she looked at him while she touched him, murmuring questions about his comfort into his skin. She always lets him lead, but even that first night when they’d both been tipsy on wine, she’d paused whenever she felt him hesitating, checking in with him in a way no one ever had.

He must be losing his touch, he thinks, for her to see through his facade so easily. Not that he didn’t enjoy himself at times — even with the lingering feelings of disgust and unease, there were plenty of moments when he managed to let go of those feelings and lose himself in her warmth, in the sweetness of her lips and the heat of her breath on his skin.

He can do this. The memories of pain are a small price to pay for safety. For someone who will protect him no matter what happens. For—

“Sorry for the wait, I was — oh!”

Miz’ri blinks at him, the flap of the tent half held open with one hand while the other clutches a red apple and a bottle of water. 

He affixes his most seductive smirk onto his face, stretching his arms over his head and arching his back enticingly. He can see the flush on her cheeks as she stumbles the rest of the way into the tent, falling to her knees by his hip and letting the tent fall closed behind her. 

Astarion trails his fingers down the center of his chest, watching her swallow thickly as he smirks and says, “Hello, darling. I thought I’d make myself a little more comfortable while I waited. You don’t mind, do you?”

She shakes her head, clearing her throat as she fixes her eyes determinedly on his face. “I — no, of course not, I just — I invited you over because I thought you might be hungry. It’s got to have been a week since the last time you drank, right?”

…wait.

What?

Astarion frowns, pushing himself into a sitting position as if being upright will help him hear her better. That… surely she didn’t invite him over so he could eat, right? That’s not… that doesn’t make sense. 

“I just needed to grab myself a snack and something to drink for afterwards,” she continues, gesturing to the things in her hands. Her eyes look into his imploringly, full of genuine, honest concern. “You must be starving. I’m sorry that I didn’t realize it sooner.”

He is — without words, for once. 

All he can do for a moment is gape at her, jaw hanging slack as she shuffles things around laying out a towel over her pillow and setting her snacks aside. He watches her tie her hair up into a bun high on her head, and then unbutton her top, slipping it off so she’s left only in her underthings. It’s not sexual, though, as she tosses the shirt aside and settles onto her back on the bedroll.

He still doesn’t know what to say, even as she gestures vaguely at her neck.

“Go on,” she says, smiling a little, “I’ll let you know when I start to feel woozy.”

Astarion tries to shake off the shock, reaching out to gently trace one of the jagged scars on her neck. “Are you sure?” he asks, eyes running over her pretty face, looking for any hesitation or uncertainty.

He finds nothing of the sort.

All his drow does is smile, nodding as she catches his hand in hers and presses a kiss to his fingers. In the low light, his eyes catch on the gentle thrum of her pulse in her neck, and the starving beast in the back of his mind starts to salivate at the sight. His fangs elongate uncomfortably in his mouth, and it takes all of his self control not to lunge at her. 

Instead, he shakes his head slightly and says, “You don’t have to do this. I don’t — I don’t need to —”

“No,” she says, shaking her head. “Don’t do that. You deserve to eat like everyone else.”

You deserve to eat.

His throat tightens something fierce at that, so much so that he doesn’t trust himself to say anything without his voice breaking. Instead of embarrassing himself further, he just lets his touch speak for him, brushing the backs of his knuckles across her cheek. She smiles and leans into the touch, and he’s sure the force behind the wave of affection that washes over him at the sight would have knocked him clean off his feet had he been standing. 

Touched and feeling more seen, more respected, than he ever has in his long, miserable life, Astarion does the only thing he can think to do.

He kisses her. 

And gods, the feeling of her kissing him back nearly steals the air from his lungs.

He lingers there for a long moment, trading short, soft kisses that slowly deepen, before he turns his attention elsewhere, kissing his way up her jawline and down her throat. He presses in close, laving open-mouthed kisses to the scars on her throat, a preemptive apology for the act that follows. With one more kiss, Astarion mumbles, “Thank you,” into her skin before he opens his mouth and sinks his teeth into her neck.

Her blood hits his parched tongue like the sweetest, freshest water. He hasn’t tasted her since that first night he nearly got himself staked trying to bite her in her sleep, and she is every bit as delicious as he remembers. Her blood is smooth and saccharine, reminiscent of the sweetest icewines from the Moonshae Isles, perfect for desserts and quenching even the deepest thirsts. He feels himself groan softly more than he hears it as the taste of her hits him, and he presses in closer, taking a deep drag as she arches under him, leaning into him with a mirroring sigh.

Just when he thought he couldn’t feel any more off-kilter, Miz’ri slips her fingers into the hair at the nape of his neck — not to tug or pull him away, but to caress. Her fingers play with the curls at his nape as he drinks, soft and sweet and full of so much affection that he finds himself melting into her. His body feels warmer than it has in a week as her blood pumps through his veins, and with her fingers running through his hair and her other hand running up his arm to wrap around his shoulders to pull him closer, he feels something dangerous.

Astarion wants to kiss her.

The urge nearly overwhelms him as she pulls him close, and it’s all he can do to hastily lick the wound on her neck closed and kiss his way back to her mouth, uncaring of the mess he’s leaving in the process. 

He has never felt anything as sweet as the feeling of being kissed by his drow, of being kissed by his Miz’ri. She grins into his lips as he kisses her, opening her mouth to welcome him when his tongue sweeps across the curve of her lower lip. The taste of her blood lingers on his tongue, he’s sure, but all she does is pull him closer. His head spins, something heady in the pure acceptance and affection he feels radiating from her with every press of her lips, every gentle touch of her fingers. 

For one long, beautiful moment, Astarion loses himself in the sensation of being seen and accepted, of being known and being loved. His fingers dig into the bedroll beneath her as he presses in as close as he possibly can, kissing her deep and hard, desperate to will her to feel how grateful he is and how — how happy she makes him.

His hand has started to wander down her side towards her trousers when she finally breaks the kiss, gasping and tilting her head away with a giddy laugh. She pushes some of his curls away from his eyes as he looks down at her, grinning with amusement and arching an eyebrow in question. 

“Let’s just kiss tonight,” she says, smoothing her thumb across the high arch of his cheekbone. “You don’t owe me anything for dinner.”

He should have known, looking back, that she had long-since noticed his aversion to sex, and that was why they’d only been intimate twice. In that moment, though, the thought doesn’t cross his mind — all he can do is grin and nod, brushing the tip of his nose against hers.

“As you wish, my sweet. Let me know if you change your mind.”

She snorts, giggling as he leans down and nuzzles his lips under her jaw, letting his breath tickle the sensitive skin below her ear. 

They spend the rest of the night trading kisses and talking quietly. At some point, they take to holding hands, fiddling with each others fingers as they tell stories in the dark. She tells him stories about her adventures before all of this, and he — well, they talk about their experiences since the nautiloid, mostly, when it’s his turn to tell something. At some point, he ends up with his face buried in her neck, arm thrown over her middle. They drift off to sleep as she traces little figures against the bare skin of his arm, both of them completely and utterly content.

And when he wakes the next morning, groggy but warm and deliciously sated, it’s hard for him to feel anything other than a nearly giddy sense of happiness, watching her doze in his arms.

Later, he’ll worry about how quickly and deeply he’s fallen for her. He’ll try to backpedal in his own mind — fighting viciously against the idea of giving someone else the ability to hurt him like that. He’ll lose that fight the next time she asks if he wants dinner, the next time he ends up in her arms with her fingers in his hair and his mouth on her throat.

Until then, he’ll lay here with his drow, thinking about how beautiful she is when she sleeps and losing himself in the unfamiliar warmth running through him.

[azsazz]

Clandestine Love

Rhysand x Reader

Summary: Anon Request: Can you do a fic where you and Rhys’s sister are best friends and Rhys wants you but you both know it’s a terrible idea but you do it anyway

Warnings: None

Word Count: 822

Notes: Wait because I kind of love these two...fkn hell 😮‍💨

_________________________________________

“Ara, wait up!” You screech, fisting your silky midnight blue skirts in your hands and taking off down the corridor after your friend, who’s cackling as she races towards the staircase.

The two of you had been granted permission from the Lady of Night to head out into the city in search of gowns for the upcoming Starfall party. You’d be accompanied of course by a few sentries, as your best friend – the daughter of the High Lord of the Night Court – wasn’t allowed to go anywhere without them.

You’d ditch the poor bastards assigned to tailing the two of you as soon as you arrived at the bustling streets of Velaris, you and Araphel would make sure of that.

Her head has just disappeared down the staircase when a hand shoots out from around the corner, grasping your arm and spinning you quickly into the warm, lean body of her older brother.

Rhysand.

Your heart races with excitement as he pulls you close, pressing you up against the wall behind. Your head is still dizzy from the twirl and when he settles a palm at the nape of your neck and stares down at you with those vibrant violet eyes, your mind clears, all his.

His other hand settles on your hip as he cranes down to nose at your throat, breathing in the night-kissed scent of your skin like a drug he’s been deprived of for centuries.

“Rhys,” you gasp softly, a warning, but it’s contradicted when you clutch at the lapels of his finely pressed jacket. “We can’t be doing this.”

“Relax, (Y/N),” he soothes, his lips against your neck sending shivers up your spine, “Ara is occupied with my father.”

You should be down there, getting the same lecture the both of you always have to endure before you go out into town alone. Stick with your chaperones, do not wander from the city, and always–

“Are you going to pick me out something nice?” the lordling purrs, tongue lapping at your creamy skin. Your hand snakes up the expensive fabric of his suit and slides around the nape of his neck so you can finger through the inky black tendrils of his hair.

You scoff, pinching at the skin on the base of his head playfully, “Not every female is vying for your attention or affections, Rhysand.”

The handsome heir hums in response, clearly amused. “You come in here looking like this,” he mouths over the tops of your exposed breasts and it takes all of your self control not to release the debauched noise that's working its way up your throat. “How can I not think that you’re trying to gain my attention?”

“I know it’s hard for you young males to keep your hands to yourselves and your cocks in your trousers,” you start and he groans. He’ll never forgive his sister for telling you about what he and his brothers would occasionally get up to with the females at the Illyrian camps, “But I have more posie than that.”

“Say cock again,” he begs, hands skimming down your body, thumbs brushing over the peaks of your nipples, eliciting a breathy gasp from you. The cheeky lordling tries to hike up the bottom of your dress but little sisters always ruin everything–

“(Y/N)?” Ara yells, voice carrying loudly through the otherwise empty halls.

“Coming,” you call over Rhys’ shoulder, tightening your hold on him slightly, unconsciously. You give him an apologetic look as he straightens to his full height, lifting your chin to gaze up at him. He looks disappointed, and although the both of you had agreed to be strictly friends, there was something between the two of you that couldn’t keep you away from each other.

“I’m sorry,” you murmur and he shakes his head, thumbing across your cheek.

“Don’t be. I’ve just missed you is all.”

“Maybe when I’m done picking out my Starfall dress and Ara has fallen asleep I’ll come give your cock my attention,” you suggest, lips ghosting across his own. You emphasize your words with a sneaky caress to his frontside, Rhys’ breath catching in his throat as his mulberry eyes widen, and then darken.

You try to slip away, wanting to leave him teeming with pleasure. It will make tonight so much better, but he catches you by the neck, twisting you around and pressing his lips against yours in a hot kiss that leaves your mouth tingling and your legs clenched tightly together. 

“That better be a promise, (Y/N),” he smirks, finally backing off a step from you, leaving the feeling of his fingers buzzing on your skin, electricity in your bones.

“I suppose you’ll have to find out,” you respond with a cutting smile all your own. Rhysands eyes twinkle with excitement, and the agreement goes unspoken as Araphel meets you on the landing, her brother winnowing away into shadows and darkness.

[toh-tagteam-au]

Tag Team AU Synopsis – Pre-Canon Events

Synopsis Masterpost Link

Next [Covention]

Alright! Let's get started. This is the beginning of a Very Boring Blow-By-Blow Explanation of the whole Tag Team AU.

Luz falls into the water of the Old Gravesfield cemetery at age 7. Her dad had just died a few days prior – noteworthy because she has not read the first Azura book yet. The water is infused with Titan’s blood, and she is shunted to the demon realm. 

Luz finds herself in the woods near the Emperor’s castle during a storm, and she quickly finds out this place is out to get her. She learns to run first and ask questions later, at least until a 9 year-old Hunter discovers her on a mission. The basilisks broke out during the storm, so the coven has all hands on deck hunting them down. 

Luz and Hunter quickly become friends, once Luz realizes he’s not going to eat her skin. Hunter sneaks her food during the next few days until actual coven scouts find her hiding out. They bring her back to the castle, thinking she’s a basilisk in disguise, and she is brought before Emperor Belos. Hunter sees her brought in, and quickly comes to her defense saying that she’s harmless. 

Belos, confronted with a human for the first time in centuries, immediately locks onto how quickly Hunter comes to her aid. Seeing an opportunity to maybe have a successful grimwalker clone of Caleb this time around, he takes Luz in and gives Hunter full responsibility for her, just as Caleb did for Philip. He lies and says he will look for a way to get Luz back home, but until then she has to keep the fact that she is human a secret – who knows what witches will do to her if they find out what she is.

Hunter does not take this well, and his and Luz’s relationship sours quickly as they’re forced to stay together.

It isn’t until Belos tells Luz around the one-year mark that it may be impossible for Luz to get back home, that Hunter and Luz start actually getting along – Hunter realizes how terrible he has been to her, and Luz starts putting down roots. It’s also around this time that Eberwolf meets Luz and gifts her Backup, the gildersnake. (He probably would have been named stringbean if I had written this part post season 3.)

Meanwhile, Vee successfully escapes the Emperor’s Coven on the day Luz arrives and eventually makes her way to Eda the Owl Lady, who takes her in. Eda worries about Vee being in danger in the Boiling Isles, especially with Eda’s not-very-low profile, and she doesn’t get a solution until one of her ventures into the human realm, where she is suddenly held at bat-point by Camila. 

Camila is heartbroken, having lost her husband and her daughter in the span of a week, and she still believes that Luz is still out there. Especially when she sees a strange woman appear in town doing strange things, and disappearing into a houseless door. After tracking her down to the old abandoned shack, she jumps Eda and demands/pleads for help finding her daughter in the witch’s world. Eda agrees to look for Luz, and asks for help with her Vee situation in return. They make a deal: Camila takes Vee in, and Eda comes by every week or so with updates on if she has found Luz + Vee’s magic food.

Back to the siblings: Luz has been raised as a scout alongside Hunter. She rediscovers Azura at age 10 (Hunter age 12), and organizes a small book club with other coven scouts. Through many shenanigans, it turns into a blown out shipping war that splits the coven apart for 3 months. It only ends when Belos publicly chastises Luz, restricts her creative work, and bans Azura from the castle.

(Link to the Azura Incident fanfic can be found here.)

Hunter, realizing the power and creativity that Luz has from this incident, confronts her. He’s been trying to think of a way to use wild magic to heal Belos, and he wants her help. She accepts immediately, because if there’s a way to save a father figure in her life she’s going to try her hardest. She eventually learns her first glyph with Hunter: Light. 

Over the course of the next few years, Luz and Hunter find the rest of the elemental glyphs, they are officially made into the Golden Guards, and they start experimenting with glyph combos. There’s the Iced-Over Conformatorium Incident, where they create the Super Glyph (the one Eda made in Escaping Expulsion) and have to deconstruct it under pressure while it takes over the Conformatorium, and the Smoke-Bomb Incident, where they try to combine different magic items with the smoke combo glyph to see if Belos could inhale their magic essence that way. They don’t get caught either time, but Lilith strongly suspects it’s them.

Hunter also gets his magic staff when he becomes a Golden Guard, although Luz is told she isn’t old enough to wield one yet. This holds up until she turns 14 – the same age Hunter was when he got his staff – and she is still told that she can’t have one. 

This is where the comic starts. You guys know this to a degree already. Luz and Hunter make a deal with Eda to learn wild magic. Hunter takes Luz’s place in canon, etc etc. Everything up until the end of Teenage Abomination was written in comic form which is WAY COOLER THAN THIS. IF YOU DONT KNOW WHATS GOING ON READ THE COMIC RIGHT NOW. HERE'S THE FIRST PART.

Next [Covention]

Synopsis Masterpost Link

[sweet-child-of-night]

Not sure if you are a fan of scifi but i have a prompt that relates to that : You're an immortal. She is a time traveller. Every now and then, you two pop into each other lives.

I watched mostly, since i would always forget the beginning and there would be no end, there was little else to do, living felt like playing a pawn in chess, just one step at a time however for a pawn like me death was uncertain. I had no effect and all my actions led to no consequences, anything i built faded away, anyone i met gone, it all seemed inconsequential. I have watched an endless ocean of humanity but none of them memorable.

Except for her.

There was always a "her." A woman who seemed to exist at the crossroads of history. I'd seen her in the shadow of the pyramids, amidst the chaotic streets of the French Revolution, even brushing shoulders with Einstein just before his groundbreaking discovery. Each encounter felt brief and tense, a missed connection in the grand tapestry of time.

The last time we met, it wasn't pleasant. else. She tried to kill me, I couldn't die. Let's just say the cobblestone streets of 18th-century Paris ran red that day. But death, for me, was more of an inconvenience than a threat. So, I decided to disappear, hoping it would appease her.

Now, here she was again. Sitting across from me at a quaint Parisian cafe, a stark contrast to our last encounter. Two shots of espresso, just like before, but her blonde hair seemed duller this time, and her usually bright eyes held a flicker of worry.

"So," I began, the clinking of spoons against porcelain the only sound, "what exactly are you?"

“I could ask you the same. No matter when I am, you look almost exactly how you did before."

“Well what can i say? I have a seven step skin care routine” i say “but seriously, are you like me?”

”what do you mean like you?” She reached for my espresso, taking a generous swig before I could protest.

"Immortal, I suppose. Are you the same?"

The smile vanished, replaced by a grimace. "Not quite. I am an associate of temporal continuum task force, we mend inconsistencies in time."

Intrigue pricked at my jaded soul. "So like a plumber?”

She sighed, snatching my napkin and wiping a speck of coffee from her lip. "Well, we mend tears in time, historical injuries that threaten the flow of things. Consider us like time doctors”

"It's not exactly fixing things," she continued, her voice catching. "We can't rewrite history. But we can nudge it, prevent catastrophes that would unravel the fabric of time."

A sardonic chuckle escaped my lips. "Uh huh. Figures why you're always lurking around during pivotal moments."

Her eyes widened in surprise. "Oh! You remember me?"

"Hard to forget the face of the assassin who tried to snuff me out," I replied with a wry laugh. The memory still sent a phantom tingle up my spine, but time had dulled the sharp edge of betrayal.

"Ugh, about that," she mumbled, cheeks flushing a charming shade of crimson as she averted her gaze. "Knowing what you know now, maybe it's a little more understandable?"

I waved a dismissive hand. "No worries, love. Water under the bridge. Besides," I leaned back, a chuckle rumbling in my chest, "18th century France wasn't exactly a picnic. French or you, someone was probably going to send me to meet the business end of a guillotine."

A tense silence stretched between us, thick with the unspoken weight of our past encounters. I could practically see the gears turning in her head, piecing together the fragments of our bizarre, time-hopping connection. We both nursed lukewarm coffee, the steam curling skyward like unspoken thoughts.

Finally, unable to contain my curiosity any longer, I broke the silence. "So, spill it. Something big's brewing today, isn't it?"

“Yeah there is a tear nearby, I must mend it in time or we lose billions of lives to this monstrosity” she scoffed, a glint of disgust in her eyes.

The weight of her words settled on me like a leaden cloak. She wasn't just an observer; she was a guardian angel. "Sounds...pretty cool…not the tear but your dedication to saving lives" I managed, the words feeling pathetically inadequate next to the weight of her mission.

A genuine smile, tinged with sadness, broke through her worry. "Yeah, it can be. It's what keeps me going."

Suddenly, her watch beeped, a harsh sound severing the fragile connection.

"Damn," she muttered, downing the rest of my espresso in one go. "I have to go. There's a tear in a few hours, and..."

without even realising, i extended my hand holding hers. It was delicate and tender "Let's talk about something else," I blurted, desperate to hold onto this unexpected moment of connection. "Anything but this mission."

She paused, surprised. "You sure? You have questions, right?"

"Yes, but they can wait? You look…burdened."

She didn’t say a word but sat down in front of me again, looking into her eyes made me feel the same way when i had my first bite of that frozen desert.

“Where are you from” i asked in a gentle whisper

"The end of time…”

"Lonely, isn't it?" I said, my voice surprisingly steady. “carrying this weight of an entire universe on her shoulders.”

“It's sorta lonely, I'll admit. We know nothing more is going to happen, ever. Almost takes the fun away from living. But! I get to experience so many different time periods. I get to meet new people, see new things, explore SO many different worlds, so it makes up for it…”

"Sometimes," she continued,"when I have the free time, I like to go out to a nice little spot, a couple of millennia ahead of here and a couple of galaxies away, to this beautiful little ocean planet. There's so many wonders there; I never get tired of looking at it."

She smiled at me, probably happy that she had an equal to talk to in one of these time periods.

"I hope I get to see it one day," I said with a wink.

A small beep interrupted us again, She looked down at her wrist, noting the time.

"I must leave. It'll be soon, and I need to be in position."

I wasn't finished. I wanted to talk more.

"You gonna come around some more? Maybe come by for a chat when you have the free time?"

"Yeah...I'll save your coordinates.”

Her fingers danced across a sleek, metallic device strapped to her wrist, a flurry of light swirling around it for a moment. Locking eyes with me,

"Didn't think about it, but you must get lonely too," she admitted, her voice softer than the whisper of forgotten stars. "Living through all these centuries...makes sense why you'd want someone who gets it."

She waved goodbye, and that was the last I saw of her.

————————

That was...the last I saw of her. Ever. I get the feeling something bad happened that day. It was huge. All over the news. Something about a bunch of bombs...cleared out about 30 city blocks. It's -- I can't get it off my mind. I've had eons to think about this. Literal eons. I watched the world end. I watched the galaxy end. I witnessed the eventual heat death of the universe, and here I am, and I still can't stop thinking about it.

The man across from me drilled his eyes into mine, his gaze as sharp as a shard of obsidian. He continued typing entire detail about in his device

"It checks out, that's for sure. You've..." The guy laughs. "You've really come a long way. I just can't wrap my head around why this woman would stick in your mind for so long."

I don't know either. There's something nagging at me, some bit of the puzzle I need to make sense of. Something she said.

"Look, she said -- she said that you guys were like time engineers or something."

The guy corrects me “time doctors”. He's heard this before. He knows.

"And you guys are supposed to help patch up time. She's been doing a lot of patching. If my memory holds, she's been doing a lot of patching. And I've been doing a lot of living."

I think I know.

"Maybe it's my turn. Maybe there's an injury in time that I'm supposed to heal.

The guy nods at me. He sees sense.

"Well just so you know she left on that exact same mission you talked about maybe two hours ago. I mean she might even be trying to kill you as we speak but i can put you down on her coordinates at...” he flicked some switches on his device which is wrapped around his wrist “well mister i hope you are wrong about it”

I hope I'm wrong too. In case I'm not, then I can do more this time. I know more now.

And if I fail?

I think I won't mind seeing another few eons to have another crack at it…..

[jaguarys]

The first few weeks, the new one moves on autopilot.

Halcyon has seen it before. He's used to it, the ways in which their body moves while their brain is still waking up.

This one hadn't been dead for long. It made it easier, he was sure, to readjust.

He hadn't grown attached, not in the way Galatée had. He was all too used to following a lead their mother had set for them, only to abandon it once the timeline had changed too much, once it was no longer deemed important. Their mother's interest was like the sun and just as all-consuming, but as soon as it was pulled away it wouldn't return. And it had been centuries, after all. People didn't live that long, and points of interest didn't either.

Galatée was pleased to finally see results. She was glad to have another, or at least in the selfish ways they both were for company other than each other.

Halcyon couldn't quite say. In some small ways, he did find himself drawn to the newcomer.

They'd followed him so long. Halcyon was well past feeling in any small way guilty for interfering, pulling strings here and there to make sure this person was there, that person said that. If it led to Mother's goals, if it helped her, it was worth it.

And even still... Danaël was theirs. Perhaps he had not known them, but they knew him. It was a small reward, after all this, for him to know them.

Slowly, the newcomer woke. Slowly, he started to take it in.

>> 

Halcyon had been in their mother's service for so long, now, these thousands of years. He didn't remember what it had been like, to wake. He could hardly remember his death, after so much time.

He doesn’t know when he realized. When the fog cleared from his head enough to realize he didn’t quite know why this was so important, why Mother was so important, why he was following her at all.

The fog comes and goes. There are moments when it recedes, when it really and truly disappears and he hates it all. He had earned his death; he was, in the end, angry it had been taken from him.

Mother was an all-consuming force. She was their sun. They rotated around her like moons around a planet. Hiding anything from her, even just his own thoughts, felt blasphemous.

But he did. In some small corner of his mind, he hid the truth: that he still had thoughts at all.

He didn’t remember who he’d been. He wasn’t sure if any vestige, any tidbit of personality, any memory belonged to the man who’d died, or if like clay he’d been reshaped by his mother’s hands.

Suns can’t always shine. And so, slowly, over the centuries, he shaped his own clay and scraped together pieces of his mind.

He forgot much, after thousands of years. He always remembered Galatée, always remembered the thrill at having another. It was easier once she joined, pulled out of her grave same as he was his. Not just because Mother’s attention was divided—though that counted for plenty.

It took nearly a hundred years for her to pull out of her fugue. It took even longer for the two of them to realize they were the same.

Fighting their own brains was difficult enough, the compulsion to submit, follow, love. Mother was as much themselves as they were, pouring into each nerve and orifice and pulsing in their blood. There was hardly any space for each other, but they carved it out of themselves.

It was exchanged near silently, hideous, blasphemous words whispered against cold, undead skin. Lips pressed to cheeks in moments stolen between missions. Promises their minds were, in some small way, their own and each other’s as much as they were Mother’s. Promises her love was not all-consuming.

Slowly, in their orbits, they circled one another as much as their sun.

>> 

Galatée never gave up hope they would find a way out. She never said as such—that was much too far. But he knew, much as anything real they knew was silent.

Maybe that was why she took such a shine to Danaël. Maybe she hoped if he was the answer to Mother, he could be the answer to them, too.

He’d had thousands of years to hope, and he wasn’t the type for it, anyways. He didn’t dare. He didn’t dare think Danaëlwas the answer to anything at all.

>> 

Asgaroth was always different from the rest. That does not mean Halcyon didn't love him, much as he loved Galatée, much as he would come to love Danaël.

Maybe some part of him always knew Asgaroth was not real. He never truly knew, not logically, not as such. But his instincts knew.

Halcyon never spoke with Asgaroth in the ways he did with Galatée. He never trusted him in the same ways. He never bared his matching soul.

He never spoke the truth.

Maybe he knew. Maybe he just wanted to pretend he didn’t. It was much easier to love someone who wasn’t there than admit they weren’t.

>> 

It takes nearly a year until Halcyon is sure Danaëlis really, truly awake.

It’s new. It’s exciting. It’s been centuries since they’ve had another. No matter that skin is cold, clammy, undead. No matter the eyes are only just starting to feel like they belong to a real person. No matter Mother’s hold is stronger on their newest. He still belongs to them.

He hadn’t realized, the way that lack had grated. It had been the same, with Galatée, with Asgaroth. He never really notices how much he hates the absence until it's gone, like a leftover sort of pain, like an old wound.

The Dynaméis are limbs of a body, Mother's hands. They're parts of an entity. Their minds are facets of her own.

Halcyon stretches into Danaël like exploring a newly healed limb.

>> 

And he’s different. From the very beginning, he’s different. Or so Galatée says, anyways. Halcyon thinks it may just be confirmation bias and more of that damned hope.

At the corners of Halcyon's mind, he feels shiny, smooth, like the gold of their weapons and the glow of the halos above their heads.

He feels like surfacing after a dive, like suddenly clear vision after thousands of years. He feels like seaglass. He feels like polished marble.

Mother's influence feels even more stifling in comparison, newly suffocating in ways it already was before.

And maybe they grow too bold. Soon after they're sure he's fully there, Galatée starts pressing.

At first, it’s ignored. For nearly too long, nearly long enough that Halcyon’s almost convinced her to give it up before she catches Mother’s attention.

And then it's there. Then, Halcyon feels it, the subtle brush across his mind, Danaël's cold and gentle hand.

Danaël is theirs, much as anything can be theirs and not Mother's. Slowly, thought by thought, they steal him away.

>> 

            They tell Danaël, in stops and starts and whispers shared between them in every hidden moment, about it all. About Mother’s hands woven in the tapestry of his life.

            It is, of course, hard. Their minds are not meant to accept anything against her. None of them want to remember the truth.

            And so they repeat it. Over and over. Through hands in hands, through interlocked fingers, through whispers murmured in the night, they repeat it.

            Touch is theirs. Touch belongs to them. Even when their thoughts are stolen, when their hands are stolen, when their lives and deaths are stolen. And they give it.

>> 

Then comes the exodus.

As they get closer, Halcyon feels the tendrils curl tighter and tighter, feels Mother’s influence creep in even more. He feels his mind slipping away from him, devotion, love, obedience replacing any rational thought.

Halcyon is under no naïveté that it's anything than the last pieces sliding into the puzzle. He wishes they had any puzzle at all. He wishes they weren't pieces on Mother's game of chess. He wishes he wasn't merely a pawn cast off the board as soon as he was no longer of use.

He wishes, paradoxically, that they’d had more time. He wishes it weren’t nearing the end, now that it is.

[saiakv]

❛  i need more time to think about what i want.  ❜

THE SPACE BETWEEN EACH MEET-UP HAS BEEN arranged around a hundred years - a century may be skipped at times, when Kenjaku disappears from the face of the earth for a little while. And each time she finds them, with the same persistence a bird picks at the ground with to unearth the worm. Currently, it was lurking in the bowels of Tōdai-ji temple, where the faithful have gathered fruit and wines to lay before the dedicated statue. An alarming expression cast down on its lacquered visage bares an odd reminiscence to the one on Kenjaku's own features as she sits by the offerings, legs crossed under the flowy robes. She is adorned with gold chains around her veil, and they sit atop the stitch marks as though to embellish them.

The scar has almost melded into her skin. Kenjaku has been living as a Bodhisattva here for the last century, after all. That, too, adds to the note of impatience and the click of their tongue.

❝ Oh, you're slower than pond water. ❞ Comes the retort. She gets up with a huff, bracelets and bead-necklaces orchestrating her frustration as she pats the long robes back down into place. This discussion has been brewing for the last couple of times they've met up, ever since Kenjaku walked away from the compound. Or rather, walked into a new life alltogether. Their faith to Tengen's scripture died with that first transition - the first time they realized that they held the power to deny the natural order of jujutsu. To defeat death; that would be enough to broaden anyone's horizons. Tengen is different - death is not going to come for her. Maybe it's the fact Tengen never quite won over it yet that has placed them in such different mindsets over the years. Still, Kenjaku can't help but experience the same frustration they did back when that conversation was first held.

❝ Tell me, do you enjoy waking up every morning and having your acolytes prepare your tea for you and comb your hair on the porch, same as they did a hundred years ago? Do you find some comfort in the repetition? ❞ Caustic commentary falls over the golden platters as she descends the stairway and comes to stand beside her taller counterpart. They have met her at different heights, from different angles, through different eyes — but the sight is never any less mesmerizing. In spite of being very disillusioned now compared to back then, Kenjaku still sees the enthralling aspects of Tengen's visage that have lead lesser minds to worship her for her purity alone.

The expression softens - hands dyed with ceremonial tar at the fingertips reach out to take Tengen's own ( in other times, they had bigger palms that could fit hers comfortably within them, but in this body that was stolen from a temple maiden, they have naught but slender fingers and soft, creamy skin that hasn't seen toiling under the sun ) There's charcoal painted over their brows, kohl around the eyes, white cream paste on the face and dark cherry lips that exaggerate the pensive expression when they look up to her with a rare spark of sentiment.

❝ Look -- I consider you my one and only friend still. So consider this a wake up call. You don't have as much time as you think. If you are ever going to be a mother, Master Tengen, your time is now. And I can help you. ❞

[trickstarbrave]

i will never turn down the chance to make nerevar sad

based on my idea from yesterday, which was inspired by shamat and riiju-lei from @mulberrycafe. dragonborn reincarnation of voryn dagoth out in the world, though so far it's really nerevar centric........ maybe that will change maybe not. (the db's name will be seryn tho i did actually name him)

--

Nerevar approached the statue of Azura cautiously, anxiety bubbling away in him the moment the ordinators told him the Lady of Twilight was summoning him.

He’d walked so long as Nerevar he became Nerevar in body as well, fully assuming his identity as chimer king once more. “A gift” Azura called it the last time he spoke with her and he held his tongue. 

It was more of a curse as far as he was concerned. 

Was it not enough that he lost everything? Assumed the role of Nerevar to slay Dagoth Ur? Then he was tasked with bringing back worship of the Good Daedra, taking control of the temple, never to return to the life he lived before he was arrested and shipped off to Morrowind. Now he couldn’t even wear this incarnation’s face and his dunmeri skin, all the while he silently mourned all he lost as Nerevar as well. 

He had no friends or spouse after all. Closest thing he had was the wizard Divayth Fyr but well…. Time had warped the Telvanni mage as it does all things. He got harsher, cared less for people around him, more insular as he retreated into his studies. Nerevar didn’t really enjoy his company much anymore given he was only really interested in studying corprus or how his skin changed back to chimeri gold. 

But there was no use complaining about it, especially not to Azura. The dunmer needed him, as she said, and he was the only one who could lead them. All he could hope for was that in a few centuries he could disappear quietly like Vivec did and die in peace. 

“Ah, my champion.” Her voice was loving and overjoyed, as Nerevar found himself cloaked in violet light the moment he blinked, the statue now seemingly coming to life. 

“You summoned me, Lady Azura?” He smiled back, willing the feeling of love to bubble away in his heart rather than despair and anxiety. Hopefully what she tasked him with now would be something simple, or even better--she’d tell him he did enough as leader of the dunmer and could finally leave to die alone somewhere quietly. 

“Indeed,” She began, “It’s important news, one you should hear from me directly.” He waited with baited breath, unable to guess what she needed to tell him. There were too many options after all, and as kind as she could be when she played favorites, she was still a daedric prince one needed to show caution with. 

“The sharmat’s reincarnation walks the earth again.” All of the blood in Nerevar’s veins froze in an instance.

“... What…?” Dagoth Ur was back? But Nerevar cut him off from the heart! Red Mountain erupted, burying the thing in rock once again! 

“He doesn’t yet walk as Dagoth Ur.” Azura clarified. “But he carries with him Voryn Dagoth’s soul, in hope of redemption.” Azura continued, though it still didn’t settle well with Nerevar. 

“You know what must be done.” Azura warned him now, stroking his hair affectionately. Nerevar in turn stared up at her in confusion. 

“What must be done…?” She wasn’t asking him to kill someone just by virtue of being Dagoth Ur’s reincarnation, could she? Of the Three she was mercy, not senseless violence. 

She then smiled even more lovingly, despite all the worry and pain on Nerevar’s face. 

“I know what you must be thinking, and no, I am not asking you to kill him.” Azura stroked his cheek now. “His soul wants redemption, Hortator. See to it he does not fall to the heart’s influence again, and the two of you can make up for the past.” She then kissed his forehead. “This is my gift to you.” 

And then he was in the temple room once more, empty with just a statue looking at him and a heavy feeling in his chest. 

In the days that followed he thought over the conversation he had with Azura, trying to make sense of it with all he knew. Voryn’s reincarnation was alive and walking Nirn just like Nerevar did. Nerevar needed to see to it that he didn’t fall to the heart of Lorkhan’s influence once again and mantled Dagoth Ur to repeat all the strife and disease that the sharmat brought. And make up for the past….

It took several weeks, but Nerevar believed he finally understood what she was saying.

In the past, in his first lifetime, Nerevar was… Well, he was a good king, but not necessarily a good friend or spouse. He was headstrong, pushed until he got what he wanted, determined to a fault. At times he could even be quite cruel and ruthless, as that came with the territory of having to protect your position as king when someone came from as low of a background as he did. He kept secrets, lied, cheated, stole, whatever he could to get the throne.

For most of his life that he knew Voryn Dagoth, he considered Voryn his closest friend. More than that, he considered Voryn the love of his life, though he never had the nerve to pursue him. So many nights they stayed up late drinking, and he told Voryn so many secrets he’d never tell another soul. So many nights he spilled his heart to Voryn, being vulnerable with him, seeking comfort, everything except confessing the full extent of his feelings. 

And Nerevar, fool that he was, thought on some level Voryn felt the same way. Maybe not that he romantically loved Nerevar in return--that was asking for too much--but he thought that, at the very least, Voryn considered him a friend. That the nights they shared secrets, Voryn was being just as vulnerable as Nerevar, confessing things to him and him alone. That when he greeted Nerevar with a warm smile, that spark in his eyes was genuine and true. 

In hindsight that was rather foolish of Nerevar, but if he was anything it was a fool. Voryn was known for being secretive, lying, and manipulative. He cared about his house and his house alone. Why would Nerevar be an exception? The only difference Nerevar had from anyone else was that he was easier for Voryn to manipulate; all he had to do was act the part of a kind and loyal friend and Nerevar would unthinkingly spill all of his secrets and hopes and dreams. He helped Nerevar become king because it was advantageous for House Dagoth and nothing more. Only his ‘friendship’ with Nerevar got him more than he bargained for. 

At times, Nerevar had to make deals and negotiations that weren’t advantageous to House Dagoth, because as king he couldn’t play favorites. Voryn had assured him there were no hard feelings, but resentment continued to bubble away inside him as he was giving more than he was getting out of their friendship. Then Voryn’s brother, Gilvoth, threatened Nerevar at a party and Nerevar had to make a big show out of it to keep his power. He had to threaten him and Voryn. He had to seriously contemplate what sort of punishment to give the older mer, if he should cut off Gilvoth’s hands and fine House Dagoth. Nerevar didn’t want to necessarily; Gilvoth had only threatened him because he believed Nerevar was taking advantage of Voryn and said as much, and as angry as it made Nerevar he couldn’t shake that what Gilvoth said was true. Voryn, however, assured Nerevar he was loyal to Nerevar and Nerevar alone and nothing the other could do could possibly be taking advantage of him. It was likely just a ploy to get him to go easy on his brother, but it worked. He let Gilvoth off with an exile of a few years, purposefully not looking into it afterwards to see if House Dagoth was secretly helping him out or not when he should have been suffering alone and fighting to survive. 

And when they found the heart, all the lies were exposed. Voryn betrayed him, using the tools when Nerevar warned him not to. He was at least semi-lucid, no matter how mad with power he had become.  And Nerevar, idiot that he was, thought that confessing his love for Voryn might bring him back. Might convince him to put the tools down and return to his side. That Nerevar had no intention of leaving him to rot, but that he trusted Voryn with the tools more than anyone because he trusted his heart with the other just the same. 

And Voryn, no longer needing to use kind words and play along with Nerevar’s foolish selfishness, laughed loudly. 

“You love me?” Voryn nearly choked on his laughter. “I’m surprised a man like you even thinks himself capable of love!” Nerevar’s heart stopped hearing that, crumbling in on itself as he felt cold and hollow despite the heat of the heart chamber around him. “As if I ever wanted your heart. As if I ever wanted that disgusting thing you call ‘love’.” Another sharp pain went through Nerevar’s chest like he was being stabbed. “Did you think of me as a lovesick fool? Did you believe I would rush to your side and beg for forgiveness if you offered me your heart?” Guilt hit him next as he tried in vain to swallow the lump in his throat. 

“You are the fool here, Nerevar. A stupid, almost pitiful fool. As though using me for centuries and then leaving me here to rot wasn’t enough, you genuinely thought I would want the disgusting affection you offer me?” Nerevar opened his mouth to retort, but no sound came out beyond a broken sob at the cutting words. “The only thing you can offer me of value here is your death.” 

Again, hindsight made it clear just how stupid of a decision it was to make. Why would offering his heart to Voryn make any difference? Voryn ‘betrayed’ Nerevar only because he was tired of being used and abused by him. Tired of playing along with his foolish plans and suffering the consequences. Even though using the heart was a fatal mistake that would eventually warp him into the monster known as Dagoth Ur, he had initially done it to protect his house. A house that fell alongside Voryn, scattered from persecution and having to give up their identity just to escape with their lives. In honor of Voryn he tried to spread the history of the sixth house so they could be mourned properly, but descendants were slow to come forward, terrified of the bigotry and violence they would face. 

Azura told him of this reincarnation for a reason. Nerevar can’t truly undo all the harm he caused Voryn in the past, but he might be able to make right by him this time around. He could ensure he didn’t fall to the temptation of the heart all over again. And he could make sure Voryn was safe and well protected this time around without selfishly shoving his feelings onto him like he did in the past. Nerevar was doomed to his fate, but Voryn didn’t have to be. 

Nerevar could make things right. He will make things right. 

He had to. 

--

“Are you certain it will work?” Nerevar questioned, holding the mask of Dagoth Ur once more. Powerful magic was cast on it, various seals stuck to it to keep the influence contained.

“Yes yes,” Divayth Fyr rolled his eyes, “I am positive.” He scoffed at the very notion it would fail. “More certain than even the potion I gave you could resolve your little corprus problem.” Nerevar’s eyebrow twitched at that, but he held his tongue. “I’ve done so much work with corprus I understand Dagoth Ur’s magical essence very well. The ritual will banish him and free any incarnation from the heart’s influence.” 

He had been working on this frankly monumental task with Divayth for several years now, and it was a relief it was finally done. He resisted the urge to run his hands across the golden mask that looked so much like Voryn’s face, trying to bury the romantic feelings deep into the pit of oblivion that had made its home in his heart. 

“Though I must warn you,” Divayth began with a sigh, “Given how long Voryn’s soul has been warped by the heart and taken in by Dagoth Ur, it will likely banish him as well.”

“What do you mean by that?” Nerevar question with a raised eyebrow. “You said the incarnation would be safe.”

“The reincarnation will be safe, yes.” Divayth clarified. “He will continue living on as whatever identity and life he made himself out to be.” He looked away briefly, not meeting Nerevar’s eyes. “But all of Voryn’s memories will likely be banished with Dagoth Ur’s influence all the same.” A heavy feeling settled in Nerevar’s stomach, as his grip on the mask tightened. “The man you knew as Voryn Dagoth will be gone with Dagoth Ur.”

“... That’s… Probably for the best.” Nerevar admitted with a sigh, tucking the mask away into his bag. 

“Hortator,” Divayth began, but Nerevar interrupted him.

“My goal was to ensure Dagoth Ur doesn’t return.” He continued. “Making sure corprus doesn’t spread anymore takes top priority, as I’m sure you understand.” The mage’s mouth formed a firm, straight line. “And if the price is just the reincarnation’s past life memories… Well, that is relatively cheap, all things considered.” 

“But Voryn was your good friend.”

“Was.” Nerevar clarified. “Voryn Dagoth has been dead for thousands of years.” It was the truth, however much it hurt him. “Voryn deserves a peaceful rest. All of the bad memories will fade, and the incarnation won’t even need to mourn losing any good ones. He’ll be free of the past, able to start with a clean slate.” 

Gods know Nerevar wished he had been given that chance. That he didn’t have to become Nerevar entirely. What could the dunmer Nerevarine have accomplished if he was free? Able to travel and see the world? Able to leave the past that was haunting him behind him? 

“... At least promise me this will be a last resort for you.” 

“But Dagoth Ur--”

“Azura said the incarnation didn’t walk as Dagoth Ur yet, didn’t she?” Divayth countered. “The ritual might be very painful and difficult for him. It will force him to confront Dagoth Ur, and even though it will give him the tools needed to push him away, it will still hurt him.” Nerevar couldn’t argue with that logic. As much as he wanted to free the reincarnation, he didn’t want to hurt him either. “Only use it if you must.” 

“... Fine.” Nerevar sighed, turning to leave with a levitation potion in hand. “Only as a last resort.”

[swanimagines]

Hiii, can I request E12 with Alina Starkov please?

Prompt: E12. Sitting by the fire

A/N: I was supposed to publish something else entirely next for a character I last wrote a piece for 4 years ago, but it's Jessie's birthday so I'm publishing this Alina piece instead 🥳

Every year on Alina’s birthday, you went out to set up a camp in the forest over the weekend. It had become a habit since the Darkling died, you didn’t even really know where the idea came from. It just popped into your head one day, a day of relaxing together with your girlfriend. It didn’t have anything special arranged, just being and enjoying each other.

This night was colder than usual at this time of the year, so you set up a fireplace. The fire wouldn’t agree to light up at first, making you struggle, but finally you got it to work and soon, you were adding logs as the flame grew bigger. You sat back, staring into the flames for a moment and then turning your head to look at Alina.

She had wrapped herself up in a thick blanket, and the sight made you chuckle a little.

“I take it you’re cold?” you mumbled, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. 

She nodded. “My past Sun Summoner powers don’t really warm me up anymore, it feels like I’m much more easily cold now.”

You sighed, pulling her against you, rubbing her back and side. “Hopefully we’ll be able to sleep at night. Maybe we should have pushed this back.”

She glanced up at you. “No, it's fine. With you here, I think I can manage.”

You grinned and kissed her forehead, pulling her head to rest against your chest. She closed her eyes and you sat in silence for a moment.

“I’m glad we do this, every year,” she mumbled against your shirt. “Coming here, spending the night here. Just simply being, relaxing. Knowing we can have moments like this, me, you, and the silence.”

“Me too. I always look forward to your birthday because of this.” You laughed a little. “I don’t know if that’s silly.”

Alina shook her head, shifting slightly so she could look up at you. “No, not really. We both need this day.”

You hummed, glancing at the sunset that had already started to disappear under the dark blue sky. “It’s later than we planned. We should probably retreat to the tent soon.”

“Not yet,” Alina mumbled. “Just a moment more. Let’s wait until the fire dies down.”

You sighed, but complied. “All right. But only because you’re the birthday girl.”

She let out a soft laugh, more like a snort, before she fell quiet again. The fire still crackled in front of you, illuminating Alina’s face as her breathing slowed down, and you barely kept in a laugh yourself. Getting her up to get to the tent would be its own challenge, one you weren’t particularly eager to conquer. She was a major sleepyhead with you. But to be honest, you weren’t minding it, not really. You could pretend you were, but having her there, against you, feeling her breathing… it reminded you how lucky you were. To get to be with her after all those battles, neither of you had died. Even when you’d grow old and fragile while she remained young for centuries, these moments would be cherished til the end of times.

The fire was slowly dying down, its warmth waning. Alina was already asleep against you, and you knew that you should wake her up in a moment. But, just a moment longer, you chose to sit there and let her rest.

You cupped the back of her head as you brought your lips against his hair. A moment longer, you promised yourself. The temperature was quickly going down, and your skin was already getting goosebumps. It was uncomfortable in a way, but at the same time having Alina next to you like this was addicting, and you wanted to prolong it for as long as possible.

But eventually, the embers were dimming down, and the cold started to be unbearable. You stroked her hair. “Alina,” you whispered against her hair. “Alina, it’s time to go to the tent.”

She stirred, whining slightly, but you shook her, first gently, then with slightly more force. She sighed and opened her eyes, looking around. “Sorry.”

You chuckled and shook your head. “Let’s go before I freeze.”

“I didn’t mean to fall asleep on you like that,” she mumbled, letting you help her stand up.

“It’s your birthday, you can sleep against me all you want. But let’s just do it inside the tent, where I won’t freeze.”

She hummed, a tired smile spreading on her face. You crouched down to gather the few things you had with you by the campfire — your shared flask, her gloves and the book she had been reading while you struggled with lighting up the fire. You stomped on the embers a few times, hearing the lingering fire hiss, before you turned and took Alina’s hand.

The tent you had wasn’t anything fancy, nothing you could see a literal Saint to sleep in. Alina still didn’t think of herself as a Saint, but that’s what she was in the eyes of the world, and it was a running joke in between you, even when it annoyed Alina sometimes. A few blankets, pillows, thin mattresses. Just a regular tent.

Alina plopped down on the mattress as you zipped the tent back up and by the time you turned, she was already snuggling beneath the sheets, in the progress of taking off her dress. 

You undressed as well and soon made your way beside her, shifting close to her once you both laid down. You tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear again, smiling. No words were needed at that moment, you both knew what the other would say if you spoke. And besides, you were both too tired to talk. She blinked at you slowly as she struggled to keep her eyes open, before shifting again, until she was pressed against you, her face in the crook of your neck. You put your arm around her waist, waiting for a moment again.

“Good night,” she mumbled finally against your skin, and you smiled, running your hand up and down his back once.

“Happy birthday, Alina.”

[megan0013]

5 is totally fallout so I would like another snippet of my favorite fic of yours...continuing from where barb actually gets the chance to tell Walt

from this prompt list: one night stand and falling pregnant au

(this probably isn't what you were looking for, but i'll totally get to the actual conversation between barb and strickler at some point)

here we have an au of an au, wherein barb manages to tell strickler he knocked her up (with jim) before he leaves the country -

The last thing Nomura expects to find upon slipping into Strickler’s townhouse at six o’clock one random weekday morning is a rather attractive redhead standing in his kitchen with a cup of coffee in her hand and an obnoxiously thick textbook propped up on the island in front of her. Her hair is pulled back into a messy ponytail and she’s got incredibly bright blue eyes, and the changeling is really starting to think she’s broken into some young coed’s place by mistake when Strickler, himself, suddenly appears at the woman’s side.

“That one had better be decaf,” he says, smiling affectionately as he leans forward to nuzzle his nose against the pale skin just under the redhead’s left ear.

Nomura arches a brow. In all the centuries she’s known him, she doubts she’s ever seen him smile like that at another person.

“I’m drinking half and half.” The woman’s chin tilts, but her eyes never leave the page she’s reading from. “Don’t worry. It’s only my second.”

“It sounds like you’ve been up a while.”

 “About an hour.”

“That’s a long time to be on your feet, my love.”

Somehow, Nomura’s eyebrows manage to completely disappear under her bangs. Strickler? Using terms of endearment? No way.

“I know you have a test coming up,” Strickler continues as he presses a trail of kisses down a slender neck to the sharp collarbone peaking out from under one of his old t-shirts. “but maybe you could take a short break? I’d make it worth your while.”

A content hum echoes through the large kitchen and Strickler’s whatever finally turns toward him, giving Nomura a very different view of her physique. One that is, quite obviously, pregnant.

“Oh, no shit.”

The words escape before she can stop them, and Nomura’s hands fly to her cover mouth as the couple jerk their gazes in her direction. An uncomfortable silence settles over them as Nomura’s eyes dart from the woman’s confused frown to Strickler’s horrified expression and back again.

“Um, hello.” The redhead is the first to recover. “Is there something we can help you with?”

Nomura blinks.

“Okay. Um, Walt? Do you know this person?”

It takes several seconds, apparently, for Strickler’s brain to process the predicament he’s just found himself in before he clears his throat and nods. “Uh, yes,” he says slowly. “Yes, darling. This is Nomura. My, er, sister? Sort of. Nomura, this is my…”

“Barbara.” She rolls her eyes and gingerly disentangles herself from Strickler, careful not to bump her bump against the countertop as she steps around the island. “I’m his Barbara. It’s nice to meet you, Nomura.”

“You,” Nomura reaches her hand out uncertainly, “too.”

They shake quickly but Barbara, sensing the awkward tension between the two, doesn’t stick around after. “I’m gonna go study upstairs for a bit,” she says, going up on her tiptoes to kiss Strickler’s cheek before grabbing her textbook and coffee off the island. “Let me know if you need anything, okay?”

His gaze dips briefly to meet hers, and Nomura can’t help but notice how their fingers have somehow found a way to twine together over her belly during the short exchange. She’s gone a moment later, disappearing up the old wooden staircase with obvious familiarity.

“Fuck, Stricklander,” Nomura hisses the second she hears the bedroom door creak shut. “What did you do?"