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#carry on matron
thecubes · 1 year
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artist once again surprised that art looks better when studying a reference image
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shorthaltsjester · 1 year
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man. you know what i fucking think about all the time? vex and vax and the deities that they become champions to. how even those gods reflect the entanglement that is their life, how vax steps in front of a goddess on his stalwart hope in the world and demands she choose him and how vex is so tentative, barely speaks up because she’s fighting against every instinct she’s learned that tells her not to hope that she could be worthy enough, certainly not to a god.
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and the gods that choose them, the gods they choose? they’re both reflections of one another to each other. vax, whose championship arose out of his commitment to never leave his sister’s side? his god is the matron of ravens, a sad woman who dons a mask. a mortal who fought tooth and nail to arrive at the power she has. vex, whose championship arrives after her brother’s hope in the future and her future specifically has rubbed off on her and encouraged her own growth to believing? she is greeted with pelor, who stands strong and painfully bright, but she’s granted the gift to see through it to warm eyes and a bright smile. who affirms the hope that lives in her.
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and man, it’s even more extraordinary to me that the comparison between the given twin’s god and their sibling gets made by that sibling in scenes where they directly speak to the gods their twin has chosen. during vax’s resurrection ritual, vex bargains with the raven queen because she knows she’s someone who bargains like vex herself does, and she’s someone that values vax, maybe not quite as much as she does, but enough. and during vex’s trial, as the dawn father searches for his hope among the love for vex among vox machina, vax’s affirmation is that vex is his hope, so she should certainly be sufficient to be pelor’s.
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and god the black death walker’s ward and the white dragon armour? vax’s wings and vex’s blessing? vax as a shroud of darkness visiting this plane, embracing the literally glowing shape of his sister on her wedding day? the poetry of vex and vax and pelor and the matron of ravens is enormous and so much of it is fucking. improv.
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silverjurors · 6 months
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Zane and Irene parallel character progressions hit post
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wintercorrybriea · 2 years
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Madeline Smith as Mrs. Pullitt in 'Carry on Matron' (1972)
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Y'know, I think Bells Hell's might be the reason Vax got orbed at all.
The Matron of Ravens is the god of fate, so she must have known (I'm not super sure how Matt's god's work in terms of omniscience, whether they know all or just see the all possibilities that clarify as choices are made) but either way on some level she has an idea of what is going on.
So we're left with the question, if she knows in some way that interference from a deity will guarantee the success of Ludinus then why would she allow her champion to be so close.
I think she saw Keyleth and the way that Keyleth will affect the world and her death would affect too much of fate and so it needed to be stopped.
But I also think that it was far too big of a risk to save Keyleth for all her potential impact if the world ends. Unless, unless, bells Hell's broke a key in the feywild, broke enough of the power sources, brought in enough allies, knew enough, cared enough to significantly change the effectiveness of what Ludinus was doing. To mean that it was not the end of the world anymore, suddenly it was worth it to risk her champion.
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trollbreak · 2 years
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Ok horns brain cancelled I’m thinking abt millen and resile and their alternate ways to deal with the stress that comes with the certainty that they’re staring their mortality in the face and ending their days to hold onto each other because they’re a remnant of home and-
#resile distracts himself. always. and sometimes he’s overly careless with his own well being#and millen tries to plan and plan again and go over the details where he can and#holds them gently#also overanalyzes them but. it’s a lot of topic revolving around death so I’m just gonna sit on it for the time being Bc. idk if that’s a#bit too grim rn. but. thinks about them so much#thinks abt how they grew up together and their matron kept resile tucked away in the caverns and he and millen would look out at the stars#sometimes and resile would get so excited that millen had to get excited too and she didn’t even think twice about it until he said that he#was going to join the fleet and their little bubble that had lived in that room where resile was just as jade as anyone else living there#came crashing down and she was panicking by the time he left and he wasn’t going to do anything yet but she didn’t know what to do for a lon#time and it was an impulse decision to stow away on a smuggler’s ship anf it was pure fucking luck that they got away with it and the troll#heard them out and laughed and sent them off to another ship because the captain there seemed determined enough to make sure folks would be#as prepared as they could be and when millen found out that nearly the entire crew had been fleet he panicked and a couple folks got scars#out of it but things got settled down easy enough and now when millen stresses they pace the ship looking for flaws and they run through#routines and they check in on the crew and it’s the details that can be ones undoing so he focuses on the details where he can and she#trusts her crew where she can’t and it’s a small ship and it’s a small crew and it’s just enough to be able to handle without getting#overwhelmed and resile has reached the point where it’s simply just easier to let the universe carry him more than not so he’s more than#happy to (mostly) just do what he’s told and ignore the why because that’s for somebody else to figure out and#millen fisvet#resile argent#gnaws on them like rock candy
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weasleyreidstyles · 3 months
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Serendipity
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chapter five
summary: it was only meant to be a purely transactional relationship. he would help her strengthen her abilities in return for her getting his friends out of his father's nasty path. he didn't mean to fall for her, but loving her was the easiest thing in his dark world.
no use of y/n, but your general nickname is Meadow. All characters are aged up to be over 18.
pairings: mattheo riddle x fem!ravenclaw reader; platonic!slytherins x fem!reader; platonic!golden trio x fem!reader
warning(s): mentions of drugs/weed but only minor, its an angsty one folks!!
series masterlist; previous part; next part
Madame Pomfrey had the house elves bring up food for you and the other occupants of the Hospital Wing when dinner time rolled around later that day. You enjoyed a plate full of roast chicken, potatoes and mash before the plate was magically vanished upon you finishing it before the matron came to check on you again.
Some time after that, the doors to the Hospital Wing are pushed open with an echoing creak but you didn't look up from your book to see who it was until your copy of Pride & Prejudice was plucked right out of your hands.
"Hey!" you protest, going to grab the book back from Mattheo Riddle's grasp. "Oh it's you."
"You sound so happy to see me." he teases as he sits on the edge of your bed. You stare from the fabric of the bed sheets to where he's sitting with raised brows.
"There's a perfectly good seat right next to you." you grumble as he enters your personal space.
"The seats are uncomfortable, I'd rather not sit on them again after I spent a good hour waiting for you to wake up earlier." he replied, forcing you to move over so that he could fit properly on the bed next to you.
"You stayed?" you asked incredulously. "Why?"
"You passed out the second we all saw Bell on the bed. I was worried. Sue me."
"Awh you care about me." you cooed, jokingly patting his knee before rolling your eyes.
He picked up the book that he had taken from you and flipped it around cover to cover, reading the blurb and scrunching his face up. "What's your book about? I don't understand it."
As you begin to explain Elizabeth Bennett's intricate and turbulent relationship with Mr. Darcy with fervour, Mattheo can't help but stare at you with eyes full of admiration and...something else.
Some time later, the dreaded conversation ended up coming around. You tell him how odd it felt when you saw the necklace; how your weird intuition seemed to carry over to the Hospital Wing when you saw Katie; to Dumbledore's cryptic visit.
"Dumbledore spoke to you?" he asked, curiously.
"Well at first he complimented my Occlimency abilities. Thank you by the way." you start. "But then he asked me about what happened when Katie was cursed."
Mattheo listened as you talked, nodding his head to show that he was paying attention.
"...and then he asked me to tell him what I felt when I touched a ring that he had in his possession."
"A ring?" A look crosses Mattheo's face, but it's gone in an instant.
"The magic was similar to the necklace, but different at the same time." you continue, picturing the Riddle insignia in your mind. "Dumbledore's hand is the way it is because of it."
You didn't know whether you should tell him about what Dumbledore said about Professor Slughorn, that seemed like something Dumbledore would want to be kept under wraps.
"He didn't really give me a solid answer, but he gave me sound career advice." you say with a huff.
"What happened when he gave you the ring?"
"Same thing that happened when I touched Katie. It burned me. But my magic was surrounding the ring this time. It felt...odd."
"Huh." He's quiet for a moment before he changes the subject once more.
"Your friends spoke to Professor Mcgonagall and Professor Snape earlier, after you fainted." he said. "Potter thinks it was Draco that cursed her. Accused him right in front of them."
"Did he do it? Malfoy?" you interject, Harry's theories had become more consistent over the last few weeks, and you weren't surprised to hear that he had suspected that Malfoy was behind this, despite ludicrous the allegations were.
"He had detention with Mcgonagall today. Didn't show up to transfiguration remember? He was pretty pissed off about missing the first Hogsmeade weekend." he says and you recall the detention being issued a few days ago when Malfoy appeared in the doorway of the Transfiguration classroom a quarter of an hour late.
"Right. Yeah." you say tiredly, somewhat unconvinced but you push the feeling aside when he begins to stand.
"Where are you going?" you say with a yawn, reaching for his left forearm. He winces but you don't catch it in your tired state.
"You're getting tired, and it's almost curfew. I need to get back to my common room so I don't risk getting a detention."
"Pansy's patrolling tonight. You'll be fine." you say, dragging him to sit down. "Stay a little longer. At least until I fall asleep. Please?"
The way you looked at him with your big, tired eyes caused him to falter.
"You don't really want me to stay, Princess." he murmured but he didn't move to stand again.
"I hate when you call me that." you say. "I wouldn't have asked otherwise, Mattheo. I don't want to fall asleep alone in here."
"Alright, move over then." his resolve crumbles and he moves to lie down behind you, using an arm around your waist to drag your body closer to his, his body heat warming you from the inside.
It takes you no time at all to fall asleep in his embrace, feeling the most comfortable you'd ever felt in your entire life. In your sleepy haze, you swore you felt him kiss the side of your temple, murmuring into your soft skin.
"Good night, sweetheart." he had whispered, before he fell asleep shortly after you.
~∞~
The week following his visit to the Hospital Wing, your interactions with Mattheo were few and far between.
Your lessons had dwindled after he had first started skipping out on you, but now he seemed hellbent on avoiding you altogether.
He had once again skipped your Ancient Runes lesson that week and Theo proved to be of little help when he refused to tell you where his best friend was. Pansy seemed to be growing increasingly agitated by her two friends over the course of the time Mattheo was ignoring you.
"For Salazar's sake, Teddy. Mattheo's just been a little busy this week." she said. "No need to worry. I think he's been doing extra Potions work."
"Do you know where he is now?" you ask your friend with pleading eyes.
Like Theo, she seemed reluctant to give you the boy's location, as if they knew something that you weren't supposed to know, but in the end they shared a look and relented.
"He's in the Room of Requirement." Teddy says, before his hands gently grip your shoulders. "But we never told you, okay. I don't want to die a premature death, tesoro."
"Thank you. I won't tell him you helped, don't worry Teddy." you reassured him before walking down the corridor and towards the system of staircases that would take you to the seventh floor.
Due to the interval between lessons ending and new ones beginning, it seemed to take you ages to get from point A to B, with everyone lingering in or rushing through the corridors but when you got to the familiar wall, you waited.
I need to see Mattheo.
I need to see Mattheo.
I need to see Mattheo.
I need to-
The door began materialising in front of your eyes, reminiscent of the late evenings that you'd come here with your friends for DA meetings before Umbridge and the Inquisitorial Squad had it disbanded. Your hand still had that prominent scar from the two weeks of detention you had each received: I must not disobey the Ministry.
When the door was fully formed, you twisted the handle and slipped through.
The room appeared to be huge and full to the brim with piles upon piles of junk. It was going to take you forever to find him, but you knew he was in there somewhere.
You started down a pathway that had appeared between some old arm chairs and bookshelves and followed where your gut was telling you to go.
It was quiet, too quiet and you were about to give up hope when you saw Mattheo lounging on a dark velvet chaise lounge, a blunt hanging in his lips, something shiny resting in his lap that looked an awful lot like a tiara, which he vanished away when he saw you.
"So this is what you do in your spare time?" you ask, hesitantly sitting at the edge of the chaise lounge, by his feet.
He only sighed as he took another hit of the blunt, leaving you to carry on speaking without a reply.
"How'd you even get that into the school? It's more illegal for wizards to get their hands on than muggles." you turn your head to face him only to find him staring straight ahead, avoiding your gaze altogether.
You huffed before you stood up and rounded the chaise to stand directly in front of him; he continued to stare in the opposite direction.
"For Rowena's sake, Riddle. Look at me." you snapped, using the pads of your fingers to firmly direct his face to yours.
His gaze was void of emotions when he stared at you. Like it had been all the times before when he'd antagonise Harry or Ron with his friends. His eyes were no longer soft like they had been with you these past months. They were cold and dark and angry.
If you hadn't have grown some sort of friendship with him, if you could even call it that, then you'd happily go on ignoring his existence again. But for some reason, you couldn't shake him, wouldn't shake this hold he had on you.
"What do you want, Meadow?" he asked, voice low and raspy, as if he'd not spoken in a while. "I thought you'd get the hint by now? Or are you seriously that stupid?"
"You confuse the absolute fuck out of me, Riddle." you say, beginning to grow annoyed at his apparent nonchalance. "What's your issue? You agree to help me out for Theo's sake and the second it gets complicated you what? You just....leave?"
"'S not like we're mates, Meadow." he grumbles, rolling his eyes as he takes another hit. "Actually I'm pretty sure we're supposed to be enemies."
"The whole point of the lessons is for me to help you and your friends get out, is it not?"
"To get them out. Not me. That wasn't the deal." he snaps.
"I agreed to help. That includes you, too."
"And how did you honestly expect that to go down? Huh!" he stood up so suddenly that you stumbled backwards, into the table that was behind you.
"How do you think the Order will react when you go to them, pleading for my case? The son of The Dark Lord on their side? They'd sooner call you a traitor for even associating with any of us." he had gotten closer to you, so much so that the toes of his shoes kissed your's.
"They would be understanding. If you told them how much you hate him-"
"And you think they'd actually believe that?" he snaps, stepping even closer to you. You had to press your hands against his firm chest to stop him trapping you further against the table. "They'd show mercy to Theo and the others. That's all I care about. I didn't want any of them to be involved. You need to get them out. Not me."
"But why?" you question harshly, looking at him through your lashes. His brown eyes were pure onyx now, no traces of the boy you'd gotten to know were present.
"I am my father's son, sweetheart. My fate has been sealed since the day I was born. There's no helping me." he says quietly, his eyes boring into your's.
"Let me help you. Please." you say resolutely. "We'll think of something. They have to hear you out."
"They won't."
"They have to." you insist. "What kind of people would they be if they refuse to help someone in need."
"They can't help someone who can't be saved, sweetheart."
"For fuck's sake Mattheo! Why are you being so stubborn?!" you snap, your voice raising in octaves that surprises both of you.
"Why are you so determined to save me?" he shouts back, leaning down so that your faces are level. His hands sit on either side of your thighs, bracketing you to the table as his breathe huffs against your cheek, the scent of weed and smoke overtaking your senses. He's breathing heavily, eyes flicking between your's and your lips. Mattheo seems to be holding onto what little resolve he has left before the unthinkable happens.
He's staring at your lips now. Your breathe hitches as he seems to contemplate something but you can't see his thoughts very clearly.
It's only a split second decision but you can see it, the moment he decides to let go.
"Fuck it." he mumbles before his mouth decends on your's. In your shock you don't realise that you've practically frozen until he pulls away with wide eyes.
"Shit- Meadow I'm sorry I-" you snap out of your frozen state and don't let him finish his sentence as you wrap your arms around his broad shoulders and kiss him like your life depended on it.
The feeling is euphoric. His lips are like a warm and gentle hug against your own; it feels right. Like the missing piece of a never ending puzzle was finally put back into place. You're so in your head that you don't even register the unceremonious moan you let out when Mattheo's tongue sensually brushes your own. It allows him to deepen the kiss and you think you might die happily right then and there, with his soft lips on your's.
Gods, sweetheart. he groans, his inhibitions down, so you feel everything he feels. Every thought and every desire. If I knew kissing you felt this good, I would've done that much sooner.
When you eventually pull away from eachother, only a hair of space was left between you, your breathing equally heavy.
His onyx eyes held that familiar softness that he seemed to only show around you, his lips quirked into a cheeky grin.
Merlin, he was the most attractive boy you'd ever layed eyes on. It was then that you realised that you were well and truely fucked.
~∞~
omg they kissed 🫢🫢
the one bed trope gets me every time 🤭🤭 i think we can all agree that mattheos a bit of an idiot but the guy's got his secrets...😁
and i love angst and slow burns so much but i couldn't help myself lol i love a '"fuck it" and they kiss' moment but im sorry this was short. i was contemplating carrying this on or splitting the chapter into two which is what im doing so really this is more of a filled chapter for whats to come ;)
taglist:
(striked out users are ones that i couldn't tag)
@camille-1019 @lovelyygirl8 @xluansstuff @babeylover @thejadeazalea @undercover-smutlover @adhxmoony @dreamingofonceuponatime @thepassionatereader @urmomsgayforme5 @aphroditeisamilf @devotedlycrookeddonut @purplegirls-posts @nofacenonamelikekira @foxboyapologist @lafrone @lovely-maryj @nromanovaswife @leeknows-wife @dracygf @wildlyobserving @ravenclawprincess33 @melllinaa @vellicora
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sorcerous-caress · 5 months
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Okay as great as crybaby!tav is we really glossed over the potential of mommy!Tav. I may be a smidge bias because that’s a lot like my tav, as she’s so damn determined to take care of her friends and was a baker before she was an adventurer so she’s constantly just doting on the companions offering them pastries. It’s a little self indulgent but My Tav has a little quirk that she grew up food insecure and just absolutely refuses to eat until she knows everyone else has eaten because she can’t bear the thought of any of her friends potentially going hungry. She’s normally very submissive and sweetly to all of them but no amount of begging, discipline or concern will break her because she just cares so damn much. Could you write the dom mom squad™️ reacting too something like that, who tries to comfort them? Who is incensed that she doesn’t believe they can provide? Who gets so hung up on the fact she’s being stubborn they forget the original issue?
A submissive mommy who can cook and give good hugs will literally fix 90% of the gang here, unironiclly.
Reacting to a very motherly Reader
[Bg3 women, fluff, dom mommies, afab!reader, fem pronouns, sub!reader ]
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Karlach would relish in your dotting.
During her life in the hells, she was both touch starved and food starved for so long. You being there to encourage her with the pep talks, headpats, and occasional pie is everything she has ever dreamed of and more.
As much as she wants to be the one to take care of you, she can't help but let relish in you fussing over her. The coddling, the comfort, and the constant attention are slowly frying her brain from how happy she is.
Did she die and go to heaven?
She becomes very protective of you, never lets you carry heavy stuff, and always asks if you need her to bring you ingredients or something during her errand runs. No, no, you don't have to tire your pretty little legs. Just stay in camp all sweet and pretty while she goes out and brings you everything you need.
If you didn't know any better, you'd think she's subconsciously treating you like her stay at home wife.
She really likes hovering around while you cook, watching you work attentively and sometimes begging for a sample taste with her puppy eyes.
And yes you being the one feeding her those samples is very important, it enhances the taste a lot.
It might take her a while to notice the fact that you were always the last one to eat. Or how you immediately offered your plate if someone else wanted seconds.
She thinks it's very sweet at first but slowly grows more and more concerned at your well-being.
I mean, if she had to, she would sit on your lap to prevent you from getting up as she hands you a plate of food. Your stern talk will just make her feel guilty and sad but she'd refuse to let you get up.
As much as she loves nothing more than to obey her mommy, sometimes she also needs to take care of her mommy like she takes care of her.
Minthara would admire your ways.
Tenderness and love were never words that anyone in her culture used to describe a mother, an ilhar. No, they tend to fall more on the brutal and disciplinary side.
An ilhar meant authority, control, and order. To defy her is to commit a sin. To show weakness in front of her is even worse.
She is reminded by that cultural difference whenever someone describes you as motherly.
The only thing you had in common with the matrons of the underdark was that underlying strength. That unbreakable will hidden so deep inside you, the urge to survive at any cost and defend your subordinates. She admired it greatly.
You were very strong deep down, strong to be truly worthy of the description of motherly. That kind of strength that the males will never understand, the kind of strength that nurtured even more strength.
So when a person like you showered her in hugs, kisses, and even brushed and styled her hair for her from time to time, how could she ever be ungrateful and say no?
You were generous and kind even when you had no need to be, you were selfless to a concerning degree.
She had to put a stop to that.
Minthara respects you too much to use any of the punishments or disciplinary ways that her matrons taught her. She will talk to you like an equal because that's what she sees you as.
She will be very patient with you. Stopping you when your self sacrifices become too much for your health to bear, Reminding you that you also require as much food and rest as the rest of them.
She'll teach you to relay on her slowly, as gentle as she possibly can be. Which...isn't very gentle, honestly, but she is genuinely trying her best.
Jaheira feels like you complete her.
As an actual mother to so many children, Jaheira still never truly grasped the whole motherly vibe people keep preaching about. Her kids are safe, fed, cleaned, and trained in combat. Isn't that enough?
So what it if she was absent on missions a lot, need I remind you that her line of work concers the safety of the whole world? What kind of mother would she be if she let the whole world, which included her kids, end just because she picked to stay at home and colour with her youngest.
She knows it doesn't excuse it. Give her a break. She is at the end of her age and hasn't had someone by her side since in a long while.
That's why when you suddenly appear in her life with all of the qualities she was severely lacking in, she almost thinks it's too good to be true.
...you almost remind her of a certain someone she lost long ago. You're just as soft and caring to others. Ironically enough people also underestimate a lot because of your kindness too.
She is drawn to you, like a moth to a flame.
Jaheira can't help it. You shine with radiance, and she hasn't felt warmth in so long.
The first few days she brings her kids home-cooked meals, they immediately hold a knife to her throat as they demand this doppelganger tell them where their real mother is.
But after some very awkward conversations, and having to bring you into her house as actual proof. They realised that their mother's stone heart can still beat after all apparently.
Shadowheart tries to play it cool, fails.
She has an edgy mysterious aura she needs to keep, and you're making it very hard for her. How is she supposed to be this dark, cool cleric of Shar when you keep gifting her these hand-knitted pastel sweaters with the most loving look in your eyes.
Of course she will wear them, she isn't heartless.
She's really trying not to show how touched she is when you look for her during dinner at camp to make sure she got her plate. She can't help the blush on her ears when you wipe some food from the corner of her mouth.
She's mean to people on your behalf when they're rude to you or try to take advantage of your submissiveness. Actually she is just mean to people in general if she doesn't like the way they look at you.
Loves taking naps on your lap, absolutely adores when you play with her hair or braid it. Your thighs are the perfect pillows for her to rest her head on and just forget about the outside world and her mission for a while.
She saves the best wine she finds to share it with you later, or the best sweets or fancy jucies if you don't drink. She had to defend her stash from both Gale and Wyll wandering hands, absolutely refusing all of their offers or begging for some of that fancy cheese or that perfectly aged wine bottle.
You're the only person she ever shares it with. She doesn't even want anything in return. She just loves seeing you happy and relaxed every once in a while. You always take care of them, so it's about time that someone takes care of you too.
Laezel has killed people for disrespecting you.
And she'll do it fucking again. These worms forgot their place. She doesn't even care how little their offence is, just efficiently ending their miserable life.
Why do you have a look of disappointment on your face? She did them a favour. She even made it painless and quick to compromise for your feelings.
Chk. Your softness will be the end of you. Be grateful that she is here to prevent that from ever happening.
You threaten not to take her with you on errand runs anymore if she doesn't put her sword away? You really think you can survive without her?
...okay yeah actually you can. You make a really valid point.
If it was anyone else she'd have taken that request as an insult on her honor, but since it's you...
Fine. She will listen for now.
And maybe if you keep making more of those faerun dishes, she will find it easier to listen to you. Especially the apple pie ones.
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brain-rot-central · 25 days
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Sonnet of the Lone Cardinal, Ch. 3
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A/N: Thank you all for your patience. She's finally here.
Word count: 3.5k Rating: M (nothing sexual; mostly topics that may be uncomfortable) Pairing: Ascended Astarion/Fem!Tav Warnings: 18+; Mentions of murder, violence, death, blood, gore (very minor), blood drinking, sexual acts. Angst, alcohol consumption.
Summary: Tav and Shadowheart finally reunite for a simple lunch date. Their discussion turns toward Astarion, and a particularly unsettling event.
Chapter track: Cry - Cigarettes After Sex
♥ Previous Chapter
Dawn breaks over the horizon. The subtle stirrings of a city coming to life once more fill the streets. Maids and matrons pat down their mats just beyond their front doors. Street vendors begin setting up their carts. A young boy with a satchel carrying copies of the Gazette goes from home to home delivering the day’s latest print.
Tav kneels before her front window, watching the street below. A few days have passed since her meeting with Jaheira. Astarion hasn't been to see her; the longest stretch of time between visits since they began their ordeal. She fully expected a visit last night. However, he never came. She hates admitting it to herself, but she feels a shallow pit in her stomach beginning to form having gone without him for so long.
Standing up, Tav closes the window and brings herself into the washroom to prepare for the day ahead. An old friend has requested a lunch date; she hasn’t seen Shadowheart for many months, and owes her dearest friend an audience.
Tav pours the carafe of water into the wash basin, dipping a cloth into the water before bringing it to her face. Studying the various soaps and creams she has lined along the shelf, she chooses one of nettlebark, smelling of citrus and pine forests. This scent is one of her favorites, and she’s relieved she can still find comfort within the smell. Scents are still a trigger for her nausea at this stage in her pregnancy. The usually tempting smell of breakfast wafting about the air of the city turns her stomach upright, now. Tav has found that if she holds off eating until mid-morning, she's in the clear. 
Yet… odd cravings have begun. 
For instance, she's since gone back to the butcher's, profusely apologetic to poor Gideon. Of course, the kind soul that he is, he was nothing but understanding and even offered her a few rations free of charge. Tav politely declined his offer, yet as she stared into the display cases full of various raw meats, she found herself practically bewitched by the sight. Rich, bloody beef; cut straight from the animal. She recalls how intensely saliva pooled within her mouth staring at the provisions. Tasting the metallic twang of the blood on her tongue, swallowing thickly as Gideon returned with her order.
Patting her face dry with a small towel, Tav returns into the main room and begins rummaging through her dresser for the day's outfit. The midnight blue bottle Jaheira gave her sits atop the dresser. Tav considers the potion every morning, but quickly declines as her heart aches at the thought. 
She believes the weather to be rather warm today, so she settles on an airy, light blue sundress and a wide brimmed hat. The gray scarf she recently bought matches perfectly as she stands before her mirror, assembling the ensemble. 
The ghost of scars catches her eyes as she adjusts the scarf around her neck. They're light enough; most wouldn't notice, though to her, they blare. Permanent gifts from her months-long affair with Astarion during their journey to defeat the Absolute. His bite was always a clean one, never marring her tanned skin. Two faint fang marks are all that remain, Tav taking the index and middle fingers of one hand to press lightly over the imprinted flesh as she lifts her chin.
Lub-dub, lub-dub, lub-dub.
The rhythmic beating of her heart can be felt beneath her fingertips as she pushes slightly into the artery. Accurate, Tav notes, a shiver running down her spine. She makes quick adjustments to the scarf and grabs her hat off the edge of her bed, placing it atop her head. 
Returning to the mirror, Tav smiles approvingly at her reflection as she gives herself a final glance over. The dress is loose enough that it hides the new softness of her body, something she's thankful for. Curiously, she places her hands over her stomach, pushing the fabric of the dress down and under the small swell of her lower abdomen. A pleased laugh escapes her lips while admiring the sight.
Tav turns her body from side to side, tracing the movement with her eyes. Her breasts now fill the top of the garment. The deep plunge of the dress’s neckline displays her new cleavage in a flattering manner. Feeling suddenly bare, Tav unwraps the scarf from around her neck, repositioning it lays across her chest like a bandana. Better. A bit more modest.
The satisfaction doesn’t last very long as she thinks of Shadowheart. How can she tell her? Will she tell her? While Shadowheart has never been anything but supportive, Tav worries how she may respond to news of her pregnancy. Tav is not ready for the backlash and potential lecture her best friend would give her, hearing Shadowheart's scolding voice echo within her mind. 
You cried over him for months! Tav envisions clearly, sour facial expressions and all. How many times did you come to me distraught in the middle of the night? Only to end up like this?
If the conversation doesn’t occur naturally, Tav decides on not discussing it. Not yet.
Swallowing past the sudden lump in her throat, Tav grabs her satchel from behind her main door, throwing it over her shoulder and across her chest. She inspects the contents quickly to ensure everything is present. Slipping her feet into brown sandals, she makes her way down the stairs to face the day ahead.
----------------------------------------------------
The morning is spent strolling around the park not far from her apartment. Tav recalls an altercation with Bhaal’s followers in this very park so many months ago. Today though, people are enjoying the sun and the company of one another. Lovers lay out on the grass, hands interlaced as they speak freely of their devotion to one another. A book club gathers in the middle of the park to discuss their latest obsession. Tav overhears bits and pieces of mixed conversations, finding comfort in the fact that life is slowly returning to normal for the citizens of Baldur's Gate.
The midmorning quickly slips into afternoon, and Tav begins her trek over toward the Elfsong to meet with Shadowheart. A few people nod in recognition as she passes by. “That's our hero!” they shout. “The savior of the city!” Tav smiles and bows graciously toward them, never quite comfortable with everyone suddenly knowing of her existence. Still, she is thankful for their praise and support.
Upon entering the Elfsong, Tav scans the tavern and quickly finds Shadowheart seated at a booth along the wall. Their eyes meet, Shadowheart waving her over with a warm smile on her face. “There you are!” she exclaims as Tav draws closer. “My goodness, I feel as if it's been ages!” The two women exchange a quick embrace, planting chaste kisses upon eachother's cheek.
“Good to see you again, Shadowheart,” Tav says as she settles into the booth. She removes her hat and scarf, placing both items on the cushion to her left.
Shadowheart soon joins her, taking a sip from her glass of wine. “Shall I ask for another glass?” she proposes, nodding to hers. “We could just order a bottle,” she quickly adds with a smirk.
“Oh, no, I'm quite fine,” Tav declines, a sharp twist in her abdomen forms at the thought. “Truth be told, I haven't had the best stomach, as of late.” Bile begins to rise in the back of her throat as a quick wave of nausea passes over her. She quickly swallows it back down.
Taking another sip from her glass, Shadowheart cocks her head to the side. “Truly? Why haven't you been to see me yet?”
“Not to worry,” waving a hand in reassurance. “I've been to a healer. All is well,” Tav replies with a liar’s smile.
All is not well. None of this is well.
Fortunately, Shadowheart takes the bait and quickly switches subjects. Waiting for service, they begin a pleasant conversation about resettling back into their lives. They speak of their new jobs and all other mundane activities of day-to-day life, sharing a few laughs between remarks as they pursue the menus in front of them.
The waitress takes their orders – Shadowheart keeps it light, ordering salad with grilled chicken; Tav orders a rare steak with potatoes and a side of vegetables. “Rare?” Shadowheart comments as soon as the waitress is out of earshot. “You hate all meat, unless it’s well done.”
She's right. Any hint of pink in Tav’s portion would go right back into the fire. “I-I've been trying new things lately,” Tav explains, rubbing her neck coyly. The cravings only seem to grow as the days pass, and she briefly wonders if it's a consequence of having a half-vampiric pregnancy.
Shadowheart raises a brow again, but fortunately does not pry further. The women then delve into a discussion regarding their old companions as they wait for their meals. Tav talks of her efforts to bolster the city watch with Wyll, now the Duke after his father's unfortunate death. Shadowheart speaks of Gale, who she notes has since opened a school of wizardry back in Waterdeep. Neither has heard much regarding the others, though they agree that they're most likely doing well.
Shadowheart wastes little time once their meals arrive, forking salad into her mouth. “So, have you heard from Astarion at all?” she asks casually after swallowing.
A shudder passes over Tav as she begins slicing into her steak. “No,” she feigns with eyes cast downward, “I-I have not.”
Gesturing toward Tav with her fork as she chews, Shadowheart swallows. “I read something interesting in the Gazette a few days ago,” she suggests.
“About him?” Tav questions, bringing a potato wedge to her mouth.
Shadowheart shakes her head in disapproval around a sip of wine. “Not in particular,” she clarifies. “They don't name him explicitly, though it made me think of him.”
Silence befalls the table as Tav awaits her companion to continue. She doesn't trust her voice enough at this point to offer more to their conversation now that Astarion is the topic at hand. Playing idly with the vegetables on her plate, she chooses a small piece of broccoli to bring up to her mouth. The heavy pull of dread is beginning to creep in, her chest tightening.
“They… mentioned an incident that occurred in the sewers but a tenday ago,” explains Shadowheart, a sour expression befitting her face. “Some sort of deal gone wrong.”
Tav looks up to meet Shadowheart's gaze, puzzled. “How exactly does that involve him?” she inquires.
“Well, that's just the thing,” Shadowheart continues, “those first on the scene mentioned five victims in total, all young males.” She interrupts herself to feed another forkful of salad into her mouth, swallowing before resuming, “They were all reported as being exsanguinated, though only three had their throats slashed.”
Tav swallows hard around another piece of steak, silently savoring the rare flavor washing over her tongue as she focuses her attention on Shadowheart. “And the other two?”
Shadowheart looks sheepishly around the bar, discomfort evident. She dips her head. “Tav, I know of your history with Astarion. I don't wish to speak ill of him out of respect for you.”
Tav's fist tightens around the knife in her left hand. The tightness in her chest has traveled up to her throat. Her heart pounds rapidly as she drinks from the glass of water within her right hand. “What of the others?” Tav insists, placing the glass back down on the table with force.
Eyes falling closed, Shadowheart sighs heavily. “The other two…” she begins, voice trailing off. She pulls in a deep breath. “Well, they're reported as having two pin marks on their necks.” She gestures to Tav's throat with a soft nod of her head. “...Not unlike the scars you bear.”
A prickling heat spreads across Tav’s face. A tenday ago? she speaks within her mind. Rather close to when she'd last seen Astarion. Tav recalls again how miffed he'd been that night; impatient and direct, wasting little time coaxing her down onto the bed.
She pushes around a chunk of potato on her plate, anxiety mounting. “What makes you think it was Astarion? It could have been a kobold, or a spider, or-”
“They were gone the next day,” interrupts Shadowheart, bluntly.
Tav’s heart nearly freezes. She locks eyes with Shadowheart. “Gone? What do you mean gone?” she asks frantically, furrowing her brow.
“Gone,” Shadowheart reiterates, raising the wine glass to her lips again. “When the investigators returned the following day alongside the medical examiner, only the three with the knife wounds remained.” She pulls a long drink from the glass. “The other two were nowhere to be found. As if they'd simply gotten up and walked away.”
Tav shivers, entire body twitching with the thought. “T-that doesn't mean it's Astarion, Shadowheart. It could be-”
“Could be what? Another vampire?” suggests Shadowheart, sarcastically. “I don't think Astarion would take kindly to someone else moving into his territory.” She sighs, clicking her tongue. “I'm sorry to say it, Tav, but it sounds an awful lot like him.”
The sounds of the tavern flood Tav’s ears. Her vision narrows to a single pinpoint, the edges of her vision growing fuzzy. She leans back in her seat and closes her eyes. “We don't know that,” Tav states, trying desperately to calm the wild beating of her heart. “We don't know what happened.” She shakes her head, slowly opening her eyes. “We won't know until the case is settled.”
“Why do you still defend him?” asks Shadowheart bluntly, mouth pulling into a displeased pout. “Surely you remember how badly he hurt you. Why continue to defend him at all?”
The question echoes in her mind. Why does she defend him? The man is a monster; an abomination, as Jaheira had called his child. Tav knows not who he’s become. Small glimpses of the man he once was shine through now and again, mostly when they argue. The stubborn selfishness of him reveals itself, inevitably bleeding into raw passion once she works at him enough. It almost makes her feel at home in his arms, albeit for a few hours.
“He wouldn't, Shadowheart. It's not like him…” Tav says, quietly. She's unsure if she believes it or if she's lying in an effort to convince herself that it's true. She's suddenly lost her appetite, pushing the plate of food away from her.
Shadowheart is quiet for some time, eyes cast down at the table. “Well,” she says, cutting through the silence, “let's hope he's as innocent as you say.”
Silence stretches across the table before the two women agree to shift the conversation elsewhere. They inevitably tie up their gathering, sharing an embrace and chaste kisses to the cheeks once again. They vow to meet the following week, and head out on their way.
Walking back toward her apartment, Tav's stomach begins to sour as she thinks over her conversation with Shadowheart. Vivid images of Astarion sinking his fangs into the necks of the alleged victims flood her mind's eye. She feels a tingling sensation over her own scars as she imagined how they must have felt. Could he have really done such a thing? The sounds of the city are almost absent from her ears as she ponders the question.
“Wait a minute,” she speaks aloud, freezing in place. Her eyes are cast down to the cobblestone street below as her heart fills with horror. Her mouth dries quickly, choking as she tries to breathe.
The last night she'd seen Astarion coincides almost exactly with the timeline of the murders within the sewers. If the report is true, then Astarion's enthusiasm that night wasn't solely due to want, necessarily. Tav dips into a small alley between two buildings, leaning against the brick wall as her knees grow weak.
No, his insistence was not due to missing her. It was attributed to blood-fueled lust, a state Tav has seen him in a number of times. She clasps a hand over her mouth as a sob suddenly racks her chest. Her whole body shakes as the horrific realization sinks deep into her bones. The puzzle aligns near perfectly as the thought continues to blossom.
Astarion had come to her bed after draining two people dry. He didn't spend time on their typical foreplay because he couldn't. Tav knows the power mortal blood has over him, and she doubts the ascension has changed that. She recalls how it all but possesses his thoughts, his feelings, and his body, enslaved by the sheer power of unbridled desire running through him.
Lurching forward, she begins to dry heave; a million thoughts race across her mind. He couldn't have done this on purpose, could he? He wouldn't. There's simply no way he would. Denial clouds her thoughts as saliva drips freely from her open mouth, gathering it together to spit upon the floor. Holding a hand to her stomach she rises, leaning her temple against the cool brick of the wall next to her. She closes her eyes, trying to calm her excitement with slow, deep breaths.
“No innocents; you have my word.”
Astarion's past promise to her rings loudly in her ears. It was from this promise their almost nightly affair to keep him well-fed began. Tav tries desperately to block out the memories of what would transpire after their sessions; how could she have not noticed? All the signs were there.
Because he didn't drink from me.
Her stomach churns again and she rubs her hand in a circular motion above her navel. Her chest burns as she chokes back tears. What to do, now? Does she wait until his next visit to confront him? When will that be? The anticipation will burn a hole through her soul, she knows. But, what other option does she have? 
A small voice wrestles from within as she wipes her mouth with the back of a hand.
…Do I go to him?
The decision is made before the logical side of her mind can argue a rational point, her feet carrying her toward the Crimson Palace. She second guesses the choice; from some place within, a voice yells for her to reconsider. 
He'll tell me the truth, surely, she argues against her doubt. 
Right?
Aware that she's potentially putting herself in a grave position, Tav cannot rest until he tells her otherwise. She needs to hear from Astarion's own mouth that he didn't murder five people only to share her bed mere hours later. She needs to hear from him that he wouldn't do this, that he still abides by his promise to her, that her blood is all he's ever known.
“Why do I care so much?” Tav questions aloud to herself, practically running now toward the monastery. She shakes her head in an attempt to clear her thoughts; he will eventually drink the blood of others. If he is to create an army of spawn as he'd so claimed after the ritual, that would be the only way to do so.
They're no longer lovers; no longer deeply acquainted. They just sleep together, and she fell pregnant as a result. 
Why does she care so much?
Before long, Tav stands before the immaculate palace. Grand mahogany doors stand proudly at the building's entrance, adorned with intricate carvings along the wood. Black metal knockers depicting the faces of gargoyles signal a way in. Tav’s hand reaches instinctively around the bell of one, pulling up.
Before she can complete the knock, the door creaks open. A faint glow from a distant light source cracks through the opening of the door and Tav releases the handle, stepping back. She freezes in place, fully expecting the door to continue opening. Yet, it halts, remaining only slightly ajar. Stale air greets her nostrils and a shiver passes through her.
Silence suddenly engulfs her, the sounds of the city falling dormant. As she surveys the area around her, Tav notes no other presence out on the street for as far as the eye can see. Her ears pick up the soft sound of someone humming, and she determines its origin lies within the palace. 
An assimon carved into the middle of the marble trim along the heavy doors catches her attention as she looks up. Tav turns her head as she studies the figure; a young woman with long hair, eyes closed and wings outstretched as she holds a lance within one hand.
The humming from within the building turns into a tune and cuts through Tav’s daydream. She shakes her head briefly, regrouping. She can turn away now and forget this entire thing. Forget that this was even a thought that crossed her mind, leave, and no one would ever know she was here.
A quick flash of Astarion’s fangs piercing into skin flits across Tav’s vision. She winces. I simply must know, she reassures herself. Drawing in a deep breath, she steps forward.
Resting the flat of her palm against the door, Tav slowly pushes it open. The old metal and wood fuss loudly as the door gives way under the force of her hand. The faint glow of the light from within now pours out, illuminating the street behind her. With some hesitation, Tav steps over the threshold, disappearing into the palace.
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Old Hollywood actress Frances Farmer being carried away by police after having a psychotic episode in a courtroom and then showing attitude in the police station in 1943 is still such a Mood. I think all of us hysterical anti-authoritarian girlies can relate.
Frances was just a woman ahead of her time. It was the 40s and she was a Communist with a Bachelor of Arts in Drama. That’s literally just every millennial girl nowadays. No wonder Paramount called Frances "the star who would not go Hollywood," and emphasized her "eccentric" fashion tastes.
Director William Wyler famously said, "The nicest thing I can say about Frances Farmer is that she is unbearable." She was charged with drunk driving in Santa Monica, then when her agent shipped her off to Mexico City to film a movie, she was arrested there for drunken disorderliness.
1943 was an especially bad year, as she was accused of assaulting a studio hairdresser, not paying off her legal fines, and running down Sunset Boulevard topless after getting into a brawl at a bar. Police went to her hotel and dragged Frances out naked after she refused to comply.
When asked about her drinking habits, Frances told the judge: "I put liquor in my milk ... in my coffee and in my orange juice,” and admitted to drinking Benzedrine. The judge sentenced her to 180 days in jail, and she responded with knocking down a policeman and bruising another, along with a matron.
Frances sprinted to a phone booth to call her attorney, but was subdued by the police. When they carried her away, she shouted: "Have you ever had a broken heart?"
Frances was then taken to LA General Hospital and diagnosed with "manic depressive psychosis, probably the forerunner of a definite dementia praecox."
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thecubes · 1 year
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how did i get here
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city-of-ladies · 1 month
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"Around the year 200, two Roman women, Ailia Isidora and Ailia Olympias, walked through the impressive temple gates at Medamound, a temple complex outside of Luxor, Egypt. Their arms were heavy with an offering to the goddess Leto. They had just returned from a successful voyage across the Red Sea and were coming to thank their patroness. In the recorded dedication, we hear their voices echo back to us millennia later. They described themselves as “distinguished matrons, Red Sea ship owners and merchants.”
Ailia Isidora and Ailia Olympias weren’t the only female merchants in antiquity, says Carrie Atkins, an archaeology professor at the University of Toronto who has uncovered more than 20 references to female merchants in the early centuries of the Roman Republic. While some of these women were passive shipowners, others were heavily involved in the financing, managing, and perhaps even sailing of these merchant vessels."
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Kissed by Moonlight (Alucard x Witch! Reader)
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A/N: This is the newest part of my writing that I'm including! This takes place after season 3 but before the events of season 4 of Castlevania. I'm unsure at the moment whether to include season 4 plotlines, but I hope you enjoy it!
Summary: Born as a witch to a powerful coven, Y/N is destined for greatness. That is until the wrongs of the world destroy her life, leaving her in fear for what she is. It's when her life is on the lines that she runs into the infamous, ghastly castle needing shelter, that she runs into the newest owner. Or, two people join together, yearning for a life they wish they could build.
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PROLOGUE
They said that a red moon was a mark of God’s wrath. However, those born on a red moon were a sign of danger or foreboding.
The sign of a harbinger and the doom for mankind. The day of judgement for all who sinned against God and the heavens. It was one of the superstitions that caused those to feel the most judged and for others to be the most sinister in their beliefs against those.
God worked in many ways, and his followers worked to spread his word, regardless of what they proved was good or bad. They judged and they judged all, regardless of background or creed.
“An upcoming apocalypse,” they cried, “brought forth in the name of one borne from its blood.”
It was what was told to your mother, who carried you when she was abandoned at her lowest. She was welcomed anew by her new family, a coven of sisters. Her brood of many sisters protected and sheltered her: from the men who hurt her, to her village banishing her when her powers were discovered. It was only months into her arrival when the roundness in her belly hardened and swelled, that she found she was with child. Instead of the judgement of producing kin outside of wedlock, your mother was praised and celebrated. It was their words that spoke she was carrying a girl, a new witch that was promised to them after so long of waiting.
Moons changed in their cycles, as did your mother’s belly, growing with the babe inside. Both were pampered and doted, for the girl was claimed as the next to be as strong as the current matron, and all sisters could agree.
When the red moon appeared, as beautiful as its endless cycles before and after, was when the sisters prophesied you would come into the world.
The pain your mother carried her, the tears flooded down her face when she struggled through the night, spurred on by the chants of her many sisters. Eleven to be exact, the space in between was “for the leader himself”, Satan.
With the moon, bleeding and bright above their heads, they circled her in a formation, holding hand in hand as they chanted and praised into the night. Their cries blurred into one with your mother’s, the final push brought you forth with a shriek of your own.
Screaming, begging to be heard.
Swaddled in red, your mother gathered you in her arms. Skin as brown and hair black with small curls, she smiled as she wiped your brow, kissing your forehead lovingly, repeating the words alongside her sisters:
‘Red, red as autumntime. They shall fall in dread when you go by.’
-
1463
Six years Later.
“You’re late.”
“I’m sorry, mama,” the little girl came bounding into the hut, mud and twigs matted in her curly hair, her skin was scratched and bruised from falls, but her toothy smile was enough to bring her mother’s attention to softly scold her. “You’re muddy again, Y/N. Did you cross over the river?”
The little girl darted her eyes away, trying to keep up with her innocent smile. “No.”
“Your ears burn when you lie, did you know that?” She pinched at her round cheek, but her smile was soft compared to how the years had treated her. “I shall clean you up before supper. Instead, we shall continue our lessons.”
“Will I learn to fly again?” The girl beamed, spreading her arms as she flapped them, mimicking the birds she saw in the trees.
“Levitation comes with many years of practise, sweet girl. It will not come to you for many more years. And besides, I shan’t let you fly around these woods, who knows who would see you.”
The girl knew of what lurked in the woods beyond their small camp, of what stalked and hunted in the night. Vampires. The blood leeches that preyed on anyone they saw. Men, women and children were never safe, and the little girl was warmed by her mother and the many sisters of the coven to be wary of their powers, and their manipulations. Targoviste - although safe to protect her from the humans - was not safe in keeping the creatures away. Nowhere was safe for little girls, but Y/N was no ordinary girl.
“Now,” her mother continued, “we shall continue with divine power.”
A favourite of the girl, she rushed to the table, leaning to get a better look. Divine power held two pillars in its wake, a never-ending cycle of balancing life and death. To make life was to call death.
The girl watched on, seeing two potted flowers, one had petals as yellow and bright as a canary’s, but one had shrivelled and died after many days of neglect.
“You remember the words?” Her mother asked as the little girl nodded her head enthusiastically. “Very good, speak them loud and clear, focusing all on the flower that is alive.”
The girl stared at the petals carefully, making sure not to take her eyes off them. She could feel the way they drew life, and how life spread through from the dirt all throughout. With the simple words, the girl commanded, “Capio.”
As if witnessing time move in lightspeed beyond what any human could comprehend, the petals began to shrivel and darken, and the yellow bulbs of the flowers shrunk as they caved in one at a time, curling in as the soil darkened. The girl looked up at her mother, pride flourishing on her face, “Can I say the other one, mama?”
“You may.”
She looked at the decayed pot with the other flower already dead for some time, speaking clearly, “Do.”
The same happened, and the girl remembered her mother describing it as if the lungs of a human were breathing. She could feel how the flower rushed back with life into its soil, brightening and blossoming once again. Its petals developed as they rose high and mighty, taking in the appearance of being freshly plucked not long ago.
“Very good, Y/N. You have gotten very confident with that spell.” She spoke, taking the pots aside, stroking her daughter’s cheek warmly. “You will become a great witch.”
“Just like you?”
“I’m no great witch, my sweet.” Her mother laughed sincerely. “It is I who had to be trained further than I was capable of knowing.”
“How did you find out you were a witch?” The girl pondered.
“When I was a little girl, maybe the same age as you, I was teased by the other children my age,” her mother began, “It got very bad, to the point one day, I was pushed into the river, and they all laughed at me.” There was a sadness in her eyes, but her daughter could read that it was more than just sadness, but anger. “I don’t know what came over me, this feeling. It felt how the wind changes, when storms approach and you can sense it’ll rain. That’s how it felt, a sense of power.” She raised her hand, clenching it open and shut.
“I remember I was staring at a rock in front of me, staring at it so hard, that I hoped for it to move, to hurt them back… I knew it was wrong, but they hurt me.”
“Did you hurt them?”
“No, I gave them a warning. I scared them off by raising the rock for all of them to see. They screamed, running back to their families and accusing me of being a demon.” She laughed sadly before she knelt low to her daughter’s level.
“You must promise me something, Y/N.”
“Yes, mama?”
“No matter how much people hate you for what you are, no matter the pain they inflict. It is better to not hurt them back. We hold—extraordinary power, that no one but us would understand.” She squeezed Y/N’s shoulder in emphasis. “Do you understand?”
“Yes, mama.”
“Good,” she kissed her hairline. “Now, you have the choice to clean up or help me tidy in here before supper.”
“How about I go back outside again?” Y/N beamed, “I’m already dirty, but I can get clean when I return.”
Her mother thought of this for a moment, sighing heavily in defeat. “Very well, but you mustn’t cross the river. It is getting too dark.”
“I promise!” Y/N laughed as she chased the greying clouds, running as far as her little leg could carry her. It was by the time she caught up to the river when her lungs were burning and she stared at the pebbles.
“I could do what Mama did.” She said aloud, only the trees, and the birds in their nests could hear her, and sense her presence. “I can be strong like her.”
She concentrated on the smallest rock beside her, staring and staring at the smoothness of its surface. Holding her palm out, she clenched and unclenched, trying for a moment as she got the pebble to shift once, then again, moving the other rocks it was embedded in, wiggling it free bit by bit.
Her patience was wearing thin, it was taking forever! It wasn’t until she loosened it enough that in a fit of frustration, she yelled into the air, tossing her arm outward as she flung the pebble in its direction, startling her by the suddenness.
“It worked!” She toothily smiled, staring out as she watched the smooth pebble scatter across the water’s edge, catching itself in the mud on the other side.
She was about to happily go back to celebrate her victory, to tell her mother in hopes she’d be proud, but her eyes caught something in the low treeline. The trees blended, and she thought she had seen one move, until a silhouette emerged, tall and willowy, blending in naturally with its surroundings.
Y/N’s smile dropped as she took in the stranger on the other side of the river, staring her down despite her not being able to see their face. It was shrouded in a dark hood, and only their nose and mouth were visible, skin bone-white.
She felt frozen in the very spot she stood in, all sense of fight or flight dispelled from her body, and moving down her spine was the icy-cold sensation of true fear.
Run.
Run.
RUN!
Her heart felt as if it had stopped beating, replacing it with the ticking clock, seconds passing with the chances of escaping running thin.
It was only when the stranger’s face split open into a wide smile, that Y/N could feel the sensation come back to her legs.
Sharp fangs protruded from their mouth, gleaming like silver daggers.
She didn’t know what kept her going, the hope she would make it back alive, or the fact that she wanted to stay alive for her mother’s sake.
She could hear the creature move to keep up with her with ease, chasing the trees as it ran atop, keeping pace with her.
She had hoped the moment she got back to her mother’s hut that it was all a cruel nightmare. That she would wake up in her bed and nothing had happened.
Her small village grew closer in the distance, with the sounds of the winds and creatures close and surrounding her. She could almost feel their breath on the back of her neck, their laughter, mocking her to move faster—as if she was their prey and they enjoyed the chase. It felt like there were thousands of them, an army of them chasing after her.
Y/N’s lungs burned for air until she reached the front door, and everything was deadly quiet, except for the sound of her wheezing. No candles burned in the hut, nor in any other that she knew a sister occupied. Where is everyone? She thought, scanning the village, where no light was seen.
“Mama? You must let me in! There’s—” she pushed the door open to witness the horrors in front of her. “Vampires.”
The blood was the first thing she noticed, startling and fresh, with her mother’s body lying alongside it, eyes vacant and clouded.
Y/N didn’t know the scream that came from her lips came from her, crashing to the floor and coming into contact with her mother’s body. “No, no, mama, please! Wake up!” She shook her violently, staring only back into cold, lifeless eyes. “Wake up, please! Wake up, wake up, wake up!”
She scanned the room, everything had been scattered in places in the small room, as if someone had come in and pulled it apart, root and stem. Think, Y/N, think! She thought, and only did she spot the items that she crawled the smashed plotted plants.
She cradled it in her hands, pooling soil as she cupped them to keep the flower stable, chanting the words over and over again. “Capio.”
She watched, waiting, hoping and praying to whoever was out there to hear her prayers, but she continued and continued. “Capio. Capio. Do. Do.”
The flower in her grasp did not budge with death, instead, its petals remained its dull, yellowish-hue, staring back at her hopelessly as she had felt. It was only the realisation hitting her that she knew the others in her coven were not there anymore either, and she was the only one left.
Tears flooded down her cheeks, and Y/N cradled her mother’s body, already growing colder with the seconds passing. “Please come back… I need you.”
-
Latin Translations:
Capio – (I) take/seize
Do – (I) give/bestow
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randomlyblues · 3 months
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Yandere!Zane x Librarian!Reader
TW: Kidnapping not beta read
You didn't understand how you ended up in this situation. The High Priest of O'kasis was here at your doorstep demanding information that you don't have.
"I don't take lightly to people who waste my time, so I will ask you again. Where is the information about the Divine Warriors! This can't possibly be all the information that you have!"
"Again Sir, I don't have what you seek! They have burned all the knowledge about them years ago."
You felt a pinch of fear when his eyes widened a little at the tone of your voice that was directed to him. You didn't mean to raise your voice at someone with a high status as you but he was getting on your last nerves not getting the hint that this is all that you can offer him. You have heard stories about how he uses his status of being this 'religious symbol' to cover up his cruel actions and even take part in executing people, if they deserve it or not.
Zane was quite impressed with you. He's lucky that his mask is hiding the grin that was starting to form on his face.
He originally wanted to come to the village library hoping to bump into you. The first time he took notice of you was when he had to wed a pathetic couple. They wanted him to take a days trip just to get them married at a village with the name 'Phoenix Drop', making him stop with is work. That is when he saw you in the crowd speaking with an excuse of a Lord that they call Aphmau. The conversation was lighthearted but nothing worthy for him to pay any mind until you started to mention Lady Irene and how his name was in the mix of the conversation. The way you said his name made him feel a sort of way. Zane found himself wanting to hear it again. He kept a note to himself that you may be valuable to him, drowning the weird feeling he got from his name being spoken.
Later in the evening he caught notice of your snappy attitude and how you tend to be more to yourself yet also spare a kind smile to people. Zane doesn't understand why you have caught his attention, he found himself tracking everything you did. To him you were just a normal pathetic thing with knowledge he can use, yet here he was admiring the power he can see that you hold. He just wants to break it. No not break it. Absorb it. Make it his. Make you his. He wants not only the power of your knowledge but you. So here he was, after the celebration had ended, in your little library admiring the audacity you had to talk to a high being in such a way.
" Of course, my apologies for speaking to a lady in such a rude manner," he bowed to you. You raised your eyebrow at his apologies, you didn't take him as a man that would do that.
"It's nothing," you brushed it off not noticing the way he looked at you as you begin to look for a girdle it can be easier for the man to carry them.
" I am guessing that you will be purchasing instead of returning since you have such a ways trip?"
"Can't spare to give them for free?"
"Will you have my head if I don't?" You said ,not meaning for it to sound appalled by his playful tone. Zane started to laugh at your statement causing you to tense up. Oh this beating heart of his is making you less and less annoying than other people. Oh is he going to have fun with you.
"Why would I do such a thing? That is a sin in the eyes of our dear Matron." You took notice at how his smile reached his eyes when the whole night that never seemed to be the case when other people approached him. Maybe the stories about him aren't true.
"Yeah you're right that was stupid of me to even say"
"Don't worry about it, it was a nice joke. What is your name?" It was a useless question to even ask since he already got his guards to find out for him a few minutes prior in order to find this place. You tell him your name.
" That is such a lovely name."
" Why thank you High Priest," you bow. Oh did he enjoy that. A weak thing like you bowing to him and looking at him like that. What he would do is just for you to look at him with those eyes for all eternity. Yet the way you say his status instead of his actual name caused him to make an unsatisfied face.
"Would you like to accompany me to my ship to help me?"
You took a moment to think about it. It wasn't an unusual request from people so you didn't know why you were so hesitant. It was probably just the tales about him that have stopped you or maybe the fact he has guards that could do that for him. Realizing you have taken a while to reply you tell him yes and follow.
After helping him with the books you tell him about his payment.
"Oh yes of course."
Before you knew it, you were knocked out quickly. Zane looked down at your unconscious state. Oh how pathetic and vulnerable you were, don't worry he would take care of you.
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moriwood · 5 months
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Stealing the Spotlight — k.sn + p.js
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btm!kim sunoo x top!park jongseong x top!male reader smut (minors dni!!!) 1.6k words
You were always the star of the most exclusive gentlemen’s club in the city, with influential figures lining up each night to have a private show with you. But then Sunoo came, stealing the spotlight and pushing you back to the background. After finding out that he has stolen your favorite client, you decide to remind the rookie who’s on top.
includes: a threesome, mc calling jay sir, sunoo spitroast?, jay being threatened by your dom daddy behavior warning: SEX, R18 SHIT, I REPEAT MINORS DNI!!!!
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It’s exactly midnight and the club is in full swing. Half-naked bartenders are roaming around with ornate trays of drinks and savories, flaunting their bodies along the imported wines they carry. Drawing from your cigarette, you exhale unhurriedly, scanning the crowd for the big shots — politicians, businessmen, and celebrities — ready for the picking. But your favorite client is nowhere to be found.
“Gonna go out there stinking like those stogie hogs?” the matron of the club, Heechul, suddenly shows up, snatching your cigarette and stubbing it out on the ground. He checks you up and down, a sour expression on his face. “You don’t look like you’re ready to entertain anyone right now, my dear.”
“Blame the rookie,” you scoff, patting around your red satin button-up. You were still smoking hot, you knew that, but it no longer felt enough ever since Sunoo was hired. Men used to look forward to your special performances, but now they flock to the club whenever Sunoo is starring. “Have you seen Jay yet?” you ask Heechul.
“The mayor? Blame the rookie,” Heechul mocks, “he’s already booked Sunoo for the night.” He pats your shoulder, leaving you as he rushes to fix another dancer’s creased collar.
The color on your face reddens like your satin ensemble. “That fucking bitch,” you mutter, misplaced emotions boiling. The mayor's been your best client since your first night, and Sunoo’s finally got a taste of him as well. Someone’s got to put him back to where he belongs, you think, stomping towards the club’s executive suite, the only room the mayor has ever used.
The suite is enchantingly lit as you enter, a faint light above Sunoo accentuating his curves as he danced erotically to a disheveled Jay, who was sprawled out on a black velvet sofa. Jay immediately notices you, smirking as he sits right back up to take a sip of his liquor.
“I don’t think I called for you,” he slurs, “but I won’t turn down a pleasant surprise.” 
Sunoo swiftly turns around, the sudden motion causing his loose dress shirt to slip off his shoulder. His pale skin unfairly contradicts his impure occupation. “Looks like you’re getting a 2-in-1 tonight,” he teases, sauntering to you with a devious glint in his eyes.
“Loosen up,” Sunoo whispers, gently placing his hand on your chest to unbutton your shirt. “You know these men hate it when you act all so dominant.”
“And some of them hate it when you pretend to be so subservient,” you retort, pulling his hair back to suck on his collarbone, praying it stains his unblemished skin. Sunoo mewls in response. “They want you to bite first before they tame you," you add, licking over the blossoming bruise.
"Try to tame me then,” he smugly responds, palming your growing bulge as he pulls you for a kiss. He mindlessly undoes both of your belts as you deepen the kiss, your hand finding its way again to tug his hair. 
From behind Sunoo you hear rustling, finding Jay to have already stripped his pants off, manhood glistening at full mast. He was still wearing his suit though, black with intricate dark red scrollwork; he looked so spent without having started anything yet. Your eyes meet his and he only smiles, breathing heavily as he languidly rubs himself.
With your pants gone and your hard leaking cock throbbing against your underwear, Sunoo kneels, teeth dragging the garter down and springing you free. He spends no time waiting, a hand on the base and his plump lips teasingly sucking on the tip.
“Fuck, you smell so good,” you hear him mumble. “Can you fit it all?” you tease, holding onto his head. He shakes his head. Whatever insult you had at the tip of your tongue is cut short when you felt Sunoo’s sharp tongue swipe across the slit of your cock, making you shiver from the spike of pleasure. He takes a breath, a string of spit following his tongue. He tries taking you in deeper, anchoring his hands to your hips, and you push his head closer, his nose practically laid flat to your pubic hair. But then he chokes, coughing as he retreats. 
“God, you’re too fucking huge,” he bitterly grumbles, looking at you as if wishing you could shrink your dick down just for him. You laugh to yourself, Sunoo was feeling humiliated. But both of you knew had he kept this up, you would’ve climaxed an hour too early.
“That’s enough, the mayor might be feeling lonely,” you grit, picking him up easily and carrying him to the sofa. Sunoo resists, some grunts asking you what the fuck you were trying to do, but he got no reply. Instead, you drop him beside Jay, who in his drunken state, still managed to get the message. Jay puts Sunoo on all fours like a ragdoll and leans on the arm of the sofa, his cock already resting its tip on Sunoo’s mouth. Sunoo obliges, ever the slut he is, eagerly sucking it as if he wasn’t struggling on yours just minutes ago.
“Grown tired of me, Sir?” you nonchalantly ask Jay as you kneel behind Sunoo, lathering your hand with lube, provided by the club of course, then circling your fingers around Sunoo’s ass. Another conflicting image presents itself to you: Sunoo with his seemingly tight and clean hole, almost of an untouched maiden’s.
Jay begins to thrust into Sunoo at a consistent pace, recalling your question. “Just trying a different flavor,” he manages to respond in between groans. You roll your eyes at his response, forgoing a snarky remark as you lube up Sunoo’s hole with your fingers — two, then three. You glance at Jay, and you curse, thinking no corrupt politician should look as hot as he does. He finally takes off his coat, tossing it aside like the rest of your clothes strewn around the suite. “Remind me later that my wallet’s there,” he laughs, “or neither of you are going home with tips tonight.” 
You just nod, grabbing a condom from a table and ripping it with your teeth. Sunoo deserves a good fucking. If he can’t handle you then he shouldn’t be paraded around as the club’s best. That’s your title, not his.
You put your hands on Sunoo’s hips, thrusting all the way in the moment you wore the condom, earning a scream from him and a concerned glare from Jay. “Calm down,” he warns you, wiping down the drool that has come out of Sunoo. Ignoring his warning, you cackle, “Don’t you like it sloppy, Sir?”
Slowly pulling all the way out, you roughly thrust in again, setting the pace for how you want to fuck Sunoo. He didn’t need the coddling, you realize, judging from how Jay was almost cooing with how he cradled Sunoo’s head as he sloppily sucked him.
“Sun, you’re so tight,” you groan, steadily picking up as he envelops you in his warmth. “Do you feel me, huh?” you ask, slapping his ass. Sunoo doesn’t respond, only arching his back as he desperately pushes his ass back to your cock. “Use your words,” you instruct him, slapping him again. It was evident that Sunoo is being overwhelmed from the sensation, his erect cock dripping with so much precum. He stops sucking Jay, both hands gripping on Jay’s thighs to keep him in place.
“Yes, yes!” he lets out, repeating it again and again with other incoherent utterances. “Harder, please,” he begs, “make me cum,” voice becoming hoarse by the second. You oblige, embracing him as you start jerking him off. You nib on his earlobe, whispering sweet threats. “You like being fucked like this, don’t you?” you moan, “you like being fucked ‘til you faint.” 
“Who knew you could be so dominant?” Jay clenches his jaw in some masculine envy, jerking himself to the sight of you pushing Sunoo to his limits. You were being rougher to Sunoo than the mayor ever was to you. You’re fucking the rookie to put him into position, and you’re fucking him to prove a point to the client who didn’t call for you tonight. “Fuck, I’m cumming,” he grunts, “come back here, you slut. I’m the customer here.” 
Jay pulls Sunoo’s head back, revealing a sobbing mess, sweaty hair almost covering his eyes and a mouth so open for Jay’s seed. He cums with a loud groan, splattering all over Sunoo’s face, some landing on his hair. Remembering his job, Sunoo weakly strokes Jay’s cock as you continue with your unrelenting speed, tongue collecting the mayor’s dribbling cum. “Good boy,” Jay whispers, “good boy.”
“‘M ‘bout to cum too,” Sunoo whimpers, trying to stop you from jerking him off so fast. Jay notices this, holding onto Sunoo’s arms. “I can’t,” he cries, “I’m gonna—” 
Sunoo climaxes, ropes of white painting your hand and the couch. The sound is obscene as you jerk him to total completion, sticky and wet. You bite your lips, unable to handle Sunoo clenching onto your cock so badly. You pull yourself out, haphazardly throwing away the condom as you cum all over Sunoo’s back.
You lean back, interpreting the scene in front of you. Your companions have passed out, Jay with an arm over his head and Sunoo splayed over the couch. You clean yourself off, tasting Sunoo’s cum for the first time. So sweet, too sweet. The poor guy probably has no vices. You look around the room for your clothes, panicking about what the matron will do to you for this stunt you pulled. Then you notice the bulging leather wallet laid next to Jay’s suit. Oh.
Looks like you’re still ahead of Sunoo in the tipping game, you muse, approaching the wallet with a perverse grimace.
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author's note: took me quite a while, needed to fuck before writing the fucking I’M KIDDING I’M JOKING I DIDN’T DO THAT for other news: i’ve got a carrd now!! (and links to my paypal and ko-fi if u wanna help a filipino (nationality reveal purrrrr?) college student out 😭)
— moriwood.
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lilacsupernova · 2 months
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As [Deborah] Cameron writes, 'The women being described here had featured prominently in a debate watched by millions; one of them also had a day job running a small country. And what did the pundits compare them to? Head girls, primary school teachers, head-mistresses, nurses, matron. This is how female authority is made intelligible: through allusions to a set of archetypal roles in which women have traditionally exercised power – prototypically over children, or over adults infantilised by illness. There was no pattern of analogous references to men: their authority in the political sphere is taken for granted, and does not call for comment or explanation.' And, of course, the subtext is that any man who accepts female authority has thereby been infantilised, has reduced himself to the status of a child.
The disparaging references remind us of Carry On films, St Trinian's and P. G. Wodehouse's notorious aunts. Cameron explains: 'In such instances women's authority is both a joke and a threat, or perhaps I should say, it's made into a joke to defuse the threat: they're bossy boots, petty tyrants, and in popular culture often grotesque – ageing, physically unattractive and either sexless or pathologically "man-eaters".'
– Mary Ann Sieghart (2021) The Authority Gap: Why Women are Still Taken Less Seriously Than Men and What We Can Do About It, p. 192.
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