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#OLD CORPSE ROAD
corpseroadking · 7 months
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kinda crazy that the members of gangsey all thought they were going to be the one to kill gansey
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cascadiums · 2 years
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love our fleet-footed weather reporter. I'm sure he's out-of-his depth with the ghost ship debacle but he's keeping the local news grounded by getting quotes from all the local gossips
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frogspawned · 1 year
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hellwalk... 2!!  begins auspiciously enough. i bear spray myself in the car. this is the second time this has happened, and the third shall happen very shortly. i roll down the windows, standing like a sad idiot in the pouring rain with my dogs, waiting for it to dissipate enough to be bearable. my hands are burning and my nose runs continuously. i take out the cans to stall for time with the dogs, who are trembling with excitement to Go Somewhere. freya (derogatory), who has recently discovered she can run to the neighbor’s yard, sprints to the edge of the road just to make me shout. this is a new fun game! i wish i had never stopped gaslighting her that the road is a lava.
we arrive at destination one, wherein i find a pile of discarded, filthy clothes, an awl, and a tackle box of some sort suspiciously discarded behind the brush.
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there is a foul smell, a distinctly dead smell, so i search the area a bit. i don’t find anything, and decide to leave, because it’s none of my fucking business. as park time has been cut short, i decide we will go on a trail for a bit.
so there’s this trail that i took the worst walk of my life on, and, because i do not learn from experience, i decide that this is as good as any. it was optimal conditions; soaking rain for the last few days, muddy, fallen trees and branches from the last storm, no one knowing where i was going. mud and clay and more mud. there are many warning signs i will not have a good time, which i ignore.
freya races down the steep cliffs down to the river flats, having the time of her life. her only goal in life is to be a filth monster. this is her element.
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(on a different, happier walk)
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chewy (honorable)
chewy stood next to me, waiting for the beast to return so they could resume frolicking and gamboling. chewy does not do sheer cliffs anymore, as she is an old and distinguished lady. except, actually, she does! she goes down the hill, a quarter falling, mostly sliding. the mud reaches all the way to her elbows. this is very pleasing to her, until she tries to move around, after which she says ‘fuck this actually’ and tries to come back up.
the thing is, chewy cannot climb up. it requires a 3 foot vertical leap at the end where the dirt has fallen away from the tree roots. she has the hips of a calcium starved geriatric and thus the jumping power of a slug. she struggles to get on my bed. to be fair, my bed is very tall. to be more fair, i dragged an ottoman into my room -- which she has used before! sometimes she napped on it! -- to help her, and she decided she is terrified of it. she does not understand alternate routes. she is a being of many mysteries.
freya makes the run/jump easily, and demonstrates several times. this is the best thing that has ever happened! and so she must run, to celebrate.  chewy stares up at me, realizing she is trapped. (fun fact! it’s a 12 foot drop into deep mud; i know because many years ago, my OTHER dog walked off the edge and i had to climb down to retrieve her, as she refused to move. until i got to her. then she learned to struggle.) calling in the squeakiest baby voice i can muster, i lead chewy back down along the trail, which thankfully runs alongside the drop. chewy is deeply confused, but follows. the mud is a struggle for her. freya cannot decide what is more fun, lapping chewy or flying up the hill to run around me. after a few minutes, we reach an area with a shallow enough hill that chewy can manage. freya makes 3 trips up and down the hill before chewy arrives; on the fourth, she takes a flying leap over chewy from behind going uphill. i wish fervently i could steal her lifeforce. i would drain her like a caprisun. that dog would be a withered husk.
when she makes it to the trail, chewy is exhausted, cold, and soaked through. unutterably miserable. the biggest wettest eyes you’ve ever seen. she wants to go home. admittedly, she always wants to go home. her greatest wish is to go in the car somewhere, sniff, pee, and then get back in the car and go home. perhaps stopping along the way for a Treat.
we start to head back; however, return trips are when freya becomes Evil. there is nothing new! it’s all old stuff! this is the time to investigate the Mysteries she has passed before. she goes racing ahead, which is fine, normally, both my dogs wait at bends until they are in sight again. they are generally very good about staying near. freya makes a hard left turn into the brush; fine, whatever. they are both obsessed with grass, and i know there’s a patch down there. graze to your heart’s content! this is either my third or fourth mistake. the dog cannot be trusted. foolishly, i am grateful. at least she will be distracted from chewy while we go down the slickest clay hill in the world.
i carefully go off the trail onto the moss, guiding chewy down. it’s still steep but doable. i look up from the bottom. freya has what at first i think might be a piece of chicken, a fleshy pale beigeness. we stare at each other. she begins to chew, testing. i tell her no! drop it! she does, still watching, assessing. ‘drop it’ is a highly conditional command. i scramble up the hill, only to slip and crash onto my side. the bear spray hits the ground. the air is now spicy. the safety needs to be fixed. i have known this for several months. i slide down to the bottom. there is mud all up one side of my body. the puddle is so cold. i look up from the wet earth, and see the dawning realization in her eyes: i won’t get up there in time. freya begins her swallowing process, snakelike.  she doesn’t even move away; she enjoys watching the struggles and hardships, and most of all, people falling down.
i clamber on all fours up the hill, reaching her right as she gulps the last traces down. she is triumphant! her throat is making the weirdest, grossest sounds you’ve ever heard. she drops her head to collect more, and i see what it is. congealed dog vomit. it has the consistency of cold melted butter, with dog food chunks in it. i shoot out my hands to blockade her. it is no matter, because there is More along the trail. i can see it in her face. it is the gum incident all over again. she runs ahead. you’ll never catch me, mother. i am swift and sure footed, a beast of the undergrowth, and you are wearing your worst shoes.
i powerwalk down the trail after her, stopping her from going off to seek her treasures. she listens, because this is also a new game. questions plague me. what dog has been vomiting. why is there so much. i note at least five small piles, all just off trail. something terrible happened here. this is the second time i’ve had a horrible vomit experience on this very trail. which is funny, because it was the first thing i thought of when we arrived. ‘twas hubris that felled the beast; hubris and a short memory.
we are in the home stretch. so far i am winning, and she has not eaten any more puke. it does not matter to her; only that i am forced to keep up, and must shout. we round the last bend, i call her a wretched animal. i hear a voice a few feet behind me. a cold wave of deja vu passes through me. an Old Man has appeared from the woods. time is a flat circle. last time it was two old people. dread takes root in my belly. i am sisyphus. i am cassandra. i am soaked. history does not repeat, but it rhymes.
he is frightened of the dogs. freya is frightened of his umbrella. the disaster unfolds.
she is a slippery eel of a dog, and i didn’t put on her harness because i am a fool most of all, life is one long joke without a punchline, and didn’t expect to be here in the first place. my decision making lately has been poor. that was also a warning sign, ignored.  i herd her back to the car with big arm gestures and pleas (with only one road chicken scare, which gives me palpitations. what a fun game!! oh ho!). she is so muddy. she is so so muddy. the dog blanket on the back has fallen off due to chewy’s awkward scramble into the car. everything is muddy. i apologize to the old man. he is mud as well. the dogs are in high spirits. i give them their cookies, defeated. upon our return home, they gather first in the kitchen, for another cookie, and then on my clean sheets, for a nap. i am so very tired.
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blueslostboys · 1 year
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fuck dating apps i want to meet someone the old fashioned way (i see your spirit on the corpse road so now i know you're going to die in the next year)
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doubleddenden · 1 year
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I think they should let Scooby Doo shows and movies hibernate for a few years.
I'm just saying, when it "died" and came back with Zombie Island, Witch's Ghost, and eventually What's New Scooby Doo, shit was great.
When "Shaggy and Scooby Doo Get A Clue" was bad, eventually the really fun movies like Abracadabra Doo and the series Mystery Inc came out.
Let Velma kill itself for a bit. Let the greedy WB execs fester in the rotting corpse of a show they gave no shits for. Leave it alone for like 5 years or more.
Come back and Scooby Doo has an anime with the most GOATed fight scenes and sakuga tier chase scenes. Some JJBA tier references to old bands. Scooby eats God, mistaking him for a sandwich.
Anyway Velma got greenlit for a second season and I know I didn't watch it. Be apathetic towards the bitch the rest of its miserable run and let the gang come back for the better down the road
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themeanestgirl · 13 days
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Um if nsft is ok, the batfam fighting over who gets to take which 1sts? Pls and ty!
Who's First? Yandere!Batfam x GN!Reader
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Warnings: NSWF implications, Yandere implications, and mentions of small fantasies of harming and killing others. Also implied group sexual activities.
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While they may seem to treat it like a game, it truly never was, not for them. Dick cast the first stone, taking you out on your first date, with them at least, while also getting your first kiss on the same night. The others looked on in jealousy as you clung to him as he romantically but carefully dipped you into a kiss right outside of the soft lights of newly opened butterfly gardens. Despite the Boy's jealousy, they were able to appreciate the beauty of the moment, how the cool moon reflected in your eyes, and how you smiled genuinely as your lips met Dick’s. They all watch, peering through bushes or from behind food stands as the two of you share a small intimate moment and they imagine that it is them instead of him.
Later that night after you have been driven home, the boys congregated inside of one of Jason's safe houses, free from the walls that have eyes in Wayne manor. Tim sits next to Jason, Jason next to Damian, but not one of them next to Dick. Tim stared at the faint lipstick Mark on Dicks lips and he wondered for a moment if it would be worth it to use his hand to wipe it Off of his face just for a chance to taste your lips. Jason huffed, his large chest expanding with each breath as he puffed out his chest like a bird trying to scare off others in an unneeded attempt at sexual selection. That Night they argued about what dick did, about how it was unfair of him to take (y/n) on a date and kiss on the same night! In the end, they came up with not a compromise, but a competition.
It isn't but the second that Tim leaves Jason's safe house he shoots you a text to hang out, only to be told that you were already spending the day with Damian. Damian who apparently asked you on a day trip the second he saw you kiss Dick. At first, Tim seethed in jealousy, but after doing some soul searching he remembered that he is the pettiest bitch, and invited himself, and the rest of his brothers on the trip.
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As much as the constant physical contact over simulated you, you were distracted by the gorgeous scenery, warm sunny rays glittered the roads and waters that sped past the windows, birds swooping through the skyline, and lush grasses that waved with every rush of wind that blew through their blades. No doubt this was a view you would never see in Gotham in a million years. But while you stare out of the window, a long-forgotten water bottle held in your hands, beginning to slip as you watch the outside world like a painting, the boys look at you in the same way. To them, you were the painting, the priceless piece of art. This of course meant that you had to be protected. Art is fragile, expensive, and fleeting. Damian, knowing this well stays focused on the road, his eyes honing in on the cars and asphalt pavement before him. With every small movement, the car makes he micro adjusts, trying to make the car bend to his every whim, to protect the precious cargo inside. If anything did happen, the thought made his stomach churn and heart race, his brother's broken bodies would make a good cushion to soften your fall. Damian smiles at the thought.
Of course, Dick can’t let Damian have his moment, so he asks him “Arent you like three months old? Aren't you too young to drive?”  Damian grimaces for a second, he often dislikes being the youngest, never treated ‘manly’ enough. He didn’t mind being viewed that way, so long as he wasn’t underestimated, but he was bothered because while he didn’t think Dick meant for it to come off like this, he didn’t want to be seen by lesser when the love of his life was sitting behind him. “Aren't you too old to be alive?” Damian snaps back “I can see the rust in your joints you absolute fucking corpse- oh I'm sorry, should I speak louder so you can hear m your prehistoric fossil?!” Damian growls, his hands gripping the steering wheel so hard that his nails tore into the expensive leather cover. Dick goes slack-jawed and stays silent, only for thirty seconds before forgetting about the occurrence, but it was enough to give Damian a bit of peace.
Jason chuckled at the exchange he witnessed before him, not at all subtly wrapping his arm around your waist, pressing your body even closer to him. You weren't paying attention to what he said, but you did notice how his voice reverberated through your body like a purr, almost like bone conduction the way it sent electricity through your nerves and circled around in your skull. You were about to ask him to repeat himself when the car rolled to a stop, Dick hopping out and stretching way farther back than should be possible before Damian even stopped the car. Jason slowly released you, much to Tim's delight as he immediately clung to you and dragged you out of the car through his side. You too got your chance to stretch as you took in your surroundings. You were at a campsite you noticed. While you knew that the plan had changed because the others were coming along, you didn’t know what to expect. Looking to Damian he had a smug look on his face, although you couldn’t figure out why.  Damian waved the rest of you off, so the three of you went to explore, you grabbing your bag just in case.
 The three of you walked on beautiful earthen paths, moss and ferns lined the ground and lush green trees arched overhead like umbrellas to block the fading mid-day sun. As you walked around the path Tim leaned on you, his head cresting the crown of your head and Jason and Dick walked ahead, chattering quietly. The wind rustled the leaves in the trees and sent them falling like flower petals during a wedding, or so Tim thought as he absentmindedly wrapped his arms under your chest, having to lean down and walk awkwardly to keep such a position. It was less than five minutes later that you could hear running water, and five minutes after that before you could see it. It would've been faster but Tim was slowing you down exponentially. 
A small but gorgeous waterfall cascaded down into clear blue waters that rippled the sunlight like a dusting of many tiny stars. Dick rushed back to you, ripping you from Tim's grasp and bringing you to the water's edge, asking if you had a swimsuit, and was delighted when you pulled one out of your bag. Tim glared as he looked at dick, he loved him, truly, but would you cry if he drowned him in this lake? Would you scream if you saw his lifeless body float to the top? If he wasn’t worried about the emotional harm he wouldn’t be able to contain himself, and while you would look so cute crying, no one should be the cause of your tears unless it’s from him.
Dick held no regrets as he stripped butt naked right there, tossing his clothes in a pile and running to jump into the water, however, he slipped and fell on his ass, the slippery rocks catapulting him into the water, but not how he planned. Jason followed suit although chuckling the whole time, disappointed that you missed the action as you were changing. Tim, seeing the both of them occupied with you, stole Dicks clothes and hid them in a tree, chucking his underwear extra high up, to teach him a lesson. As he returned he saw Dick way too close to you, the clear waters leaving nothing to the imagination. Tim was about to grab a stick to beat him with when he thought better of it, and sat at the water's edge, his feet skimming the surface of the water, a curious fish dancing round his digits.
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Damian was pleased with the outcome of things. While he may not have wanted his brothers to come along, there was no better way to let his brothers know where they stood in the hierarchy than to prove how unprepared they were. Damian nailed the last pike into the ground before unfolding and inflating an air mattress inside the roomy tent. Hearing the crunch of twigs And leaves he came out of the tent, Seeing you And the parasite who followed you. He smiled at you in the award-winning model smile he only gives to you and showed off his handy work, three much smaller tents sat to the side, unopened and untouched.  A campfire Roared and flickered a safe distance away from the tent, various foods scattered around it.
As you All ate. Damian demanded your presence be close to him as he linked an arm with you, making it difficult for you to eat so he just hand-fed you. You all watched the sun fade behind the tree line and idly chatted while the moon rose, frogs croaked and crickets chirped as owls and bats occasionally swooped through the trees. The night air grew chill as Damian announced that it would be best for everyone to get to sleep. Jason, Tim, and Dick all looked to the tents that lettered the ground as they stood up and mumbled various complaints before dick took it as an opportunity to race Tim on who could set their tent up faster. In the end, Dick won, but only because he put his tent together completely wrong, poles sticking out from various places and the fabric door pulled so taught that it couldn’t close properly.
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You lay in the tent rolled onto your side, Damian's nose pressed deep in your neck triumphantly, his breath warming and ticking your skin however he wasn't asleep, but neither were you. You laughed at the sensation and rolled over to face him, planting a chaste kiss on his lips, he immediately returned it and deepened the kiss. You could feel him smirk into the kiss and his hands traveled down your body, groping and massaging your skin before he sat on top of you, pinning you down as he littered your neck with gentle kisses. One of his hands meets with your own as his fingers terrace your own before a loud “OW!” is heard from outside of the tent, followed by a loud clanging and the sound of ripping fabric then a Thump. Damian grunts and gets off of you to check outside when he is immediately faced with Dick who is right outside of the tent.
“For fucks sake Dick, what the hell-” Dick cuts him off, using his body to block the view of the destroyed tent that looked burnt for some reason. “Can I sleep with-” “NO-” “Thanks little D!” Dick says, pushing past him and firmly throwing himself onto the air mattress, grabbing your arm because you would've been launched off otherwise. Dmian appears to be less than thrilled, a vein popping from his forehead and his ear glowing a faint red as he tries and fails to calmly say, ”Get the hell ou-” his words interrupted as a zipping noise is heard behind him, a disgruntled Tim standing next to an amused Jason. “Go ahead, tell them, Tim,” Jason says, pushing Tim into the tent. “I had a nightmare?” Tim says, not convinced by his own words. Jason follows after him poorly hiding his snickering. The tent is overfilled and while it may not be cramped, it is definitely within crowded territory, the sheer waterproof netting in the top being one of the only things keeping the claustrophobia at bay, along with the temperature.
The presence of the others however in no way encouraged Dick to behave, one of his chilly hands holding you against him, your back to his chest as his other hand trailed to your chest, holding you tighter as you squirmed and delighting in the way your body arched against him. Damian grabs dick by his hair and yanks his head back separating him partially from you giving Jason the ability to scoop you up and pull you on top of himself, his hands gripping your hips as you straddle him. This wasn’t how you expected the night to go but then again, no need to argue about who goes first, when it's everyone at once.
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AN: I like this, I might make a part two that is more NSFW centralized.
FUN FACTS! #1 This story takes place in New Jersey (where Gotham is located) and goes to Maryland into the North Point State Park! While I did label the park as having a lake, North Point has marshland and I would NOT recommend swimming in the body of water I reference! Although it also has a beach as well! #2 I have never been camping, so I pulled all of this out of my ass! Sorry if it isn't realistic. #3 Sorry about the weird cuts in areas, I had to make it shorter so I didn’t spend all my time on this work, it was only supposed to be a 500-word drabble…
whoops
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sserpente · 3 months
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The Mistletoe Tradition
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There was only one piece of decoration left in the box now—it was a dew-fresh mistletoe complete with a red ribbon. And you knew just where to put it.
With a smile, you danced over to Astarion and held the green plant above your head. The vampire spawn looked up, confused and flustered both at the same time.
“Wanna know what my favourite Yule tradition is?”
“I’m sure you’re about to tell me,” he purred.
“Whenever two souls are caught under the mistletoe, they have to kiss.”
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A/N: I’m not sure if Christmas/Yule is a thing in Faerûn but if it wasn’t… I sure made it a thing now! Worked in some of his actual quotes for it to be even more relatable because we're all simps, lol. Also using Yule and Christmas interchangeably here because I can. Merry Christmas to you all! ♥
Words: 2197
Warnings: fluff
“Jingle Bells, jingle bells, jingle all the way…” Humming to yourself, you rummaged through your bag to take a closer look at the items you had snatched on your journey today. A bag full of peanuts, perfect to still your hunger on the road, a new dagger you had taken from a corpse, for your old one was falling apart at the hilt, a letter from an Iron Fist written to Lord Enver Gortash himself, and—perhaps most importantly—a little snow globe you had found in an abandoned cottage. It wasn’t much but it was better than nothing and had definitely been worth Lae’zel’s eye roll.
You were headed towards Baldur’s Gate and decided to rest in the Elfsong Tavern where Gale, Wyll, and Halsin were currently discussing the price of a room to stay in for the next couple of days. The air smelled like mulled wine and pine cones, and the tables in the tavern were decorated with tree branches, candles and sliced oranges and cinnamon sticks. The atmosphere was lovely—festive. You leaned against Astarion with your cheek against his chest, a sigh escaping your lips.
The pale elf was quite used to your—at least by his standards—unusual behaviour by now. Well… sort of. He’d expected more hostility toward him after the night he tried to bite you, that much you knew. Instead, you’d offered to help and… huh, secretly drooled all over him.
He certainly knew what he was doing and you hated that it worked. You didn’t want to turn into a giggling and blushing mess in his presence and yet… that was exactly what happened. Every. Single. Day. You tried to hide it as best as you could but at this point, you were pretty certain that he knew you were a hopeless case whenever he was near. And once you’d started sleeping with each other… you had become putty in his hands entirely, desperate for his touch even when it wasn’t sexual.
You offered him a cuddling dose daily now and you never let go until he did.
“All right, everyone. We’re settled. The owner has agreed to give us one of the suites upstairs. It has thirteen beds, its own washing area, and a fireplace. I don’t know about you but I am knackered,” Wyll announced as he cracked his bones.
“You go ahead without me. I’d like to take care of something real quick. I won’t be long,” you said, the idea thundering through your head with a start having you beam from the inside out.
Gale lifted a hand as if to raise everyone’s attention before speaking. “I hope so! I have a perfectly hearty rabbit stew planned for supper.”
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It had taken the inn owner ten gold pieces and a lot of convincing to get you a Yule Tree. Was it important in midst of everything that was happening? Possibly not. Were you still humming Christmas songs yet again as you carried a small box full of ornaments and decorations up the wooden stairs to your room? Absolutely.
Gale was already cooking. They all knew the very moment you entered the room with it that the tree someone had brought up in the meantime was your doing. And now, while the others were getting ready to rest for the day, you began decorating the room as if you didn’t have a care in the world. And for just a moment, you pretended you didn’t.
You spotted Astarion glancing at you from the corners of your eye. He’d crossed his arms before his chest, looking as handsome as ever and even more so now with his hair still a little damp from getting the dust of the road off of him.
“Need something?” You smiled, noticing how he admired the pine cones dipped in molten silver and the delicious-smelling orange slices on the tree for just a second too long. The straw stars you were specifically proud of as you stood on your tiptoes and stretched to put the biggest one on the tip of the tree, completing your masterwork.
“Oh, don’t mind me… I’m just enjoying the show.”
You blinked at him, gnashing your teeth as you felt a treacherous heat creeping up your cheeks, for his gaze was by no means fixed on the tree anymore but your behind. At times it was still hard to believe this incredible elf was attracted to you of all people.
“Is this really necessary? I mean, really? You’re wasting our time and energy on decorating a tree?”
“Hey… we won’t know yet if that’s our last Christmas. I don’t mean to be pessimistic but you know just as well as I do that there is a good chance we won’t make it out of this alive. I might as well enjoy the little things until… I can’t. You never know. Besides, this is the first time in weeks we’re sleeping with a roof over our heads. We have beds and a fireplace. I would be silly not to decorate a little, especially with a recent murder right next door.”
“Well… I suppose… but don’t expect me to help you.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it, oh fangy one! I’m actually done and it looks absolutely amazing, if I may say so.”
Astarion scoffed—playfully so. It was then Halsin joined, admiring your tree up close with a second portion of stew in his hands.
“Well, I think it looks beautiful. There’s no better way to get into the festive spirit than with a little bit of nature in one’s home.”
You fought hard to hide the chuckle bubbling up your throat when Astarion rolled his eyes as soon as the druid turned away again.
“The man really can’t shut up about enjoying the freedom of nature’s gifts.”
You couldn’t help it. You burst out laughing. Needless to say, your companions’ shocked expressions made you cackle even more but perhaps the surprise on Astarion’s face was what brought you even more joy than the way he had mimicked Halsin.
“In the end, it won’t be the mind flayers who kill me. It’ll be you,” you choked out, wiping your eyes with the ball of your thumb. Gods, you were actually crying from laughter.
There was only one piece of decoration left in the box now—it was a dew-fresh mistletoe complete with a red ribbon. And you knew just where to put it.
With a smile, you danced over to Astarion and held the green plant above your head. The vampire spawn looked up, confused and flustered both at the same time.
“Wanna know what my favourite Yule tradition is?”
“I’m sure you’re about to tell me,” he purred.
“Whenever two souls are caught under the mistletoe, they have to kiss.”
“Do they now?”
You grinned.
“Well… in that case, we better not risk the wrath of whatever god came up with it.”
“That would be Frigg, wife of Odin and mother of Baldur who never wanted the mistletoe to be forgotten again after Loki—“ You didn’t manage to finish your sentence for in the next moment, Astarion pulled you close and pressed his lips against yours. The kiss was a promise and a reward, a display of affection… and a small gesture of care warming your heart.
“How do you always do that?” you murmured against his mouth, breaking the kiss just long enough to draw a deep breath. “Leave me wanting for more? Tempting me?”
“Tempting you, hmm? Well… You know what they say… the only way to cure a temptation… is to give in to it.”
A little squeak escaped your lips before you could stop yourself. You pressed your lips together to a thin line, eyes wide as your hand flew up to your mouth to cover it. But of course, Astarion had heard you. Amused, he quirked an eyebrow.
“What was that?”
“N-nothing.”
“Really? Because I think I heard quite the delectable little noise coming from your lips just now.”
“N-no. Oh gods, you have to stop this. I will melt, Astarion. I will literally melt and then you can go get a mop and wipe me up!”
Astarion laughed, surprise mixing with delight. “Oh, darling, I could go all night… as you well know,” he purred.
Another squeak. He’d caught on to it now, of course—that the reason for those inhumane sounds escaping your body was all his doing. Oh, for fuck’s sake…
“Okay, that’s it.” Arms akimbo, you narrowed your eyes at him. You were all but flustered when you grabbed the collar of his shirt with such vigour, the tiniest hint of surprise and hesitation flittered across his face before his smug smirk returned and you kissed him yet again, longer and more passionately this time.
“You really will be the death of me” you breathed against his lips. “It’s a nice way to go though, I won’t complain.” The urge to rip off his clothes there and then grew stronger with every passing second. You knew he wasn’t ready yet, despite his relentless teasing and you’d be the last person to push him but… judging by how he wrapped his arms around your waist yet again and pressed you closer to his body yet again, a heartfelt kiss was never off limits.
You sighed against his lips, the mistletoe dropping to the ground. Only the gods knew what would have happened if you had not been interrupted despite your fellow companions still in the room but alas, the door burst open with a bang so loud you both flinched.
“This… is… AWESOME!” When Karlach entered the room, she was wearing the ugliest Yule sweater you had ever seen. Tinsel and two baubles were hanging from her horn and in her hands, she held a massive candy cane and a mug of what you assumed was eggnog. “I LOVE Christmas! Oh, you got us a tree! We should go and buy presents for each other to unwrap tomorrow!”
“Karlach, please, it’s late and I’m tired,” Astarion complained.
“Fiiiine, tomorrow morning then. A kid downstairs just told me about this fat guy called Santa who climbs through the chimney and puts gifts under the tree if you leave him cookies and milk. Do we have cookies and milk? We have to get cookies and milk!”
You laughed. In that case… you certainly had a long night ahead of you before you could get a good night’s sleep.
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Everyone was fast asleep by the time you got up and tiptoed across the cool floorboards on naked feet in the dark, past the crackling fire in the centre of the warm and cosy room, and toward Astarion’s bed. You could hear the wind blowing outside the tavern in the dead of night as you climbed under the covers and cuddled up to your lover who had, without a doubt, been expecting you. Astarion wrapped you in his arms, his lips grazing your bare neck ever so slightly.
“Hello, darling.”
At peace and content, you both listened to the instruments Gale enchanted to play quiet music to lull you all to sleep.
“Well, aren’t you brave, revealing your lovely neck to a vampire like that?”
You chuckled into his pillow, stretching even more.
“You know… I think we’re past the point now where I have to tell you each night that you can… I mean… if you’re hungry just… feed on me, alright?”
“R-Right.” For a moment, a both vulnerable and surprised expression washed over his handsome face—but it was gone before your memory could properly capture it, not to mention the darkness around you made that very difficult. He was so incredibly good at masking his feelings, that you longed to cuddle the shit out of him and tell him that it was all going to be okay. “Well… I’ve only just learned how wonderful it feels to have a choice and have your boundaries respected, all thanks to you. I’d actually prefer if you asked.”
So instead, you settled for wriggling yourself under the covers until he stirred.
“That’s… that’s good. That’s very good,” you whispered as you cuddled up to him even more.
“So? Can’t you sleep or are you just too excited until morning to see me again, love?”
You chuckled. “Your bed is more comfortable than mine.”
In the dark, it was hard to tell whether Astarion’s confusion was real or feigned. It was amusing nonetheless. “You will find that all the beds in this room are the same, pet.”
“No. No they aren’t. Mine doesn’t have you in it.”
“Oh… my cheeky little pup.”
Your chuckle turned into a childish giggle as a jolt of electricity rippled through you as if Gale had hit you with a lightning blast.
“You know exactly what you’re doing to me, don’t you?” you whispered.
Astarion hummed in response. “Well… yes. Though I have to admit I have never met anyone displaying their excitement as openly as you, darling.”
“I’ll make sure to never stop. Merry Christmas, Astarion.”
The vampire spawn sighed when you shuffled even closer and pressed a gentle kiss to his cheek.
“Merry Christmas, love.”
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A/N: And Merry Christmas to you all as well! ♥ I had to dedicate this year's Christmas Imagine to Astarion. I fell so hard for him thanks to Neil, it's insane. I hope you'll spend some lovely days with your loved ones! ♥
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st-dionysus · 1 year
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Note from an angry trans man.
Of course, I’m angry. Who wouldn’t be. Dead children, dead teachers, a trans man to blame and the world ready to blame every single one of us instead of a single person -- instead of mental illness -- instead of guns -- instead of all the horrors that surround us. Eager to blame our HRT, our transitioning, our existence. Trans sisters who should be standing up against the abuse and shame put on their brothers – who instead decide to reject us, to blame us for anti-trans legislation, to group us all with Aiden Hale. To further stigmatize testosterone and trans-manhood. To act as though we are the harbinger of doom.
Of course, I’m angry. Dead trans people fill the news and wiki articles. Trans men among the corpses, but we don’t say their names. The bodies of FTM children left on the road, genitals mutilated, and newspapers printed with the wrong name and pronouns. Misgendered in death. Misgendered in rape, assault, and murder statistics. Misgendered in the publication of his horrific crime.
Of course, I’m angry. One of my brothers killed six people – three children and three adults. “Police then killed 28-year-old shooter Audrey Aiden Hale, who investigators said left behind a manifesto and detailed maps about how to carry out the attack. Law enforcement officials have not shared details about a suspected motive.”
Of course, I’m angry. The Nashville shooting was the 128th US mass shooting this year. There were 127 other mass shootings this year (and it’s only the end of March), most of which we did not talk about, most of which we did not address. More than 348,000 students have experienced gun violence at school since Columbine. There has been 89 school shooting incidents in the USA so far in 2023.
I want to rip something apart with my hands. I want to scream. I want to bleed. There is rage in my body, and it’s locked away behind tears and prayers. I consider cutting for the first time in over a year. I think about drinking myself to death or blowing my brains out in protest, but I don’t want to leave my cat alone, I don’t want my friends to cry about me, or to leave my lover heart-broken. I don’t want to be another dead trans man. I don’t want to be another name on the list of FTMs that have killed themselves. I’m already a part of the 50% of the FTM population who has tried at least once, I don’t want to try again. More than that, I don’t want my deadname to be the name I die with. I don't want to be seen as a dead woman.
I watch people die every day. I fear the deaths of my grade-school siblings. I fear the death of my loved ones. I fear walking into a gay bar and being carried out in a body bag.
Of course, I’m angry. It must be the testosterone.
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lesbienyu · 2 months
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wrt the abortion discourse going down rn, I really want to talk about what abortion advocates go through. I'm only going to speak to the political side, as that's what my experience has been, but I do want to hear from healthcare workers and social service workers as well. I'd also like to note I'm from the US, so what I say here is going to be specific to that- would also love to hear from those in other countries.
I have knocked doors, circulated petitions, done phone banking for abortion rights. not on a volunteer basis (tho it feels that way sometimes w grassroots nonprofit pay), but as my actual job. I've done this for two years, since before the Dobbs decision. I have talked to literally thousands of people about abortion, in multiple US states, from every background imaginable- I've canvassed along hennepin in minneapolis, I've done bougie areas in virginia beach, I've walked dirt roads.
my main takeaway: most people support legal abortion. yes, even many pro-lifers do not want it banned, at least not fully. if we're going to even pretend to be a democracy, abortion should be legal. I have met countless lifelong republican voters who have left the party purely over this issue. of the republicans I talk to who plan to keep voting republican, most of them are unhappy about Dobbs, but view it as less important than other issues. the vast majority of voters I've talked to, republican, democrat, or third party, are unhappy. the fact it's being banned (or, like when I was in Georgia, has been banned) shows that these politicians do not actually care about what their constituents want. this is obvious to anyone who follows US politics.
another thing I'd like to mention- the heavy discussions we have. I'm not going to call it "trauma dumping," because my job is to collect data and reports from voters specifically on the issue of abortion. I do want to hear these stories, and it is my job to record them. on a more human level, I think it helps a lot for women to have an uninvolved third party to listen without judgment. so we talk to them, me and my staff and the voters. they say horrific things. the old women are hard- they talk about finding women's corpses in alleyways, they talk about trying to kill themselves back in the 60s since abortion was illegal. one that stuck with me was a former nurse who told me she had to watch a woman bleed to death because a doctor wouldn't consent to help her with her miscarriage, lest he be accused of performing abortion. I am very glad we're here, and recording these stories because they're important, but the mental toll is a lot. substance abuse is really common in jobs like mine, in part because we hear horrific things day in and day out.
I worked the day Roe was overturned. I broke the news to so many people the following weeks. I remember being sweaty, wearing tattered shorts, and telling some woman outside her mansion about it. she fell to the ground. the class divide between us dissolved and it was just grief. I tried not to cry, to be strong, so she could express herself. we were two women, not rich or poor, but just two women in shock. that's another one that changed my brain forever.
aside from the grief, the anger, being the one to archive the emotions and stories of these women, we had people who were aggressive. they weren't even all anti-abortion- some just didn't like that we were talking to people. I was nineteen the first time someone pulled a gun at me at work, but that was before I started working abortion rights specifically. by the time I started abortion advocacy work, I was aware of how to de-escalate- it happens a weird amount. knives are more threatening tbh. people who answered the door with guns just answer the door like that. I get it- I keep weapons by my door as well, it can be alarming for a stranger to come by. knife people usually knew what we were about, and grabbed it specifically because of what we were doing. I'd been in the industry long enough to know, but training people new to it was hard. imagine telling someone who isn't old enough to legally drink yet that this new job will have people pulling weapons on you, just for talking. we had high turnover. I wonder why.
many of us travel for work. as I've mentioned, I've done abortion rights stuff in a few different states. I actually lived out of a tent for weeks last time I went to work. I didn't see my family, my cats, or my friends the whole time. it sucked a lot of the time. I actually got trench foot from my tent leaking while a hurricane passed. I would never trade it for the world, however- I love my job, and overall I have fun at work. we try to keep morale high, since it beats down on you a little.
the thing that got me was the rich people who just. didn't want to vote because it was too much work. in poor areas, I hook people up with rides to the polls, free childcare, anything I can to get them to vote because they do want to in most cases- it's an issue of access. and then the wealthy ones, even when they agreed with the cause, it was like pulling teeth out of their lazy mouths. it felt insulting, after hearing these stories, people being shocked they could get rides and childcare just to vote.
my team averaged almost ten miles a day of walking, with backpacks full of literature and water and supplies. it's a great workout, but exhausting. most don't get paid sick leave, healthcare benefits, or enough money to live out of poverty, not til they hit higher management at least.
this all being said, I'd like anti-abortion people to know that yes, we have heard your arguments. we wouldn't be doing this if we hadn't seriously thought about it- it's not like I picked it up like a janitorial job, no. we give up our families and our lives, our safety and our health, to do this. any argument you could make against abortion, we have heard from one of the thousands of people we talk to.
so like, I do want to engage in these debates but I don't think anti-abortion people really realize that I have thought very, very deeply about my work and what I do. and I think I can't engage with them until and unless they respect that and understand what abortion advocacy workers have gone through. and if someone walks up to you with a clipboard, or knocks on your door, to talk about it, just be kind.
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iravaid · 4 months
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The tragedy of Tommy and Simon Riley as brothers is so so much fun and also so painful, especially from Tommy's PoV because there's so little on him (and knowing the comics this is a blessing in disguise)
This is almost entirely fictional extrapolation, and I doubt that Tommy will ever be more than those 14 panels in a shitty comic series. But SHIT. Tommy and Simon Riley. If only they had more time.
Like. This is your big brother. He was taken a year ago, and now his body sits on his side of the couch in your childhood home. It doesn't matter because your big brother is never coming back, and you'll spend the last months of your life waiting for the body to reveal where those men buried him.
You don't know it yet but you're going to die on Christmas Eve. You and your family will be killed mercilessly and swiftly by people you never knew existed.
You put all this time, this love, this discipline into rebuilding your life and making something better out of yourself, trying to break this old cycles of abuse and violence. You try to define your life by creation and care, and you still die. You were always going to be the sacrificial lamb because this was never your story to begin with.
Your brother is going to die screaming, clutching your bloody corpse like he held you at birth, like he held you at seventeen and sweating out months of opiate abuse and begging him to let you go, like he held you on your wedding day when you were terrified of what the future held. Despite his flaws and despite the rage inherited from your father, he loved you deeply. But you're dead now, and the love has nowhere to go. And it becomes grief becomes rage becomes vengeance. A husk wanders the earth, now. Tearing out the throats of its aggressors in a road of destruction. Not to right any wrongs, but to give back the violence by which it'd been treated.
Your brother was killed, but he forgot to die when he was supposed to. Your name is Tommy Riley and you died just as the story required.
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recklessfiction · 11 months
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Keep an Eye Out As You Travel West
You see a church, you just keep on walking. Most are abandoned anyhow, nothing left in 'em but the hollowed out husks of their priests. The rest have been filled by now; old pretenders, zealots, and self proclaimed prophets snatching up any man fool enough to worship. And that's if you're lucky. There are older things, other things that have curled up amidst the altars of the Lord like worms in dirt. If you're wanting to do any worshiping, best do it out under the sky.
There're things that roam the dust, figures of men with eyes deader than any corpse and smiles as bright and pretty as a lady's. They come around sometimes, always trying to pawn off some bizarre thing; elaborate crowns made of rusted nails, gold lockets with strange portraits inside, letters that can't be read without getting a deep pounding in your head, and keys rusted with so much blood it'd be a wonder if they turned anything at all. Now, I've seen what comes for folks who trade with them and I'll tell you this. Wherever they got their goods, it sure as shit wasn't from here.
You'll be hearing now about the "Oil Baptisms," I'm sure. Black sea water dredged up from some abyss, thicker than any water I've ever seen and you can smell it long a mile away. They say it gives people "the sight" but of what I can't say. All I know is that once you start smelling that briny shit on the wind, the screaming don't start long after.
Be careful what deals you make out here. There're plenty of strange folk who would be more than glad to work you down to the bone and long after, too. Work is work, crops need harvesting, graves need digging, meat needs carving, and idols need worshiping. Watch your words and read your contracts, else you might just be stuck washing the feet of the righteous until doomsday.
Best stay indoors once night comes, that's when a lot of the "families" start movin' out. They take to the roads, long lines of them, a parade of the ugliest sons of bitches you've ever seen. In the daylight, their skin never fits quite right and stinks to high heaven but once the sun dips past the trees, they start taking it off. They move from place to place, sloughing off their decayed flesh and stealing new off any traveler they come across. Lock your doors and put out your lights before they coming knocking on your door, asking sweetly, "Do you have anything I could wear?"
I am of the opinion that the woods ought not be traversed by folk who ain't been called there. Keep to the roads and towns, there's enough foul mess there if it's strangeness you're looking for. But what's in the woods has always been in the woods and if you pass the treeline with no business being there, well. The woods will give you business.
While a useful tool, a gun won't save you from drowning in the bathtub of a family of fanatic prognosticators, or from having your skin torn clean off by the night sky. Keep your ears up for any kind of protection you can get and learn to speak well because a lot of smart talk can get you out of a whole mess of trouble.
Keep on moving, friend. If you're looking to survive this trek, don't stop for anything, not even to bury the dead or feed the starving. It ain't worth what'll catch you, cause there's always things waiting for a fella to slow down so's they can get their claws in faster, deeper. You wanna be stuck here, in the fields and the dirt, under the big sky while hymns are burned into your skull? No?
Then keep on moving.
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loving-barnes · 2 months
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LOGAN HOWLETT - BEGIN AGAIN
A/N: And here I am, once again. With another one-shot. Well... not a one-shot. This is chapter one of a series with Logan. More on that later.
Pairing: Logan Howlett x mutant female reader
Warning: none
Summary: After a failed mission, Logan unexpectedly brings home an injured mutant.
Please, do not read if you are under 18. This story includes mentions of abuse.
Words: 5300+
Important note: Again, Logan is a tall MF, because they fucked up in the movies. Also, Hugh Jackman!Wolverine.
A TOUCH OF HOPE MASTERLIST
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LOGAN HOWLETT - BEGIN AGAIN
Logan’s mission was a failure, a trap. He was glad he got away before he could end up in a cage, locked forever. It was supposed to be easy. An in-and-out mission with a mutant child. Fuck no. He was met with a bunch of soldiers, ready to kill him. And, there was no child. He quickly learned that it was a set-up. The child that Charles had found got moved away from that facility. 
On his way back to the school, he found a place to get a drink. The moon was up in the sky, illuminating the night world. The air got colder. He still had a long road home. One little detour to a bar wouldn’t hurt anybody, right? A drink would lift his spirits.
He parked a stolen motorbike in front of a dive bar. Drink or two to get his mindset straight, and then he would head back to the school. 
The place smelled like a hellhole - urine, spilt alcohol and cigars. It was a perfect place to hide a corpse. By the smell, he wondered if there wasn’t a rotten body under the floor. He sat at the bar, ordered a beer and minded his business. He could hear everything with his enhanced hearing - even a pin drop. 
Whistles came from behind his back when he was on his second beer. That could only mean one thing - a woman entered this hellhole. Probably a hooker, he thought. 
“Hey baby, are you lost?” he heard someone’s sleazy voice. 
“Now that’s what I call entertainment for tonight!” another man shouted. Some even made howling sounds. 
Logan gently turned his head to the side, ready to see an old hag or a trashy whore. What he found was a young woman approaching the bar. She had torn old clothes on her, covered in dirt and dust. He wouldn’t stare at her if it weren’t for the bruises and scratches on her face and hands. He frowned. What the fuck happened to her? 
She took a seat two seats to his left side. The corner of his eyes captured three scumbags approaching her as if she was their prey. Logan gripped his beer bottle tighter, his knuckles becoming white. 
“Baby, let’s have some fun,” one guy touched the woman’s shoulder, making her face them. 
“Leave me alone,” she said, her voice barely a whisper. 
“Come on, sugar, don’t be a prude,” another man touched her cheeks, mapping the wounds on her face. “Somebody had their turn. Now, we want to have some fun. Huh?” 
It was Logan’s cue to step in. He was fast enough to take the man’s hand off the woman. He gripped it tightly with his, twisting it. “Leave her alone, dipshit. I’m not gonna say it twice.” 
“Get your paw off me, dude,” the man growled. He couldn’t get away from Logan’s hold. His friends got his back, ready to beat Logan’s ass. “And leave before the we will teach you a lesson.”
The woman’s breathing sped up, distressed from everything that was happening. “Stop, please,” she said to all of them. But she was cornered at the bar by one of the guys. There was nowhere to escape.
Logan smiled at the bastards. “I’d like to see you try.” 
His adamantium claws slid out and penetrated the man’s skin on his arm, almost cutting off the limb. He screamed from the pain, blood spurting everywhere. Then was kicked in the gut. 
One of the men grabbed the woman’s shoulder, pushing her to him. A knife appeared under her throat. He wanted to get away with her. “No, please,” she gasped as she felt the man’s other hand wrapped around her torso, holding her against her will. She was tired, beaten and ready to give up. 
“Shh, darlin’, it’ll be over soon. We’ll have some fun. Be a good girl and come with me.” 
Logan’s eyes found the woman visibly disgusted and afraid. As he was about to finish the second guy, the woman pushed the bastard off her. 
“No,” she screamed. And with that painful sound, some force escaped her body, knocking down everyone around her, even Logan. He flew through the bar and smashed into a wall like the rest of the people. Glasses and bottles shattered around the place. 
Logan grunted, surprised by what happened. Slowly, he got on his feet. His eyes found the woman again, standing at the same spot, alone. Her body was shaking. It seemed she was on the verge of crying. 
Grunting, he stood up and walked to her. She pressed herself against the bar. “No, please.”
“Don’t worry,” his voice was softer than before. “I ain’t gonna hurt ya, kid.” 
She took a step back, shaking her head. She didn’t believe a word he said. No wonder. 
Fuck this night! Then and there, he knew he had to take her with him. At least he wouldn’t come empty-handed. 
“We are the same,” he tried again, slowly reaching for her. “I can take you to a safe place. There are people like us who can help you.” 
His eyes scanned the woman’s face. He knew only two options could have happened: A) She got beaten up by her significant other. B) She escaped some sick fuckers who experimented on her. 
People around were getting on their feet, shaking off the dizziness. They were processing what happened. Some of them were able to put two and two together - mutants.
“Come before they try to kill us both,” Logan tried her again. “Take my hand. I ain’t gonna hurt ya.”
“Fucking mutants!” someone shouted. “Kill them! Kill them both!”
This time, the woman didn’t hesitate and grabbed Logan’s hand. What choice did she have? He led her out of the bar before the first gunshots started. He got to his bike and sat on it. “Quick, hop behind me.” 
At least seven men ran out of the bar with shotguns and pistols, shooting at them. One of the bullets hit Logan’s shoulder. He snarled from the pain. He started the bike before more shots could get to him or the woman. 
When he felt her body against his back, he started the engine. “Hold me tight,” he shouted at her. 
The woman grabbed him by the waist, gripping him tightly. The gunshots weren’t stopping. A few of them swished near their heads. Her heart beat fast. She gave her life to some stranger. The last time that happened, they tortured her. 
One of her hands let go of the man’s and turned her weak body to the side. One more time, the power escaped her hand, and she protected them from the bullets that kept flying around. Again, a veil of some energy surrounded them. Under the moonlight, it seemed silvery and light blue.  Bullets got absorbed into the shield. 
It lasted only a few seconds, and then the energy disappeared. The shooting stopped. Logan got them far away from that hellhole. Now, it was just the two of them on the bike driving away. 
“You okay?” he asked, shouting through the wind. 
He then felt her other arm sneak around his waist to hold onto him. The rest of her body leaned against his back. He heard a deep exhale and a soft “yeah”. 
He couldn’t believe anything that happened today - first, a failed mission that almost got him captured. Now, a woman on his bike, whom he saved from pervs. Plot twist - she was a mutant with an ability he had never seen before. 
And he didn’t know her name. 
Logan registered that her body got heavier, and the grip on his waist loosened. “Shit,” he cursed and slowed down, bringing the vehicle to a stop. He moved fast, doing his best to capture her body before she could fall. 
“Hey,” he shook her a little as he took her into his arms. “Come on, kid, I need you to come back and look at me.”
Unknowingly, he brushed her cheek with his thick fingers. Damn, she was pretty. That’s when she opened her eyes slowly, staring into his. “I’m sorry,” was all she said. 
“That’s okay, kid. Can you hold on a little longer? We are two and a half hours away from a safe place.” 
She took a deep breath. “Please, just kill me and don’t make me suffer.” 
Logan frowned. He got an answer he wondered. Option B was the correct one. “What? No, not happening, bub. I won’t harm ya. I promise you that.”
“I’ve heard that before.” 
“I get it, kid. I get you have no reason to believe me. Just this once, trust me.” 
He helped her to her feet, holding her tight in case she’d lost balance. Her eyes found his. Tears were sparkling inside of them. “Okay,” she whispered. 
“Good girl,” he praised her gently and helped her get on the bike behind him. “If you need anything, tell me and I’ll stop. Keep your eyes open.”
I should have stolen a car, he thought. But at least they were on their way to Charles Xavier’s school for gifted youngsters. 
They entered the school’s estate. From afar, they could see the lights coming from the building. The woman exhaled, and her hands again lost their grip. This time, she fell from the bike onto the hard ground. It was so quick that he didn’t have time to notice she was slipping off him. “Shit!” Logan cursed and brought the bike to a halt, jumping off it. 
He ran to the woman, kneeling next to her. First, he checked her up, just to be sure she wasn’t dead. “Hey, hey,” he tapped her face, trying to wake her. Nothing happened. His fingers managed to find a pulse. Fortunately, it was there. “Storm! Charles!” he shouted from the top of his lungs. “Anyone!” 
Logan grabbed her body, holding her under the knees and back. He started to walk to the school. One of her arms was hanging in the air. 
The main entrance door opened. Several people ran outside. Storm was the first one out, followed by Beast and Bobby. They were all dressed in sleep outfits. Their sleep was interrupted by the unexpected turn of events. It was two in the morning. 
“Holy shit,” Bobby commented when he noticed the woman in Logan’s arms. 
“Oh my god! What happened?” Storm questioned. 
Together, they walked inside the mansion and headed to the lower grounds where they had their infirmary. It was hard to be silent. When they walked inside, Logan put the woman on an examination table. 
“Damn,” Scott commented. 
Jean was already there, prepping the tools. When she approached the woman, she gasped. “What the hell happened to her?” Storm helped as much as she could. Hank approached the table as well.
Logan was visibly pissed. His chest was heaving, and he wanted to punch a wall. “Where the fuck is Charles?” he asked loudly. “Fucking mission, fucking night!” 
“Who did this to her?” Storm asked, her hands gently brushing the woman’s bruised face. It played with colours, spreading from one side to the other. Her fingers brushed against the scratches. “What’s her name?” 
Logan huffed. “Don’t know. There wasn’t a lot of opportunity to chit-chat when scumbags were shooting at us,” he explained to them. “All I know is she’s a mutant. She protected our asses. That’s why I brought her here.” 
“Vitals are stable. There is no internal bleeding.” Jean informed them once she checked the first data that she got. “Hm,” a sound escaped her throat. “We need to scan her body to see if she has anything broken.”
“Logan had to get a child, and he comes back with a woman,” Scott commented not so silently. 
“Scott,” Ororo glared at him. “He saved her life.” 
“You’re such a dick, Summers,” Logan frowned at him. 
“It’s good you brought her here, Logan,” Hank joined the conversation. 
“She was about to become a toy for some fuckers who can’t keep their dick in their pants,” Logan said. “And then she showed me what’s in her. I’ve seen a lot of shit throughout my life. Honestly, I’ve never seen this kind of mutation.”
“What did she do?” Hank asked. Everyone wanted to know more. 
The Wolverine grunted and shook his head. “Dunno how to describe it. Some force got out of her that threw us all away from her. It was powerful, it stung like a bitch. It looked like a veil of energy. When she used it again, it absorbed all the bullets fired at us.” 
“Flyrokinesis?” Jean questioned. 
“It’s a possibility,” Hank nodded. “But I’d need to see it. Or it could be Flyrogenesis.” 
“Or both,” Jean added.
“Defensive mutations are rare,” Storm chimed in. “It’s been decades since we got any information about a mutant like this.”
“Until we know more, we can only speculate,” Hank ended the discussion. 
“Let’s give her some rest,” Jean turned to the screens. “She’ll be out for a while, and we all need to rest. We’ll know more tomorrow.” 
They left the infirmary one by one and headed back to their rooms. The last two people who remained were Storm and Logan. Both of them stayed by the unconscious woman. “I cannot believe someone did this to her,” she said. 
“I think she escaped some lab,” said Logan. “When she was conscious, she didn’t believe I wanted to take her to a safe place. She wanted me to kill her.”
“It’s a good thing you brought her here, Logan,” Storm patted his shoulder. 
Logan’s eyes kept travelling around the woman’s face, taking in her hair and their colour. “For now, we can only guess what happened. But, fuck, she looked like she escaped hell.” 
. . .
White light, so bright it hurt her eyes. It was painful to open her eyes. She slowly got used to it by rapid blinking. The white turned into silver, then steel-blue, until the first outlines appeared. Her ears registered a steady beeping sound. Where the hell was she? What happened? What was this palace? Panic started to rise inside her chest. Her body started to shiver.
There was a man who promised to take her to a safe place. How could she trust a stranger?
Fuck, it was hard to breathe. The beeping sound fastened. She ended up locked somewhere. Again. It was another lab - she was sure of it. 
A woman’s face appeared above her. She had short white hair and a smile on her face. Weird. “It’s okay, you are safe,” were the first words she heard. “Calm your breathing. You are in distress.”
“W-what-”
“You are safe now. No one is going to hurt you here,” the woman had a soothing voice. 
“W-where am I?” she whispered with fear. Her whole body was shaking. Tears threatened to escape her eyes.
“You are in a school for mutants,” she explained. 
“School?” 
“Yes, school. It is not a lab or some kind of crazy facility. We have children here who are like us, special.” 
A school for mutants, she repeated inside her head. New emotion came to her face - confusion. “I don’t understand. W-who are you?” 
“My name is Ororo Munroe,” she introduced herself. “But they also call me Storm.” 
She tilted her head to the side. “Storm?” 
“I have weather-manipulating abilities,” she said with a smile. “What’s your name?” 
 She took a deep breath. “My name is Y/N Y/L/N,” she introduced herself, eyes never leaving Ororo’s dark ones. Y/N sat up carefully. 
It had to be a lab. There were monitors and displays with data. Her eyes lowered to her hands, and she saw an IV on top of her hand. Y/N realised her hands were not tied up. Was Storm telling the truth? 
“How are you feeling, Y/N? Do you need anything?” 
“Uh,” she tried to find the right words. “I’m tired, my whole body hurts, and I am confused.” 
“Give it a moment. It will all click together. I can promise you that,” said Storm. 
The door to the infirmary opened. An older man wheeled in on a modified wheelchair. Y/N’s eyes followed his every move. He was bald but dressed in a fancy suit. He had a gentle smile on his lips. 
“Y/N,” he said her name. 
She frowned, not expecting anyone to know her. It was alarming. “How do you know my name?” 
“Y/N, this is Professor Charles Xavier. He’s like us, a mutant. He has an all-powerful brain thanks to his telepathic powers,” Storm introduced the man to her. “He’s the headmaster of the school.” 
He approached the woman, gently touching her hand. “I am so sorry for your suffering, but please know you are safe here.” 
“Don’t…” she raised her hand. “Please, don’t read my mind.” 
“I’m sorry, my dear, I didn’t want to pry. It’s just that your thoughts were screaming so loud, it was impossible not to hear them,” Charles explained to her. “I will not talk about it. It is up to you to share your story.” 
Her shoulders dropped, and she relaxed. “Thank you.” 
“Now, let me tell you about this place,” he wheeled a bit farther away from her, observing the room as if he were there for the first time. “In this school, we not only teach children and help them learn their mutations, but we also accept fugitives and help them learn.” 
She tilted her head, wincing in pain. “Are you offering me a place to stay?” her voice was softer than before. 
“That is if you want to,” Charles nodded. 
It came as a shock. Tears appeared in her eyes. “I don’t have to run anymore?” she asked timidly.
“No, Y/N,” he smiled. “You are safe here, with us.” Charles wheeled back to the door, obviously pleased. “Welcome to the X-Mansion. If you need anything, come see me in my office.” And then he was gone. 
Y/N turned her head to Ororo, wiping off the tears that gathered in her eyes. It was all surreal. “I was expecting many things to happen, but not this.” And then, “Wait, but I have nothing. No money, no clothes. I can’t afford to stay here. I can’t give you anything.” 
Ororo stopped her. “Don’t worry about it. First, you need to get better. You still have bruises and wounds around your body that need to heal.”
Y/N’s hands shot up to her face, fingers grazing over scratches. Then, under her fingertips, she felt a bruise under her eye that hurt a little. Her eyes were looking for a mirror or a reflection. She needed to see the damage. Her mind wandered into her memories, looking back at what happened. For now, it was all a mush. Everything that had happened overlapped. She pressed fingers to her temple, massaging them. 
“You okay?” Ororo’s hand appeared on her shoulder. 
Y/N nodded. “Yeah, just a mild headache.” 
Half an hour later, she met more people - Dr. Jean Grey, who ran more tests on her. She X-rayed Y/N’s entire body just to be sure there was nothing broken. Later, she did a scan to see if there was any indication that would capture Y/N’s mutant power. 
When Y/N met Hank, she got scared. She never saw a mutant who looked like that - a blue ball of fur and monster claws. No, he was not a monster. He looked like a beast. “I’m sorry,” she quickly apologised. 
Hank was with Jean, looking at scans they made together. “Do you see that?” he asked, his thick blue finger pointing at the blue hue floating inside her body. “Have you seen anything like that before?” 
“No,” she said. “But it’s nothing, to be honest. It barely showed in the scan. It might not even mean anything.” 
“Or it can be everything,” Hank looked at Jean. “But I agree, so far we have nothing. She’ll be healthy in no time. But, we need to know what she can do.” 
After the tests, Ororo brought her a bathrobe and took her upstairs. It was a perfect time to walk around the mansion. All the kids were in their classes or outside, and no one was around. 
Y/N’s eyes wandered around the place. She couldn’t take in how massive the institute was. It carried the history and memories of so many people. Overall, in one word, this place was magnificent. “This is amazing,” she whispered. 
Ororo’s hands held her shoulder as they walked to the highest floor in the mansion. She opened one of the many doors. They belonged to a bedroom. “Is this yours?” Y/N asked. 
“No,” Storm closed the door. “This will be your room, Y/N. You have a bathroom here,” she pointed at the door beside the bed. “And a closet.”
“I thought that this was your room. It’s too nice.” 
Storm laughed. “I have my room on a different level. Here’s how it works: The students share bedrooms. The youngest are in groups of three to four. The older two to three. Adults like privacy, so they have a room for themselves.” 
Y/N nodded, understanding what she was saying. “Thank you.” 
After Storm gave Y/N instructions, she was left alone in the bedroom. She had to sit down on a bed to take it all in. They gave her a bed, hot water, and so much more. It seemed surreal. What if this was all a dream? She sat in silence, waiting for someone to wake her up with torture.
Five minutes passed, then ten and fifteen. Nothing happened. Maybe it was real. Y/N pinched herself, and it hurt. It is real. She went into the bathroom and took a shower. Everything was there - towels, soaps, shampoos. 
Surreal. 
Clothes were resting on her bed when she came out of the bathroom, wrapped in fluffy towels. There were jeans, socks, underwear, bras, t-shirts, sweaters, hell even shoes. There were only a few pieces from each item. Y/N pressed her fingers to her temples. She wanted to cry. How is it possible that her life turned upside down in less than a day? 
Once fully dressed, she opened the door and peeked into the hallway. No one was present. She walked outside, clean and fresh, ready to explore the place more. Her walk was careful and slow. Her fingertips touched everything she could reach - the wooden walls, the statues and the paintings. Her eyes were travelling around the place, taking it all in. 
What was fascinating was the portraits of Oscar Wilde, Jane Austen and other novelists. It brought her memories of when she would read books in her bedroom.
“You alright, kid?” 
That voice was familiar. It made Y/N turn her eyes to see a well-built man with unusual facial hair. She couldn’t deny he was handsome. She had to blink a few times. This man was the guy who got her here. As she observed him, the white tank top with a black flannel shirt over it, she tilted her head to the side. Damn.
“Yeah,” she said. 
“I’m glad to hear that,” he took a few steps closer to her. 
“You are the guy who brought me here,” she pointed a finger at him but quickly retracted it. “I’m sorry,” she shook her head. “I remember so little from that day.” 
“Well, tough night.”
There was a flash of memory from that night. His face, looking down at her, lips moving and saying something that she couldn’t quite comprehend. “Sorry for ruining your evening.” 
He chuckled. “You just happened to be in the right place at the right time.” 
She opened her mouth but then closed it. She didn’t know what to say. The man talked instead. “What’s your name, kid?” 
“Y/N,” she introduced herself.
“Logan.”
“Logan,” she whispered his name. “Nice to meet you. And thank you for saving my ass.”
He only nodded. “I should get goin’. I have a class to teach,” he said. 
She crossed her arms akimbo. “You teach? Here? In this school?” 
“What, is it that hard to believe?” he chuckled. 
“Actually, yeah. You don’t look like the guy who wants to teach kids,” she commented. “What do you teach?” 
“History and combat training.” 
Y/N opened her mouth but then made a face, perplexed. “Combat training?” Why would they teach combat training in a school? And then it hit her, to defend themselves if necessary. 
Logan walked past her, heading to the stairs. “I guess I’ll see you around.” 
She gave him a simple nod, and then he was gone. Y/N’s eyes had trouble pulling away from the spot she saw him. This Logan guy was a handsome man with a rough exterior. 
She continued walking through the long hallway until she found another set of stairs that she took to a lower level. She must have been walking like this for another thirty minutes until she came down to the entrance hallway. This place was indeed huge. 
She kept turning, trying to figure out which way to go next. A school bell started to ring. Another lesson was over. The doors opened, and kids of all ages walked out. There were so many of them. And they were all happy. They weren’t lying. This building was filled with them - from the youngest kids to teenagers. 
A paper plane flew before her eyes, steadily floating in the air. A boy used his ability to make them fly. Magical. 
Her eyes captured Storm walking with another man, chatting. It was probably another teacher. Y/N decided to wait for Storm and ask about the place some more until someone shouted: “Watch out!” 
Y/N spun on her heel. Her breath got lost when she found a fireball heading straight to her. Her hands immediately went up in the air. To protect herself, a veil of blue hue covered her whole being. It was a forcefield, and it absorbed the fireball. Y/N could feel the energy in her palms.
Why would anyone throw a fireball? That scared the shit out of her. The veil disappeared once the danger was gone, and her hands fell to her body. She took a few deep breaths. Her eyes caught a boy staring at her with big eyes. Was it him who did it? Impressive. 
“Did you see that?” 
“Who is she?” 
“What kind of power is that?” 
The students saw it all. They whispered about it while staring right at her. There were many of them looking and talking. The voices rang in her head. Just calm down, Y/N, she told herself. They are just kids. 
Storm’s eyes were wide and sparkling with excitement. She was fast enough to run to her. “Forcefield,” she exclaimed. 
Y/N twisted and turned on the spot, looking at everyone. All eyes were on her. It made her feel vulnerable. Her eyes caught Logan standing at the stairs, observing. She couldn’t read his face. 
“Everyone back to your classes,” Logan ordered the students. 
“Amazing,” Storm commented. “We were wondering what your power was.” 
Y/N’s eyes widen. She’d never heard someone say that to her. Creep! A woman’s voice screamed inside her head. Murderer! Psychotic bitch! She wrapped her hands around herself, taking a step back. It all came back again. 
“Hey, hey,” Storm put her hands on her shoulders. “You don’t have to hide here. We are all the same. The students were surprised by your ability.” 
Come to my office, Y/N, she heard in her head. She spun on her heel to look around, trying to find the source of the voice. 
“I think I heard the… the Professor,” she said.
“He’s in his office. That way,” Storm turned Y/N to the right side. There was a hallway leading to a big wooden door. 
Y/N managed to catch Logan’s eyes looking at her before he left. He was something else - that’s how she could describe it. 
Hesitantly, she walked over to the door, ready to knock, when she heard the Professor telling her to come in. As said, she opened the door and walked inside. She was met with the older bald man, still wearing fancy clothes. 
“Take a seat.” 
Y/N sat on a brown leather armchair. The place smelled like wood and books. There were lots of them. The armchair was comfortable. Her back was straight, and her body was stiff, always ready to run if necessary. 
“I would like to know more about your mutation,” he wheeled closer to her. 
“What do you want to know?” 
He smiled. “Anything you’d like to share with me. I know I can look, but I don’t want to pry.” When he saw the distrustful look, he chose different words. “The more we know about your power, the better we can train you. We can give you more information about your mutation.”
“How can I know you won’t use it against me?” 
Charles nodded. “You don’t. We will need to build the trust together.” 
“Before I answer you,” she took a deep breath. There were some questions, and she needed answers. “What exactly do you do here?” 
The man sighed. “What you see is true - this is a school. There was an idea it would become a mixed school for mutants and humans. That never came to life. Now, it is a safe place for mutant kids, disapproved by the regular society. I find children around the States, and we bring them here - if they want to. Occasionally, we give adults a place to stay, like we did for you.” 
It was sincere. Charles wasn’t lying. She could feel it. “This ability showed when I was around 15. I know that it can protect me when I am in danger. I can sense the energy in my hands when I let it out. I can’t protect another person if you are wondering.”
“But…” he goaded. 
“I killed with this burst of energy. I hurt people with it. I believe you saw it, didn’t you?” 
Charles nodded. “Yes, I did. You can create a protective force field that keeps you out of danger. For example, what happened minutes ago, the fireball one of the students accidentally threw at you.”
She frowned at him, not liking what he was saying. “Then why did I kill with it?”
“There is an explanation to it. From what I saw-” 
“When I asked you not to look,” she cut his speech. 
“I apologise, Y/N. It is not my intention to hurt you or be nosy. As I already told you, your thoughts and memories were screaming, mixing inside your head. The door was open, and I only peeked in.” 
She closed her eyes, taking a few deep breaths to calm down. “You saw it all?” 
“No,” he shook his head. “But enough to have a picture. As I said, it is your story to tell, Y/N.” 
“What you saw?” 
“The day you used your power for the first time.”
It was a moment, a three-second glimpse into her past, but she was back in her child's room, messing with her then-boyfriend. And then, they were arguing when it happened. The force that escaped her body killed the boy and destroyed half the house she once lived in. 
“If we want to know more, we must see what you can do. Flyrokinesis is the ability to create and manipulate force fields. It is mostly defensive. However, there can be some offensive moves done with it. This mutation is exceptional.” 
She cocked a brow, not sold on it. 
“We can help you learn and work with your ability. That is if you want.” 
No one is forcing you to stay, Y/N. The choice is up to you. His voice was in her head again. 
No more running, no more experiments or killing. Y/N could choose her life. Out of everything that had happened in her life, this, so far, seemed like the best thing that could have happened to her. Fucking trust issues. 
“We have everything you need and more,” Charles wasn’t using his telekinesis. “You don’t have to worry about anything.” There was a smile playing on his lips. “No more running.”
“No more running,” she repeated. 
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slasherhaven · 3 months
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The Devil you Know
Otis Driftwood x Reader
CW: Typical Otis things, violence, death, threats, Stockholm Syndrome, manipulation
Not really happy with how this came out but here's a little snippet from a larger story that's been whirling around in my head for a bit!
The door creaked on its hinges, the light breeze causing it to repeatedly tap against the wall. It was open and the road was right there, stretching out endlessly. Even RJ’s truck was sitting beside the house, keys probably still in the ignition.
The door was open, the road was right there, and so was a truck. And yet your feet remained glued to the floor.
All you had to do was move, one foot in front of another. Get to the truck. Even if there were no keys, you could run. Even if it was hopeless, not another soul for miles, you could try. You should try.
Instead, you just stood in the doorway, staring out as all hell broke loose in the basement.
You weren’t completely sure what was going on down there and you didn’t want to think about it too hard. RJ had towed a car up to the house, a young couple having car troubles and needing some assistance. Some good old southern hospitality. You wished you could have warned them, but you hadn’t dared say anything. You couldn’t, not when Mama was fussing over how kind you are for bringing these strangers some refreshing lemonade. Not when Otis was still eyeing you from his seat until you set the tray down as he could pull your stiff frame down onto his lap.
They were all busy now, dealing with their latest victims. They were all busy and you were unsupervised. You could run. Should run.
You remained still. The outside seemed too vast, too impossible.
You were snapped out of your warring thoughts when a strong hand grabbed you by the arm and spun you around.
You recognized the face immediately, the man that RJ brought in. He was a large man, who seemed even larger as he loomed over you, which was probably how he had managed to get back upstairs in the first place.
Blood pounded in your ears so you couldn’t make out what he was saying. You watched his mouth moving, trying to make sense of it but he was talking too fast. Even though you could hear what he was saying, you read his expression.
He was angry. Fearful, sure, but also furious.
His grip on your arm tightened, not loosening when you flinched and hissed. It would add to the litany of bruises, you were sure.
As he tugged you towards him, you acted reflexively. You thrashed to get out of his hold and attempted to pry his hand off of you, digging your nails into his hand and arm hard enough to draw blood.
“What the fuck is wrong with you?!” 
You could finally make out some of his words, the harshness of them making you panic more. The feeling of being trapped, his bruising grip on your arm, the way he grabbed at you with his other hand.
“Get off me!” You fought and shouted, cheeks sticky with tears.
But this man was larger than you, stronger than you, and easily knocked the wind out of you by slamming you into the wall beside the open front door. Pinning you there.
Suddenly his grip went limp and the anger faded from his eyes, his words falling silent.
Your chest was heaving with uneasy breaths as the man collapsed to his knees before falling over on his side, blood pooling around his body and seeping into the floorboard.
Your vision was hazy, the whole room spinning around you.
The only thing in perfect focus was Otis. Standing just behind where the other man had been with a dark look on his face. He was covered in grime and blood, his knife left behind in the spine of the corpse at your feet.
“O-Otis…”
He said something, his lips were moving but you couldn’t hear anything just like before. The ringing in your ears even louder now. You watched, eyes wide and hands shaking, as Otis spat at the corpse, his words coming harsher even if you couldn’t really make them out. He was baring his teeth now.
The walls were still spinning and the floor was moving, the only constant was Otis. 
He was your anchor.
You didn’t even realise you were moving until it was too late, your body acting on instinct. You managed not to trip over the body between you both before yours collided with Otis, your arms clinging around his waist and your eyes squeezed shut.
“Otis, he…I…what…”
Clinging to Otis’ steady frame, you feel still finally. You could still smell the gore on him but it reminded you of where you were, it grounded you. It anchored you even more when you felt his arms slow encircle your body.
“Don’t go crying on me, darlin’,” his voice was teasing, almost mocking, but you didn’t care. The threat was gone and the world was steady, you could breathe easily again. Nothing else mattered.
“Shush, Bunny, everything’s alright now,” Otis cooed, actually managing to soothe you some despite his sarcastic drawl.
“I’m here, I’ve got you. Nobody fucking touches what’s mine, right?”
It shouldn’t have brought you any comfort and yet it did. There was a time where those very words would have made your skin crawl, but now you found yourself burying your face further into Otis’ sullied shirt.
Seemingly seeing no further need to indulge your need for affection or reassurance, Otis unwound his arms from you and pushed you away by your shoulders.
For the first time you were able to catch him off guard, moving with lightning speed as you clutched at his arm. “Please, don’t. Otis, don’t leave, I’ll do anything, please, just…” you could already feel your breath quickening again in panic.
“Aw, silly Bunny,” Otis smirked with too many teeth, his eyes glinting with mischief. “C’mon, Mama will sit with ya.”
“No,” you felt a sob catch in the back of your throat, suddenly desperate to not have Otis out of your sight. He was the only thing keeping you stable.
“Oh, you just want Ol’ Otis all to yourself,” Otis’ smirk somehow grew as he dragged a calloused thumb over your cheekbone, wiping away the fresh tears, the drying blood on his hand leaving a pink streak in its wake. “Why didn’t ya just say so? You can help me deal with this fucker then, then we can check in on Baby. She’s playing with his little bitch right now, maybe she’ll save some of the fun for us.”
Your stomach churned at the thought of actually partaking in the horrors that the Firefly family enacts but the dread you felt from the thought of leaving Otis’ side was overwhelming.
You nodded shakily before you could stop yourself.
Blood and gore squelched under your feet at Otis led you away from the still open front door but you clung to his hand all the same. Otis was dangerous and you had almost forgotten just how dangerous everything else could be.
Otis was deranged and dangerous and you never really knew when he would snap but he also protected you. He didn’t let anyone touch what belonged to him, so as long as you were in his clutches, you were safe from everything but him.
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Monster Hunt: An Evil Without An End
Lady Talmere was a monster long before she rose from her grave, having taken to the recreational murder of commoners the way that others of her social class took to falconry or painting. Killing was a hobby for her, a privilege of her aristocratic birth that she could indulge while others were forced to work for a living. She chose her victims purely for the fact that it was easy to make them disappear: her country estates were far from prying eyes, her demanding nature excused the high turnover rate in her staff. She employed those with nowhere else to go, to hardworn by life to ask questions, and when complications did occur it was so easy to wriggle out of them by charming or greasing the palms of the local magistrates .
It was a true injustice that Lady Talmere died happy and of old age, moreso that her wretched spirit was not claimed by some devil and dragged to hell, instead rising some decades later as a mohrg. While most of her old self has rotten away, Talmere still possesses her love of killing and scene of digression, prefering targets that will go unnoticed. To make matters worse Talmere is now prone to reanimating her victims with the parasitic worm that makes up part of her undead corpus, simultaneously creating a new minion while getting rid of the evidence.
Adventure Hooks:
In recent weeks rumours are beginning to spread about the "Tattergaunt", a thing that wanders the night preying on lone travellers and isolated homesteads. The authorities are skeptical and have yet to post a bounty, suspecting beasts or even slavers given the lack of remains left behind. It's only when the party stumble into some of those remains on the side of the road, reanimated, worm bloated, and dragging another corpse that the picture becomes clear.
Talmere is having her zombie minions clean up after her, stashing away the undead that are about to slip out of her control in the hopes that no one will find them. Her choice of using isolated locations for these zombie stockpiles makes for a great random dungeon encounter.
The party may find themselves tasked with investigating a haunting at Talmere manor, inadvertently begun when the spirits of the lady's victims sensed that she'd risen. Unable to communicate through any means other than terrifying vision or violent poltergeist activity, the spirits long to be put to rest, and don't care how much they have to terrify or imperil the manor's mortal occupants in order to get that message across.
Challenges & Complications:
The old groundskeepeper served Lady Talmere in the final years of her life. Though he was only a boy he assisted the previous groundskeeper in all his tasks, which meant he also helped dispose of quite a number of bodies in the first few years of his employment. Riven by guilt and fear of punishment, he'll point the party in the right direction while keeping mostly to himself. However, Interrogating the old man or secretly leafing through his journals might provide the party a vital clue.
Though they want the haunting dealt with, Lady Talmere's descendants are just as prideful as any noble family and won't stand for their ancestor's honour to be besmirched no matter how true the accusations are. The party could make powerful enemies should they go blabbing about the old woman's crimes to the commons, or worse yet the local temple.
Likewise resistant to the investigation is the demon that's been lurking in the Talmere family estate for generations. It didn't corrupt the lady or drive her to violence, merely fed off the injustice of her kills and used it's power to ensure she was a little less likely to be caught. Every body burned to ash in the estate's furnace was a sacrifice on it's altar, and it seemed only reasonable to return the favour by seeding her body with the spark of unlife as she lay on her deathbed. If the party investigate well enough to disturb the demon they will soon find Lady Talmere's corpse knocking on the door of her own home with a small army of undead at her back, ready to massacre anyone inside, including her decendants, just for the thrill of it.
As her life (and subsequent unlife) suggests, Lady Talmere has a knack for escaping punishment. Any time she is slain, her mind transfers to another of her worm-animated undead, beginning a process of transforming it into a mohrg. As such she always keeps a few of her undead in reserve, scattered about the countryside or mixed in with those stockpiled zombies that've slipped her control. Once she's "settled in" to a new body she can start making more zombies provided she finds someone to kill, meaning unless the party stikes her hard and fast (ideally getting rid of her stockpiles before fighting her) she'll always be one murderspree away from cheating death again.
As she exists as an emboyment of moral and cosmic injustice, it seems only right that a weapon of true justice would be Lady Talmere's end. If they haven't already gone searching for divine aid, Midway through their troubles the party is approached by a temple scholar dedicated to the goddess Erathis, who has received a vision compelling him to help the party and lead them to a weapon wielded by a saint of the lawbearer herself. This might be as easy as swearing an oath on the saint's tomb, or as dangerous as tracking down where the stolen relic was hidden by the goddess's enemies.
(thanks @thirdtofifth for the monster stats)
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nyxshadowhawk · 7 months
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Hellenic Gods Fact Sheets and Hymns: Hecate
Other Names: Trivia, Brimo
Epithets: Anassa eneroi  (queen of those below), Aidonaia (lady of the Underworld), Amibousa (she who changes), Atalus (tender, delicate), Borborophorba (she who feeds on filth), Brimo (angry, terrifying), Despoina (mistress), Eileithyia (of childbirth), Enodia (of the roads), Epaine (dread), Euplokamos (bright-tressed), Khthonia (of the Underworld), Kleidouchos (keeper of the keys), Kourotrophos (protector of children), Krokopelos (saffron-robed), Liparokredemnos (bright-coiffed), Nycteria (nocturnal; of the night), Nyctipolos (night-wandering), Perseis (destroyer/ daughter of Perses), Phosphoros (light bearer), Propolos (guide), Propylaia (the one before the gate), Scylacagetis (leader of dogs), Soteira (savior), Trikephalos (three-headed/of the crossroads), Trimorphos (three-formed), Trioditis (of the three ways), Trivia (of the three ways).
Domains: Witchcraft, magic, necromancy, ghosts, nightmares, death, initiation, the crossroads, gateways, passage between worlds, and the night.
Appearance: [My UPG] A tall (over 6’) woman, neither young nor old, with waist-length black hair, pale skin, prominent cheekbones, a heavy jaw, and intense green eyes. She is usually dressed in black folds molded into a simple dress or robes. She has a severe expression and an intimidating presence. She speaks with a low voice.
Sacred Days and Festivals: Eleusinia (22 Metageitnion). Nemoralia (August 13th-15th). Deipnon, last day of each (lunar) month.
Symbols/Attributes: Torches, keys, daggers, strophalos (iynx wheel)
Sacred Animals: Dog, polecat, serpent, horse, frog.
Sacred Plants: Yew, cypress, garlic, willow, hazel, black poplar, aconite, belladonna, dittany, mandrake, hemlock, asphodel
Elemental Affinity: Darkness, light, fire
Planet: Moon
Colors: Black, saffron, silver.
Crystals: Black onyx, hematite, obsidian, black tourmaline, moonstone, smoky quartz, agate, amethyst.
Incense: Myrrh, almond, cypress, camphor, saffron, mugwort, pomegranate.
Tarot Cards: The High Priestess, The Moon, Death
Retinue: Empousai, ghosts of the dead, dogs, Lampades (torch-bearing underworld nymphs)
Associated People: Witches (and other magic-users), the dead
Offerings: Bread, eggs, honey, garlic, menstrual blood, graveyard dirt.
Syncretized With: Artemis, Diana, Persephone, Eileithyia, Selene, Nephthys, Ereshkigal, Nicnevin, Heqet
Hymns to Hecate
Orphic Hymn to Hecate
Hekate Enodia, Trivia, lovely dame, Of earthly, watery, and celestial frame, Sepulchral, in a saffron veil arrayed, Pleased with dark ghosts that wander through the shade; Daughter of Perses, solitary goddess, hail! The world’s key-bearer, never doomed to fail; In stags rejoicing, huntress, nightly seen, And drawn by bulls, unconquerable, monstrous queen; Leader, Nymphe, nurse, on mountains wandering, Hear the suppliants who with holy rites thy power revere, And to the herdsman with a favoring mind draw near.
Hecate’s Hymn to Herself
I come, a virgin of varied forms, wandering through the heavens, bull-faced, three-headed, ruthless, with golden arrows; chaste Phoebe bringing light to mortals, Eileithyia; bearing the three synthemata [sacred signs] of a triple nature.  In the Aether I appear in fiery forms and in the air I sit in a silver chariot, Earth reins in my black brood of puppies.
(From Porphyry’s lost commentary on the Chaldean Oracles, preserved by Eusebius of Caesaria in Praeparatio Evangelica. According to Porphyry, this hymn was composed by Hecate herself.)
Magical Invocation to Hecate
Approach, you of the netherworld, of earth, of heaven, Bombo! You by the wayside, at the crossroads, light-bearer, night-wanderer, Enemy of light, friend and companion of night, Rejoicing in the howl of dogs and in crimson gore, Lurking among the corpses and the tombs of lifeless dust, Lusting for blood, bringing terror to mortals, Grim one, Ogress [Mormo], Moon – you of many forms, May you come gracious to our sacrificial rites!
(Preserved in Refutation to All Heresies by Hippolytus)
Invocation to Hecate from PGM IV 2708-84
Come, giant Hecate, Dione’s guard, O Persia [daughter of Perses], Baubo Phroune, dart-shooter, Unconquered Lydian, the one untamed, Sired nobly, torch-bearing, guide, who bends down Proud necks, Kore, hear, you who’ve parted / gates Of steel unbreakable. O Artemis, Who, too, were once protectress, mighty one, Mistress, who burst forth from the earth, dog-leader, All-tamer, crossroad goddess, triple-headed, Bringer of light, august / virgin, I call you Fawn-slayer, crafty, O infernal one, And many-formed. Come, Hekate, goddess Of three ways, who with your fire-breathing phantoms Have been allotted dreaded roads and harsh / Enchantments, Hekate I call you
[…]
O Hekate of many names, O Virgin, Kore, Goddess, come, I ask, O guard and shelter of the threshing floor Persephone, O triple-headed goddess, Who walk on fire, cow-eyed BOUORPHORBE PANPHORBA PHORBARA AKITOPHI ERESHKIGAL / NEBOUTOSOUALETH Beside the doors, PYPYLEDEDEZO And gate-breaker; Come Hekate, of firey Counsel, I call you to my sacred chants.
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feral-ish · 6 months
Text
Survivor's Guilt
What if you were Jingliu's ex-lover, who she spared during her rampage before escaping the Xianzhou? What would be going through your mind witnessing her reunion with Jing Yuan, the man you used to know as Yingxing, and the reincarnation of Imbibitor Lunae?
---
A little Jingliu drabble. There is an attempt at canon compliance here, but I'm sure I've made some mistakes or misinterpretations of lore. Not proofread, not my best work but I tried.
CWs: ANGST, no comfort, mentions of violence/gore but not detailed, GN reader (no appearance/gendered pronouns, but very subtly femme coded because I was craving Gay Angst), reader is a long life species
As soon as you see her silhouette at the waterscape gorge, it all floods back to you. Sorrow, anger, and the pent-up longing left behind by years of separation from the woman you had once called your soulmate.
She's here to meet with old friends, but not you. You never received an invitation.
Jingliu wanted to protect you from the memories her presence might unleash upon you, the ones that lay beneath the foundation of the new life you've built for yourself in the centuries of her absence, like tree roots that threaten to crack it apart.
You can remember her departure as clear as day and the bloodshed that took place when she tore open an exit for herself.
---
"Jingliu..." You whimpered.
The memory is stained in gore, tainted by viscera. You felt as though you had walked in on a scene you weren't meant to see. Perhaps you had. Even in her madness, she never wanted you to bear witness to things like this.
You remember falling to your knees, the weight and enormity of what you were seeing too great for your body to hold upright.
Your love, the one who had held and kissed you so tenderly for decades, stood among a sea of corpses, as if she too was trying to process what she had done. She had only turned to face you once she heard your voice above the din of the mara clouding her mind.
"You..." Her voice had a rasp to it, strained by the feral war cries let loose as her blade took life after life.
Jingliu's crimson irises burned like lit coals, yet lacked the warmth and life of true fire. She was fully mara-struck now. She had killed her subordinate cloud knights, and she might very well do the same to you.
It would have been a mercy if she had. Instead, she lowered her sword.
"I'm sorry." Her voice was monotone, the apology insincere. It wasn't as though she really understood why she was apologizing anyway.
You bit back a dry sob and tried to ground yourself for the coming exchange, for what might be your last moments.
You knew this day would come, but not like this.
Mara comes for your kind the way that death comes for the other species; it's a liberator and a captor. Even knowing the eventual end, you were still wholly unprepared for the grief of a centuries-long romance coming to an abrupt and brutal end.
Jingliu approached you slowly then knelt down beside you, as if tending to the injuries of a sparrow with a broken wing. If you were anyone else, you might have flinched, but you would never flinch away from her. Her tenderness in her touch for you was as deeply imbued in her muscle memory as her swordsmanship, even if she didn't realize it.
Her hand found its way to your cheek, and you were too rapt by her gaze to notice that her fingertips were sticky with gore.
Impulsively, you decided to ask something selfish.
"Do you remember me?" Your voice was barely above a whisper but it pierced the empty space between you like a dagger thrown at a dartboard.
She had been touching you so intimately, you were certain she must know you, but the coldness in her expression seemed as impassive as a stranger walking the opposite direction across the starskiff haven's main road. There was no flicker of recognition.
"No." She replied simply, but there was a trace of mourning in her honesty.
The hollowness in your chest made itself known by the way you could hear the cracking of your heart echo in the previous stillness.
Deep down, she was aware she was supposed to know you. She was supposed to feel something she couldn't quite reach anymore. Your name, the answer "yes", sat on the tip of her tongue, but the taste was unfamiliar.
You weren't sure how long you sat in silence, the heel of her hand resting gently at the corner of your mouth as her fingers traced your cheek bones like she had on lazy sunny afternoons. It was Jingliu, but it wasn't.
Your eyes bored into hers as if drilling deep enough would allow you to impart those shared memories back into her. You needed her to remember you, the love and life you had shared together, those little whispered promises in the dark that could no longer see the light of day. In the depths of your heart, you knew it was a lost cause.
The gears turned in her head as she did her very best to try and recall in that brief, frozen moment of time who you were, yet nothing would surface beyond the echo of a feeling long forgotten, drowned in the curse of the abundance.
Her thumb brushed your bottom lip and the iron flavor of blood hit the tip of your tongue, calling you back to your body from your memories.
Neither of you spoke another word. In silence, you asked with your eyes if she was going to kill you too. Her only answer was the subtle shake of her head as she withdrew her hand from your face, and rose to her full height. As if you were little more than one of her other hundreds of casualties, she turned on her heel and started towards the starskiff dock.
You wanted to scream after her, yet that fighting spirit of yours she had loved so much had been sapped of all its strength. More than wanting to chase after her or curse her for all she had done, you wished that she had killed you too. Death would have been far preferable to patching up the exit wound she had left in your soul.
The starskiff she had commandeered to make her escape began to rise from its mooring and you felt yourself begin to tremble as its silhouette shrank into the horizon.
---
Watching her speaking to Yingxing, and Jing Yuan, and the man who looked like Dan Feng left a sour taste in your mouth, but if she had wanted you there, you would have received an invitation too. Maybe she didn't want to see you.
For now, you're content to watch from a distance.
She seems like a ghost of herself, but she shows no symptoms of being mara-struck now. Perhaps there's a cure after all, but it's hardly any of your concern.
You wonder if she's been taking care of herself since she's been gone, if she's been eating and sleeping enough, if she's taken up with anyone else. Just the thought of someone else makes your stomach turn.
It's silly to be concerned about such mundane things when she's surrendering herself to be sent to the shackling prison, and yet you can't help that a little shred of your affection for her still lingers.
Your arms fold over your chest as she takes up her blade against Yingxing, and let yourself smile with a tiny snort of derision. Of course, no reunion with Jingliu is complete without a spar.
When the battle is over, it seems like nothing has really changed at all. Yingxing, cursed with immortality, gasps back to life with limited injury despite his mortal wound. The successor of Dan Feng's soul speaks briefly with everyone before returning to the Alchemy Commission.
"You didn't want to say goodbye?"
Jing Yuan's voice is warm and rich as he appears behind you and takes a place at your side, looking over the stone where the remains of the High Cloud Quintet stood just moments ago.
"I wasn't invited." You reply with a bitter smile.
The general nods with a knowing look in his eye, and you both turn back to face the water. There's nothing left to say between you two; The only words left are for Jingliu, and you wouldn't know where to begin anyway.
Instead, you pretend it's her standing beside you now, eyes fixed on that liminal space where the sky and the water kiss. You let your mind drift to those dusty, cherished memories you've worked so hard to suppress and do your best not to grab Jing Yuan's hand.
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