#i will be picking out the good bits like carrion

[therenlover]

Always For A Second (Usually At The Start) - A Helmut Zemo x Reader fic

"And when I imagine life when it's mine / I can try to picture faceless folk to love a thousand times / But always for a second, and usually at the start / You're in the image posing with a cradled beating heart" - Katie Gregson MacLeod, i'm worried it will always be you

Synopsis: Leaving Helmut for good had been the biggest, most final choice you'd ever had to make. Two years later, he's in your living room again. This time, though, things are different.

Tags: Explicit Smut (+18), Exes, Getting Back Together, Enemies to Lovers to Exes to Lovers, Enthusiastic Consent, Switch!Zemo, Oral (Fem Receiving), Service Top!Zemo, Aftercare, Bucky is Mentioned Too Much

Rating: E (+18) Minors DNI

Warnings: N/A

Word Count: 8,600~

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“I didn’t expect you to come crawling back so soon, schatz,”

The restaurant was crowded enough that nobody heard Helmut’s words, curt and cloying and so fucking familiar. Still, my face heated. It always would for him, no matter how much my common sense protested by body’s reactions. How dare he be so damn effective at getting under my skin? 

Some over-expensive brown liquor sloshed against the rim of the glass in my hand as I lifted it less than gracefully from the table, dribbling down the edge of my mouth as I guided it to my lips and drank deeply. “For one, two years isn’t soon,” I started, swallowing. “Two, you’re the asshole who showed up in my apartment like a robber, which makes you the one who came crawling back. I was just nice enough to let you take me for a free meal to get you the hell out. Three,” I set the glass down sharply, “don’t call me that. We’re not friends. We’re not anything. I still haven’t forgiven you,” 

“Apologies,” 

He didn’t mean it. 

“Still, it’s too soon to expect any sort of kindness from you,” he continued, “If I recall correctly, you said you’d rather die than suffer through another night with me for the rest of eternity. I believe an eternity has yet to pass… and yet, here we are,”

His matter of fact tone left little up for debate, unless I wanted to reach for my fork and maim his smug face. Instead, I bit my tongue and swallowed another mouthful of whatever I was drinking.

For once I was glad to be surrounded by the kind of noisy, faceless jumble of humanity that usually made my skin crawl. F. Scott Fitzgerald was on to something with his theories on large crowds and intimacy; there was no better place for two war criminals to meet than the corner booth of a hazy restaurant, lounging and drinking, covered by the blanket of sweet anonymity. Anyone who glanced our way would see two normal human beings sharing a meal in peaceable silence, sharing sparse conversation between bites of this and that. 

They would see lovers.

The thought left a lump in my throat. 

Maybe I looked uncomfortable enough that they would presume, correctly, that we were ex-lovers. I wasn’t hopeful about it, though. 

Helmut noticed, of course, but I knew he would. He had always had an almost supernatural sense for these things, like he could tune into my emotional radio on a frequency I didn’t even fully know myself. Enemy or ally or… otherwise, it was a constant to be seen through and picked apart like carrion. An appetizer for the fights to come. Thankfully, though, he chose to have mercy on me this time in a rare show of respect. Instead of wrapping his lips around another snide comment- even though I could tell it was burning a bitter hole into the tip of his tongue behind his clenched teeth- he chose to pick up a ring of calamari from the plate between us. He held it up to examine the crust in the dim lamplight before placing it delicately against his lips, pulling it from the fork in one bite. Still, he couldn’t be too gracious. Helmut held eye contact as he went.

I could only managed a disgusted sigh but found myself mirrored as his teeth sunk into the squid and his brow furrowed. 

“Bad?” I asked.

He chewed for a good while before managing to swallow the offending clump down, gagging all the way. “Despite my recent diet, that might be the worst thing I’ve eaten in a long while,”

A laugh escaped me before I even knew it was there. “You managed to pick a restaurant where our appetizer is worse than prison food? Serves you right for ordering seafood in the midwest,” 

“I suppose it does.” He nudged the plate towards me with a growing smirk, “See for yourself. I’d hate to see it wasted, and as you said, it is ours. I can’t be expected to finish it alone,” 

As if under the spell of his charisma all over again, I followed his instructions without a second thought. It was just as bad as I anticipated. 

Things were off to a bad start from the moment the tines of my fork hit the batter. The breading seemed to squelch under the pressure, sagging and giving way into meat that was somehow both rubbery and gelatinous, if that was even possible, and if the texture seemed bad outside of my mouth it was even worse inside. Somewhere between its fishy tang and the overly salted batter, there was a bitter, almost sour note that seemed to permeate further with every chew. I spit the macerated glob into my napkin before even attempting to swallow down the remaining spit. 

Across the table, Zemo grinned at my misfortune. “Let’s hope our entrees are less offensive to our palettes,” 

“Fuck off,” I muttered, lips turning up at the edges. 

“You can curse all you want at my poor choice of venue, but I can tell you’re glad you’re the one who ordered the pasta instead of the steak,” 

I went for my glass again, letting the liquor with a name I couldn’t pronounce burn all the way down my throat and into my chest. “I hate that you’re always right, Helmut. Can’t you be wrong, just once? Leave some correctness for the rest of us,” 

Maybe it was the lighting, soft and amber against the dark wood of the table to mask the bloody steaks that would sit below, or maybe it was the music, something old and swinging that I couldn’t quite put my finger on but knew from the radio in my grandmother’s car as a child, or maybe, just maybe, it was the crows feet that popped up around Helmut’s eyes when he smiled that hadn’t been quite so prominent the last time I’d seen him, but no matter the cause, the solid iron wall I had put up around my heart when I walked out of the Baron’s life those two year sago seemed to soften. Weakened, somehow. It was like someone took a blowtorch right to the center of my defenses. Something in me screamed that they had never been all that strong to begin with. 

I only noticed I’d been staring when he looked away, clearing his throat and wiping his thin mouth with the napkin from his lap. 

There went my hand. Helmut, 1. Me, 0… Well, 1, if leaving him those years ago counted for anything, and I refused to believe that it hadn’t. That the blow to his ego hadn’t given me at least a slight upper hand compared to the naive girl I had been in comparison when I first met him. There had been so much good in the world then. 

The silence dragged on as if the structural flaws of my guarded heart could patch themselves up with the defenses created from just a few silent moments between us. That’s all it would take for me to remember all the reasons this would never work: all the pain, the sleepless nights, the snide comments that turned into biting replies that grew into massive, earth-shattering fights that exploded into days or weeks or months living alone in a house with him. One by one, the memories flooded back, reminding me exactly why it had taken me almost two years to find enough peace within myself that I wouldn’t decide to shoot the man in front of me on sight. My heart hardened by the second.

“I saw your concert,” 

I was simultaneously thawed and frozen all over again. “How did you-“ 

“James mentioned it,” 

“You still talk to Bucky?” 

“Here and there,” 

The conversation lapsed into silence. 

He had… been there? I didn’t even bother to think about the talk I’d have to have with Bucky about my privacy, too focused on the more important matter at hand. 

The venue was grungy, a basement bar with a small stage serving the communities aspiring comedians and desperate punk-rock garage dwellers just waiting for their big break. I had barely had the guts to pay the booking fee, though. It was just me, a piano, and my guitar for an hour and a half set of mostly cover songs that had gone better than I’d expected, but hadn’t been anything crazy. The crowd was appreciative and respectful. Several people had left tips, even more giving me a congratulatory clap on the back as I left the building that night, promising to “stream my EP” whenever I released it, despite the fact that I had no plans to do any such thing. Still, I couldn’t imagine that I hadn’t seen his face in the crowd. I couldn’t name what I was feeling as I imagined it; visualized his face on the other side of the smoky room, leaned against the bar with his dark eyes catching hold of mine…

“You came and you didn’t say anything? Not even a hello?” 

Helmut laughed, but there wasn’t much humor in it. “And risk my life over a free concert? No.” He paused, “Despite my tendency to sometimes be… less than kind, I knew it would rattle you to see me. I didn’t want to throw you off before your performance.” 

I didn’t have much of anything to say in response. Instead, I picked at the paper straw wrapper in my lap and tried to look anywhere but in his direction, shoving down whatever was welling up in my chest. He wouldn’t let things go, though. He never could. That was half of why we’d never work. Every time I tried to drop an uncomfortable subject he’d be there to pick it up with a snide comment or two. It was an easy rhythm. Too easy. I had never wanted to fall back into it and yet, here I was, almost excited to snipe his next words down. 

“Cain misses you,” He continued. 

I folded the straw wrapper in my hands, pulling at the crease as I thought about the doberman puppy I had left behind. He would be so big now, as big as the one I’d taken with me was now. My heart ached at the thought. 

“I doubt he remembers me after all this time,” 

“Of course he does,” Helmut’s voice was low. It was almost hypnotic, the way he carried himself. He could fool anyone. I realized, with a sinking feeling in my stomach that couldn’t have been the calamari, he could still fool me. “He’s quite the troublemaker. More times than I can count he’s evaded me in the house, only to be found asleep in your old closet. I think he remembers your scent,” 

“Thats…” I sat quiet for a moment, pursing through choices of words in my mind, mulling over the sharp accented way he pronounced the t in scent, “Sad. Really sad. Makes me wish I could’ve taken them both,” 

“And what of Brutus?”

“He’s good,” A smile crossed my face. “Big, as you saw tonight. I remember when we got them, they told us they’d be 60 pounds at most, but I swear Brutus must’ve snuck in with the rest of those puppies, because he’s massive. Headbutts me every time I walk through the door wondering where I was. He’s a good boy, though. Keeps watch while I sleep, just in case.”

“Just in case I decided to let myself in through the window one night?”

I let myself laugh without judgement this time, reaching for my water. “Looks like it was all for nothing, then. Who knew he’d just let intruders come waltzing in off of the fire escape?” 

“Am I truly considered an intruder in your home?” He asked it as if the answer wasn’t obvious. As if there were any other answer I could possibly give. As if I could’ve wanted him there. His earnestness almost hurt as much as his taunting did, maybe more, because even if I didn’t want to admit it to myself, there was a soft ring of truth to his words. 

I took the cowards way out. “I don’t know, what do you think?” 

It was a vulnerability to not give a straight answer, the kind of weak spot that Helmut would catch wind of in an instant before using it to unravel someone piece by piece. Not a no, but certainly not a yes, and the fact that it hadn’t been a resounding yes was enough to glean that maybe, deep down, I wasn’t hating this dinner. He would see through me. Rip me to shreds for the subtle admittance that I hadn’t hated seeing him waiting for me on the couch when I walked through my door, even if I hadn’t expected or wanted him there in the first place. 

I found it was better to lie by omission than to fully lie and let him see through me to the more important truth; For as much as I despised everything about him, I had missed Helmut Zemo. I had missed his stupid expensive taste and the tilt of his stupid head and his stupid shiny white smile. I had missed seeing his coat hung up beside the door and knowing what waited for me inside. It was sick how I had loved him. How I had loved every minute of him picking me apart by the seams and putting me back together. Who could possibly crave their own destruction? Who could live knowing that to be loved was to be deconstructed down to the bone and laid bare as something lesser, something so small compared to the great destroyer I devoted myself to. 

How could he let me live like that if he truly saw through me? 

And that was why I had to leave. 

Loving Helmut Zemo was no way to live. I knew that. I had known that the day I picked up my dog and walked out of our home with nothing but my wallet, car keys, phone, and a polaroid picture of his silhouette. Somehow, I knew that he knew that too. Why else would I move on so suddenly, so sharply, removing every piece of the life we’d built to start myself fresh? A new me, I had said. A new chapter. Yet here I was across from him, shredded bits of paper littering my lap as he puppeteered my heart right back into his arms. 

No. I couldn’t let it happen. 

Not again. 

“Listen, baron,” I didn’t let him answer my rhetorical question. It wouldn’t be wise to let him gain the upper hand again. It wouldn’t be smart to let myself stay weak. “I appreciate dinner. It’s been surprisingly lovely to catch up with you. I’m glad to know you’re not dead, and its great to know Cain is doing well, but I know you weren’t here to tell me that over a plate of mediocre pasta,” 

Helmut smiled, his head in its signature tilt, and swished his own glass a bit. The ice was all but melted giving the liquor an almost clear quality as it diluted. Not a sip had been taken. “Ask the question, schatz,” 

“Why are you here? Why did you stalk me here and break into my apartment when I made it clear that you weren’t welcome in my life?” My words came out so matter of fact even I almost recoiled at them. Not unemotional but detached. 

“Um, who had the chicken alfredo?”

I could feel the blood drain from my face as I looked up at the poor waiter, hot plates in hand, as he took in our table at just the wrong time. Five minutes earlier he would have walked in on polite conversation about the dogs or the shitty appetizers. Now, though, he stood between a man who was known to kill for the things he wanted and me, the one thing he could never have again. 

Surprisingly, though, Helmut waved a hand towards me as I froze. There were none of the usual dramatics, just polite chatter with the waiter as he set my plate in front of me and left Helmut with his, taking the offending calamari plate away with him as he scurried away, surely to tell his coworkers about the crazy exes at the corner table. Helmut didn't even carry on with his answer. He just started tucking in to his steak and potatoes, not sparing me a single glance. If I didn’t know better, if I hadn’t memorized the way his eyes looked in the low light of a restaurant across from me, I would think he’d been replaced by a skrull.

Where was the tearing? The shredding? The utter evisceration of my waiting throat as he drank deeply of my darkest, most shameful thoughts only to spit them out for the world to see. Where was that shame? In the before times, in the times that the two of us had been a we, he never would have paused to mind a waiter. The world would have revolved around him as he laid me bare, no matter who watched or waited in the wings. What changed? 

How had I not noticed his docility until now?

The pasta was decent. It was better than anything I would’ve made at home, at least. I barely thought about it, though, letting my body go through the motions of eating mechanically while my mind went over a million things I could say. What could I say? There was nothing left to. We had gone over every possibility before I had left, at least I thought we had. Whatever we were was dead. That was certain. But what we could be…

I swallowed hard before I could choke on a relatively large piece of broccoli I neglected to chew in my trance. 

Helmut seemed to be in a painfully similar situation. One look at his plate showed a steak cut into tiny pieces. Almost none of it looked eaten, just diced into a pile and shuffled around a bit on the plate to mix with the potatoes, smashed down from their neat ice cream scoop globe and spread with the back of a fork. 

With a sigh, I set down my fork, pasta already forgotten. 

“Lost your appetite?” 

He paused his fiddling with his fork and knife, mirroring me and letting the utensils rest on the table beside his plate. It was odd to see him rattled. Strange to watch his eyes roll up to the ceiling and pause there, as if he was searching for the right words to say. He always knew just what to say to cut the deepest. Maybe it was foreign for him to not want to cut; To find a soft word, instead of a sharpened one. His mouth opened one… two…three times. Open and shut, open and shut. I couldn’t help but hurt for him. The man of many words was finally struck dumb. 

Finally, it came. 

“I’m sorry,” 

I had anticipated a selfish reply, a demand for me to come back and put the past two years behind us, but time had changed him. It had changed us both. He was no longer the man he had been when he was first freed from behind bars, vengeful and biting and so deeply afraid of being alone again, but I was no longer the lost girl I had been either. I did not need to be destroyed to breathe. I could feel tears pricking up in my eyes as he reached a hand across the table to search for my own. It was such a familiar sight in a time of uncertainty. I kept my hands firmly in my lap, though. I would not give him the satisfaction. 

More, I would not give him hope.

“Come home, schatz,”  

There it was. 

I couldn’t hold in the bitter, wet laugh that bubbled up through me, more at my own foolishness than at anything else. He had changed, yes, but some things never would. 

“Helmut,” The word hurt to say. It was altogether both familiar and unfamiliar, covered in a thick layer of dust from time, but nothing could erase the fact that it had once been used over and over, like a prayer, as easy as breathing or saying my own name. “You know I can’t,” 

He let his hand slink back to his side. “I had to try, you know,”

“I know,” The words were a whisper. 

So this was closure? 

The table was quiet. There was no desperation from Helmut’s side, no attempts to sway me or sudden outbursts of resentment. It was almost peaceful. His voice was sad but there was no manipulation in it. We laid our cards of the table as the game we’d played for years finally came to an end. 

“You were right about us, when you left,” he laughed, “I was, as you so aptly put it, a massive ass. I was still so deeply disillusioned about this world and the horrors of it. It was as if everyone around me was just another cog in it all, even you. I thought if I could puppet it all, make things go my way, everything could just be quiet. The horrors would finally stop. The memories would finally stop. I took it too far, though. I took it out on you. For that, I will never be sorry enough,” 

I put up a hand. “Helmut, you don’t have to do this-“

“I want to,”

His voice was delicate but didn’t waver. For the first time I wondered if this was more about what he needed to say than about what I needed to hear. I nodded him on. Without me even thinking about what I was doing, my hand caught his across the table.

“I wanted to run after you the same day you left. I nearly did, too, before I thought better of it. Then I really thought of what you said. What I did. It was then that I decided I had to change for the better, not for you but for myself. Only then would I allow myself to try again. So I did. I spent my time deconstructing the things I had seen and done and finally facing my own demons. I’m not perfect- believe me -but there are many things I have… worked on, for lack of a better word. James was surprisingly helpful throughout it all,” 

“Is that why you’ve been talking?” My thumb stroked over his knuckles, pausing on a scar. 

“More or less. I needed advice on how to overcome my atrocities, and I owed him an apology either way. He told me about your concert because he thought I would be ready to make amends, and yet I found myself unable to speak to you because I knew that if I did, I would have to beg you for forgiveness, and that is not something I will allow myself to do from anyone. Not now, nor ever,”

I let myself pull away. This was not a movie. There was no happy ending for the two of us at the end of this conversation. It was a chance to clear the air and let go of our grievances before going our separate ways. Treating it any other way would only hurt us both. “Why break in, then, and drag this all out over dinner? Why not just knock on my door, apologize, and leave?”

“I couldn’t have you slamming the door in my face and leaving me to apologize to the wall, now could I?” 

We shared a sad smile, a knowing one. “I guess that’s true.” 

“I needed to know you would hear what I had to say until the end,” he paused, “And one last confession. I must admit, I could not walk away without sharing dinner with you one last time. It’s selfish, as I am selfish, but I could not see you again without truly seeing you, more than just as you shouted at me and threw me to the curb,” 

“You think so little of me?” I asked. There was no bite in it. 

“No, I think so little of myself,” he finally took a sip from his glass, “Any anger on your part is warranted,” 

We did not speak again for a long while. Helmut methodically went through the bite-sized pieces of steak on his plate as I finished the alfredo, which had grown cold in the time it took to sort things out. There was no quiet conversation, no jokes or shared stories in the glow of the lamps overhead. Instead we sat in peaceable silence and breathed in the finality of it all. I was almost grateful for it. I never would have imagined sharing a meal like this with him in all of the years I had known him and loved him. If it was to be the last, and it was, we would savor every moment of each others company. Every moment not spent on my meal was devoted to memorizing the line of his jaw and the shape of his eyes as he did the same for me. 

By the time the waiter came to ask about dessert, I could have written sonnets about his face alone, and by the time he returned with the check, paid discreetly with a 40% tip for his troubles on Helmut’s card, I had committed the sound of his breathing to my mind. I could only hope the memory would last this time.

Realistically, I knew it wouldn’t. 

I wondered if he was thinking the same thing as we approached the front of the restaurant together, pausing awkwardly outside the door as we exited out onto the street. 

“So, this is it,” My hands found the pockets of my coat as I rocked onto the balls of my feet. 

Helmut smiled softly in the lamplight. “Let me walk you home,” 

“I don’t know if that’s a good idea,” 

“Says who? I have to follow you either way, my car is parked down the block,” He offered me his arm. 

I took it far quicker than I should have, relishing in the scent of his cologne. Even after all these years he had never switched to another brand, and I refused to admit to anyone else but myself that I was grateful for it. Instead I leaned into his warmth. “Well, it’s only a few blocks anyways. I guess it couldn’t hurt,” and with that, we were off. 

The night was cool. Summer had given in to the pull of a lush fall, the temperatures dropping to a comfortable but windy chill when the sun fell below the horizon. The leaves were not yet falling but they’d begun their slow transformation from green into a mosaic of reds and yellows and greens, forming a rustling canopy above the sidewalk that allowed a flash of stars and moon through the foliage every few steps. 

We were not the only pair walking through the streets that night, but if you had asked me about it later I would have said we were the only two people in the whole city, matching each other step for step under the flickering streetlights. Helmut’s crows feet were in full force as he laughed at my terrible jokes, and I couldn’t help but feel warmth rush through my neck and cheeks as he recounted the moment we first met. 

It had been fall then, too. A brief, chance encounter in the streets of Paris was all it was, a night spend with a stranger, until I had seen him again in Sibera, and again in Germany, and again on the Raft, and again, and again, and again, and again…

He had been younger then, much younger, and still raw with grief, but I had loved him even then.

I was so lost in my own memories that I almost missed the stairs up to my apartment, but Helmut paused there, keeping me rooted with him even though the look in his eyes told me he almost kept walking past, hoping to gain one more turn around the block before he had to let me go. He didn't, though. This was the end of the line. 

My arm slipped easily from its place against his own, hand catching briefly on the crook of his elbow. “Walk me to my door?”

His laugh felt almost nervous, a paid mockery of my own earlier reticence. “I don’t think that’s wise,” 

“Aren’t you supposed to be a gentleman, baron?” 

“I have never claimed that,” For a moment, when he paused, I thought that would be that. I would turn my back, ascend the stairs, and turn around to find he’d shifted back into the shadows from whence he came, but then the moonlight caught on his soft, wet eyes. “But for you, schatz, I try to be,” 

No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t find the words I wanted to say as we walked up the front steps and into the building. 

It had been so angry last time. I had vomited up every hateful, raging, repressed thought that I had shoved down into my chest over the course of our turbulent time together all at once and left without a second glance. This time, though, it felt wrong to end things without giving him credit for all of the other things, the things I had forgotten in the midst of all the chaos that surrounded us. How could I thank him? How could I tell him every wonderful thing about himself only to close the door in his face a moment later? I spent the whole trip up to my apartment trying to find a way to express even an ounce of what I felt, and then it was far too late. 

We stood there on my novelty doormat, boots settled over the dirty cartoon chickens, hands in our pockets, and breathed in the stale hallway air. 

“Thank you for dinner,” I said. If I shut off my heart and my mind and every other little betraying ache in my bones it was like it had been all those years ago. We were just meeting. This was the end of our very first date. There was a future instead of a past in the time that lay beyond us. 

Helmut averted his eyes from mine. I could tell he was pretending too. “Of course,” 

“I’ll see you again,” I lied, “I mean, it’s inevitable. We’ll end up at Bucky’s place at the same time,” 

“Or run into each other at a busy cafe,” he offered. 

“Exactly! Or our cells will end up next to each other in maximum security prison,” I laughed, but it caught, pathetic, in the back of my throat.  

He took a step back, boots leaving my doorstep. “I look forward to it, whenever it may be,” 

My shaking hands found my keys, an autopilot motion I had done a million times, and the door to my apartment swung open. I could hear Brutus in his kennel, beginning to whine the moment he heard me come home, but I paused there for a moment, one foot in and one foot out. 

“Goodbye, Helmut,” 

“Sleep well, schatz,” 

I stepped inside and locked the door without turning around for a last look. 

My tears came quicker than expected as I took in the room around me. It was the antithesis of my home with Helmut, all whites and beiges and grays from the sparse walls to the lonely couch against the wall. There was one great shock of black, though; a solid footprint on the windowsill. One last souvenir to remember him by. 

I had done the right thing. 

I had to have done the right thing. 

Life with Helmut was hell. It was exciting and lush and romantic and alluring but it was destructive and painful too. It would mean being seen and unseen for the rest of my life, living with the ghosts of those lost in Novi Grad. He would never stop being the man his grief had created. He was just too broken… wasn’t he? 

All at once I knew I had to see him again. This wasn’t going to be the end. There were still so many chances to make it right. 

Before I knew my own feelings, I was undoing the latch and throwing my door open, only to find him there, feet planted solidly on that stupid welcome mat and fist raised to lift the knocker. Our eyes locked. 

We didn’t need words then. 

No, all I needed was his lips on mine and my hands in his hair. It was a need easily rectified. 

He didn’t pull away as I grabbed the edges of his ridiculous fur coat and dragged him in for a kiss, letting the remains of that day’s lipstick smear against his chapped lips as the parted and made way for me. It was like a piece of my puzzle fell back into place, like the thing that had been lying dormant in my empty chest for the past two years had jumped to life and jumped into my throat. The tears weren’t coming anymore, though Helmut’s cheeks felt wet when I guided one of my hands to rest against it, dragging him closer. I needed him urgently. I needed all of it. Every moment I had missed. 

At least one time in my entire tiny, useless life I needed to know him as he had always known me. I had to see him through eyes that would know every atom of him by heart. 

It could have lasted second or hours. I was lost in it; lost in every heartbeat and the messy clack of teeth on teeth as we remembered exactly how our mouths locked into each other. There was no need to breathe. I would happily drown in him if he would let me. Through the passion I distinctly remembered this fervor, the endless need for him. It wasn’t frightening anymore, though. I knew how to walk away. We both did. 

This time I didn’t want to. 

Helmut was the first to pull away. His mouth was wet and red as he panted there, just a breath away from diving in for more, but he pulled away when I advanced again, instead choosing to speak between placing kisses on my cheeks and down my jaw. “I couldn’t let you walk away from me. Not again,” his voice shook as he kissed me, “Does that make me a bad man? Does that mean you can’t love me?” 

I could only breathe a laugh as I pressed my chest to him. No measure of closeness was enough. I needed him to cover every inch of me. “I don’t think I could stop loving you if I tried, and I’ve tried,” 

“Please, stop trying,”

With that, he caught me in another kiss. 

“We should probably go inside,” I panted, gesturing towards the apartment with my head and Helmut nodded, maneuvering us over the threshold and into the barren entryway of the home  I’d made without him. It didn’t matter, though. That wasn’t what I was focused on. Instead, my hands were more focused on pulling his coat from his shoulders and discarding it loosely in the direction of the coat rack between fevered kisses. 

The old Helmut would’ve pulled away and make some snarky remark about keeping the place clean. This Helmut, though- my Helmut, as I had selfishly started to refer to him mentally in the past few moments -just dragged me in closer after his arms were freed, letting his hand drift to the small of my back but not even an inch lower.

Suddenly, though, things seemed to cool. The kisses grew shorter, softer. His arms still held me but seemed to loosen their grip. 

“Tell me you want this,” He whispered softly against the shell of my ear, “That you want me,” 

Ah. So that’s what this is. 

“Helmut, of course I do-“ 

“That’s not enough,” his voice was laced with a rare seriousness as he pulled away to look at me properly. His brown eyes glowed a million honeyed colors under the shitty, flickering overhead lighting I should have replaced months ago. They flitted from my swollen mouth to my cheeks to my watery eyes as his hand came up to cup my cheeks again. “Tell me this isn’t a mistake or a bad decision you’ll regret the second we finish,” 

The rest went unsaid. 

(Tell me you’ll stay. Tell me this means something to you, even if it doesn’t mean as much as it does to me. Tell me I won’t wake up alone tomorrow morning. Tell me anything and everything except the cruel reality that neither of us really knows what the future looks like once this is over)

I simply nodded my head, coming in for one closed mouth kiss. “I want this. I want you. Whatever I choose to do next, you’ll be a part of the decision. No more running away,” 

Like a shot, we were off to the races again. 

It was hard to detach our bodies long enough to give Brutus a treat to quiet him down, harder still to lead him to the bedroom and drop his hand long enough to turn on a nearby lamp, but somehow I managed. For all of the small things I’d forgotten about Helmut in the two years we’d spent apart, his bitten nails and the silhouette of his nose and the sound of his labored breathing as he took in my body with something akin to animalistic hunger, it was easy to fall back into the rhythm we’d always found ourselves in intimately. 

His shirt came off first, exposing the soft curve of his stomach. I kissed down from his neck to his chest, letting myself pause on each and every pinkish scar that graced his flesh. I made a mental note to ask him about a few new ones, including a wicked one across his collarbone that still puckered into an inch long divot in his flesh. My fingers followed my mouth, mapping every inch of his flesh. They caught on every soft yielding place he offered, a worship on the altar of his body, dragging his flesh ever so slightly but never enough to leave a scratch or bruise. 

I would not mark him any more than the world already had. It was not my purpose to remold him into my image. Instead I would venerate what he was, what he had become. 

Helmut had put so much effort into changing himself, rebreaking the things that had never healed correctly and setting them right again. I refused to let him break down to splinters again. Not on my watch. 

He shuddered at my attentions. 

“Let me see you?” It was a question, not a demand, and how could I deny him when he asked so nicely? 

I stood up again, relishing in the feeling of his fingers against the hem of my t-shirt, the gentle scratch of nails on skin as he lifted it over my head. When he looked at me, it was like he was looking at the most precious thing in the world. Usually he was so hungry for it that there was never a pause once my shirt was discarded. My bra would be thrown off with it, then my pants, then my underwear, all in such quick succession that I barely distinguished one article from the next in the order of things. This time, though, he paused, hands just inches from my bare flesh. 

“My sweet girl,” he whispered to me like a prayer, a confession, “I don’t think I can hold back much longer,” 

Slowly, deliberately, I stepped forward and pressed my body into his awaiting hands. He squeezed my hips once, gentle, and twice. Then they were roaming up to the clasp on my bra with that usual hunger again, freeing my breasts for his attentions. I don’t exactly recall how he manhandled me on to the bed, I was too busy feeling the hard press of his bulge through his crisp dress slacks. The first thing I was fully cognizant of was his hot breath on my sternum as he hovered over me, still standing but bent at the waist, boxing me in with his knees. 

“So fucking sweet,” he whispered before taking one of my nipples between his lips and laving his tongue over the hardening tip. 

I felt like a live wire. Heat was building everywhere. Dazzling electricity shot through my head and fingers and toes and cunt and gods especially my breasts. They were always my weak spot, and how he knew it, how he knew me. I wanted to thrash against him, to buck and gain his attention where I really needed it, but his body above mine held me fast, keeping me right where he wanted me, vulnerable to him and his specific brand of torture. With a particularly sharp pinch and a well timed suck he had me keening against him, curling into his every move. 

How had I lived without him? It was hard to imagine a night not spend here with Helmut, wherever here was, not that that mattered. I was embarrassingly wet. The slickness had gathered enough that I could feel it on my thighs despite my jeans. When I tried to relieve myself, though, the baron caught my hand, tutting softly. 

I expected to have to ask permission. Soft begs escaped my mouth. I needed him. I had no patience for games. Instead, though, he lifted up off of my chest and smiled, pulling my hand to his lips. “Let me help you, love,” 

There are no words in the human language that could adequately represent the sound that escaped my mouth. I could not even begin to try. It continued even as I lifted my hips to shimmy free from my jeans and underwear in one fluid motion, only ceasing when Helmut was on his knees with his face buried in my cunt. I was making different noises then. Loud. Guttural. If I had any mind left at all I would worry what my neighbors thought, to see me out on my doorstep desperately pawing at a man only to hear the noises we were making in tandem now. Thankfully, any sensible thought I had left seemed to fly out the window with Helmut’s first lick to my cunt. 

It was clear that he hadn’t forgotten me, and if he had, the muscle memory was coming back quick. His tongue was deft as it worked its way over my aching nub in a pseudo-figure eight; circling once, twice, and three times before dipping back through my folds. I held him in place this time, though, rocking into his mouth. At some point my hands found their way into his hair. It was so soft between my fingers, so pliable as I pulled against him, desperate for more of him, anything he would good. 

Every time he relented to me. Each sharp jolt was rewarded with a kiss against my thigh or a muttered curse in Sokovian, hot breath teasing my glistening mound. 

He was so giving, so attentive to my every need. He had always been a generous lover, never leaving me wanting for anything, but this felt… different. The way he sucked bruises into my thighs, relenting to each and every sobbing please that escaped my soft lips, was a new and devastating experience. There were no power games left to play, no lording his sexual prowess over me as he brought me slowly closer and closer to the ever distant goalpost, just his mouth on me over and over and over again as he wrung the first orgasm of the night out of me, then the second in short measure, barely ceasing from one to the next.

By the time he decided I’d had my fill, my legs were a trembling mess against his shoulders and my cunt was a sopping mess. 

He grinned a crooked grin at his masterpiece.

“How was that, my love,” 

I could barely catch my breath enough to speak. My heartbeat thundered in my ears, thrumming a frantic drumbeat even as the room quieted. “So good- really really good, Helmut,” 

Slowly, he rose up from his knees, undoing his belt. “Please say my name again, schatz,” 

“Helmut,” My voice was hushed. Reverent. 

He undid the button at his fly, pulling at the band of his boxers. “Again,” 

It fell from my lips like a prayer. “Helmut,”

His cock bounced free, bobbing as he took a sharp, steadying breath. He placed his hand at the base and squeezed slightly. 

“Again,” 

“Helmut,” 

“Fuck, that’s good,” The trance broke momentarily as I gazed up at him, watching the sweat roll down his forehead in shining rivulets despite the chill in the air. He wiped at them with the back of his free hand and smiled sheepishly. “Scoot back and get comfortable, please. I don’t think I’ll last long,” 

I did as he asked, settling against my pillows on the still-made sheets. “Neither will I,” 

“Where are your condoms?” 

“Bedside drawer, way in the back. I’m on the pill too, so no worries,” 

He moved quickly, grabbing a foil package from the small pile I’d accrued, just in case. 

It felt odd to have him be the one using them. 

There had been a few other men who had been invited here, fewer still that made it to the point that Helmut and I were at now. Every time, though, I hadn’t been able to go through with it, because every time they had finally settled themselves above me, I would close my eyes and, just for a moment, see Helmut in their place. It was unsettling the first time, enough so that I sent the guy home right away. The next time, though, it was more thought provoking than anything. I chalked it up to him being my longest lasting sexual partner and left it at that, but now, watching him roll the condom onto his length and crawl into his position over me, I knew. 

I would never get over him, even if I tried for years. My heart had a space carved out in the shape of his own. No matter how long I stayed away, I would never find something quite like what we had. He was it. This was what people dreamed about. And to think, I had almost let it slip away…

He slid one hand into mine, lacing our fingers together in the gentle lamplight. “Are you ready for me?” 

“More than ready,” My thighs spread as I canted my hips up.

Physically and mentally and every other possible way I needed him. I was prepared. 

So Helmut pumped himself once with his free hand before guiding himself into my wet heat. 

It was impossible to last long once we were finally complete. 

Feeling him inside me was like knowing the truth of the universe. It was comfortable, and thrilling, and so deliciously enough. He filled me well, finding his rhythm as he swore and released my hand to prop himself up more comfortably. We were linked together like the final pieces of a puzzle. I closed my eyes at let myself relish in it. 

There was nothing left to worry over while Helmut was inside of me. All thoughts that weren’t of him were banished. It was something to be cherished, every thrust paired with a whispered confession of love from one of us, a fleeting kiss, a curse, a plea… We laid ourselves bare. I let my legs wrap around his warm, soft hips as he rutted into me, bringing a hand between us to circle my clit once more. Even after everything he refused to leave me behind while he chased his own pleasure. It didn’t take much to send me tumbling over the edge into oblivion. 

As always, Helmut followed me down. 

His thrusts quickened, then stilled as he came to rest upon me, panting and heaving and begging for breath. I didn’t care much. He smelled of cologne and sweat as I buried my face in his shoulder and closed my eyes. I could feel him soften inside of me but I was far too spent to urge him to move.

We only shifted apart when he slipped free of me.

Helmut quickly kissed my forehead and gathered himself up, shuffling to the trash can to discard the used condom and grab a tissue to wipe himself up. I didn’t let myself move an inch. If I moved, would the bliss run away? Would I realize what I’d done? I let myself lay instead, eyes closed, panting in the autumn chill as my lover approached and wiped up our beautiful mess as gently as he could manage. With one last kiss to my thigh, he discarded the rag, opened the window, and crawled back into bed with me. 

The process was indelicate, a lot of awkward shuffling of sticky limbs, but we were settled beneath the blankets soon enough. Helmut stroked his fingers down my arm languidly while kissing the back of my neck. 

I broke the peace between us. 

“I don’t… I don’t know what this means for us,” 

He sighed gently. His breath was soothing and familiar against my shoulder. “That’s not something we have to decide at this very moment,” 

“But I just don’t want you to think this means something… or at least something more than it does? If that makes sense? I don’t know,”

“Schatz, please,” 

“I want to keep my own place, at least for now. I don’t know what that means for when I’ll see you or if we’ll keep doing this,” I gestured vaguely to my nude body beneath the sheets, “or if we’re even a thing anymore, bu-“ 

Helmut reached his arm around us, placing a quieting finger over my lips and another soft kiss against my shoulder. 

“I swear, your mind sounds even louder than mine,” 

“Sorry,” 

“No reason to be,” His hand left my lips, running down to my stomach and pulling me back towards the softness of his chest. “As for your questions, I shall respect your wishes about distance and housing and labels, whatever they may be. That being said, as long as you’re still up for… this, as you put it, I will never deny you, no matter the distance. I would cross oceans for you,” 

A cum-drunk, half-asleep giggle escaped me as he nuzzled in, kissing my ear. 

“Thank you,” 

“No, thank you,” he matched my laughter with his own, “I believe this is what James would call post nut clarity,” 

“Now you ruined it!” I huffed. The faux anger only lasted a moment, though, before I was rolling to face him, cheek pressed to the soft, downy hair of his chest. “I love you, Helmut.” 

“I love you too, sweet girl. Now sleep. I’ll get up and deal with the dog once you’re resting,” 

For the first time in two years, I breathed in the scent of Helmut’s cologne before lapsing into a peaceful sleep.

---------

A/N: Thank you for reading! This is my first foray into smut in literal years, and it was literally all written within a 12 hour period, so I hope any mistakes weren't enough to take away from your enjoyment. Comments are always appreciated, but never expected. See you on the next authors note!

#zemo #helmut zemo #baron zemo #zemo x reader #daniel brühl #fanfic #marvel fanfiction #x reader #helmut zemo x reader #baron helmut zemo x reader #daniel bruhl x reader #zemo smut #marvel smut

[drconstellation]

Goats, Crows and The Flood

Or why Crowley turns the goats into crows in the Job minisode

If you're reading that and thinking "eh, what's the Flood got to do with it?" then read on. It wasn't done just so Crowley got to change his name. It's never as simple as that. C'mon now, this is the GOmens AU, I'm not going to write a meta about something like this and not give you at least three if not four layers as to why, now, am I? Certainly not, and this one won't be any different.

Recently I picked up a book that has been sitting for far too long on a pile near my kitchen that needs sorting through called Parallel Myths* and in it is a section on Flood myths. (It's got lots of other good bits as well, but the Flood myths are what I want to talk about here.) The Flood is a wide-spread myth, with stories all around the world from India, to the Greek myths, to the Incas and Aztecs and in North America as well.

There are four stories that include crows as messengers who are sent to look out for land. The first is our familiar bible story. Oh, did you miss that bit? Yeah, I know, you keep getting told about the dove that represents the holy spirit that came back with the olive branch. Why would they want to tell you about a dirty old crow? And why is that crow dirty anyway? Ah, hold that thought...we'll come back to that shortly.

Another very famous story that include a crow being sent out to look for land after a great Flood is in the epic story of Gilgamesh. While on a journey Gilgamesh meets an old man named Utnaptishtim who tells the hero how he survived a great flood by building a boat after being warned by the gods to do so, and then floating for several days before coming to rest on a mountain top. At first he sent out a dove, but the dove returned. Then he sent out a swallow, but the swallow returned also, so he knew there was no land yet. But the third bird he sent out was a crow, and it didn't come back, so Utnaptishtim knew it was finally safe to leave.

There are also crows mentioned in two North American Flood myths, with the Cree and the Algonquin, and in both stories they are also sent to look out for land.

So why am I telling you this? Because of this:

Which is, as we know, is a bit of a play on words, but it establishes the association between the ungulate offspring and the human offspring when we run into the next occurrence of the innocent being killed on the Almighty's fickle whim in the Job minisode in S2. And we know our favourite demon is just not going to take that lying down that without some kind of protest.

So after delivering his open monologue to the goats, which gives an insight into himself, then being confronted by Aziraphale, and revealing he has a permit, from the Almighty Herself, no less, he turns Job's goats into crows.

(And if you've missed the bit about why the goats, and not the sheep, which the archangels kept going on about, its because sheep were seen as more "Christian" as the rams were considered faithful to their ewes, as good followers should be, but goats were observed to just do it with any-nanny, with no sense of commitment, if you get what I mean, so they were considered more "demonic" in nature.)

The bible seems to have a bit of a love-hate relationship with birds. On hand they can be used for food or sacrifices, on the other hand they are metaphorical demons! There is an association made between "birds of the air" and demons, waiting to pick off the weak (of thought) and young before they can be enfolded into the "safety" of the church.

Even the noble eagle is frowned upon in a way, as it eats carrion, or rotting meat. And that is something ravens and crows are known to do as well. This eating of dead animals, and humans on the field on the ancient battlefield, led crows to be associated with death and the afterlife, and by extension, transformation from one form to another.

(I can't help thinking at this point about the Sandman's assistant crow helper that travels between worlds, but also I've written a couple of metas about both Crowley and the Bentley being facilitators for the crossing of thresholds between different worlds.)

If you've ever had a close association with a crow or two- and I have, over several years, they can be wily opponents! - you come to respect their intelligence and adaptability, no matter how they might be frustrating you! **

The raven is also mentioned in the Book of Job 38:41

Who provideth for the raven his food? when his young ones cry unto God, they wander for lack of meat.

We didn't hear this line delivered to Job during the minisode, though we certainly heard some of the other lines from verses 38 and 39 that come before and after it. God is in the middle of telling Job about the universe, the earth and the creatures upon it, and how She looks after them. The line Jimbriel speaks about the morning stars all singing together is Job 38:7, for example. Just before mentioning this loathsome bird, She mentions that most noble of animals, the lion. But look, She also cares about ugly croaking raven fledglings that seem to get kicked out of the nest as soon as they can fly. How do they fend for themselves? It is seen as the mercy of God that she provides for each of the creatures of the Earth, both the lion and the raven. (Well, there's some interesting metaphorical links riiiight there...I hope I don't need to spell them out....)

So where are we? We've gone from a crow being a messenger for Noah, to kids/goats from the Flood scene in S1E3, to demon-associated goats being transformed into demon-associated crows in the Job minisode in S2E2, just before Job's human kids are saved from destruction by being transformed into geckos - which is also a significant symbolic creature for resurrection (which I explain in another meta.)

You know, I wouldn't be at all surprised if we loop back for a longer look at the Flood in S3. Kids, crows, a transformative experience...

Va-va-voom, here we come!

*Parallel Myths by J. F. Beirlein (1994) A Fascinating look at the common threads woven through the world's greatest myths - and the central role they have played through time. ISBN 0-345-38146-7

**I know there are corvids all around the world, and they can be shy, important birds in the ecosystem but here in Australia they can also be big bullies who know they are bigger than the other birds and throw their weight around accordingly and then do gross stuff like dirty up the backyard bird bath by finding discarded sandwiches and dog bones or even Lego blocks and drop them in to "soften" them for later consumption and just leave a filthy mess there for everybird else. yyyiikkk.

#good omens #good omens 2 #good omens meta #good omens analysis #good omens theory #crowley #good omens s3 #goats #crows #not the kids #the flood

[tired-reader-writer]

Aaaaand fellas here we have Farangis' designs!! Took a while, mostly bc med school is a bitch and drained all my spoons while I was working on her T_T

Strap your seatbelts, lads! We're going on a Journey™!

The first outfit is one that basically communicates her status as a healer the most. White, light purple, and light green are basically the main colours I associate with her as a character, and I'm very pleased with how this one turned out. (Those were supposed to be pants but I think I made them way too baggy and now it looks like a skirt, whoopsies)

Those are supposed to be willow branches on her coat, but it's kinda debatable how much I succeeded on that front, and since willow makes a repeat appearance in her ceremonial garb, I will save the symbolism for that part.

For now, though, it's sort of unnoticeable due to her hair colour, but she is wearing an earring made from a raven feather! And wouldn't you know it, there's a symbolic reason for that!

Aside from being her familiar animals, ravens can represent death, the afterlife, wisdom, intelligence, adaptability, prescience, fortune, destiny, transformation, and the future. Their symbolism is both positive and negative, and they’re seen as both good and bad omens. Here's a few associations I picked up for Farangis:

“The raven symbolizes prophecy, insight, transformation, intelligence, and mystery. They can also represent wise people who bring messages to those around them. The raven also symbolizes recovery and healing.”

Farangis is a wise person who advises the people around her, both in this AU and in canon— and her proficiency with the art of healing is particularly well-suited to the raven's symbolism. Also, keep an eye on the prophecy thing, we'll get to it 👀 It's not as much a stretch as the spectacularly baffling pistachio-Aphrodite gymnastics in Ranna's design sheet here, but it does stretch things a little bit. You'll see, you'll see.

“Because of its black plumage, croaking call, and diet of carrion, the raven is often associated with loss and ill omen. Yet, its symbolism is complex. As a talking bird, the raven also represents prophecy and insight. Ravens in stories often act as psychopomps, connecting the material world with the world of spirits.”

Even in canon Farangis has a very close associations with spirits, as she regularly uses her crystal flute to communicate with them. That applies here as well, in Wolfpack.

Also keep an eye on the theme of loss and death. It'll all come together later, I promise.

“French anthropologist Claude Lévi-Strauss proposed a structuralist theory that suggests the raven (like the coyote) obtained mythic status because it was a mediator animal between life and death. As a carrion bird, ravens became associated with the dead and with lost souls.”

More stuff regarding the topic of death and spirits.

“In Greek mythology, ravens are associated with Apollo, the God of prophecy. They are said to be a symbol of bad luck, and were the gods’ messengers in the mortal world.”

Farangis is a devout priestess in canon who follows the god Mithra: deity of oaths and covenants. And even though she is of the Arayan faith in the AU, she still honors Mithra as she feels right at home within Mithra's divine domain of oaths and loyalty.

And thus begins the prophecy quest. Let's get to it, shall we?

And regarding Apollo:

“The most Greek of the gods, Apollo has been recognized as a god of archery, music and dance, truth and prophecy, healing and diseases, the Sun and light, poetry, and more. One of the most important and complex of the Greek gods, he is the son of Zeus and Leto, and the twin brother of Artemis, goddess of the hunt.”

Apollo is also often seen as “the most beautiful god” and Farangis' own beauty is noted by many, many people.

Farangis is a prodigious archer, a musician in this AU, and a more than competent healer as well. Apollo being a god of “truth and prophecy” also ties in with the djinn Farangis is so closely associated with in canon, and as she herself said: the djinn reveal lies from truth.

And when you speak of Apollo, one cannot forget his twin sister Artemis:

“Artemis is the goddess of the hunt, the wilderness, wild animals, nature, vegetation, childbirth, care of children, and chastity.”

Artemis is a goddess of the hunt who is also heavily associated with archery just like her twin brother. And you might also be aware that Artemis has a no-romance policy with both herself and her followers, ha. And though she had a lover in canon, it's all in the past and she does not seem like she'll be starting a new love life anytime soon. Or like, ever. And of course, in Wolfpack she is happily single and gloriously uninterested in romance. Good for her.

Ravens are not symbols of Artemis, but her symbols do include: cypress, deer, bow and arrows, and the crescent moon.

And wouldn't you know it, Farangis' canon crest features a crescent moon!

Also, funny thing, I was about to include deer antlers or something incorporated in one of her designs because:

“The Persian fallow deer (Dama dama mesopotamica), an ancient domesticate once thought extinct, was rediscovered in the late 20th century in Khuzestan Province, in the southern Zagros.”

Buuuuut I... forgot. Whoopsies, MY BAD.

Also keep an eye on the cypress. It'll come up again later. I know, I know, I'm asking you to put a pin on a bunch of things but I promise it'll all come together later.

(as a fun little aside, Farangis has emerald-coloured eyes and as I stated in Ranna's sheet, emeralds were said go be “a revealer of truths, they reputedly could cut through all illusions and spells, including the truth or falsity of a lover's oath” and they're associated with Venus/Aphrodite she is really beautiful and Aphrodite is the goddess of love and beauty and well this isn't all that significant in the grand scheme of things I just thought it was a funny coincidence— and what's really funny is that Aphrodite's divine domain and Artemis' no-romance policy is in conflicts alright alright I'll stop rambling about this now)

She is wearing a purple sash to signify where her loyalty lies, echoing both Arslan and Kazai, both people significant to her.

Her second outfit is akin to a hunting attire, more muted greens, not a whole lot of embellishments going on because I don't think she's wild about that, simple, functional, but still looks good on her. Not much to say symbolically in this one, only that here a raven feather features again attached to her raishal (crystal flute) on her necklace, and she is wearing the healers' badge here as well. And while the healers: badge specifically references Quercus castaneifolia, the chestnut-leaved oak, another species of oak is also significant to her by ways of being important to her homeland.

“Quercus brantii (covering more than 50% of the Zagros Mountains forest steppe ecoregion) is the most important tree species of the Zagros in Iran.”

Her homeland Khuzestan would be near the Zagros mountain range I believe— though I guess they're named the Nimruz mountains in Arslan Senki? I really need to brush up on my geography.

“Iranians use its seed in traditional medicine. Other useful products derived from oaks include fuel wood, charcoal and timber hardwood.”

They're also used in medicine!

I go into much more detail of why oak trees are used to symbolize the clan healers in Arslan's design sheet here, so I won't bore you by repeating it here again.

And OH I almost forgot about the designs on her boots. They're meant to be barley!

Forgive me for I won't be able to provide much in terms of proper quotes from articles and such, because when I looked up barley symbolism on Google I literally could not dodge the Bible stuff. All the info here is provided by a lovely French-speaking friend who went onto the French side of Google and hurled up a bunch of information for me.

@werewolfcoochie thank you SO MUCH for your invaluable aid. I couldn't have done this without you.

“Barley has been an important part of human culture due to is popularity as the most common grain used in the process of malting, which is essential for the production of beer, whiskey, certain candies, and sweet meal.”

And hey, while beer and whiskey don't equate wine, it's still alcohol and Farangis has like. God-tier alcohol tolerance.

Barley can also symbolize fertility, hope, abundance, and a good harvest— which definitely makes you think of the role the clan plays in the local agriculture.

“Historically, a society that is rich in barley can typically count on having a lot of food in total, so the crop can be connected with general prosperity and overall welfare.”

×

“Barley can potentially have a lot of religious significance for different people. It can also be seen as a general sign of hope and a desire for abundance and a good, healthy life. It is the most common grain used for the making of arguably the most popular form of alcohol in the world.”

It also seems to have associations with medicine and magecraft, which makes sense since those two things were often bundled together historically.

Barley was also used in ritualistic medicine in England. Witches would cook and then let barley evaporate in the room of the sick person, and then draw on them magic symbols using the uncooked one. It was also said to help with tooth pain.

The witch Circe used it in a potion to turn Ulysses' companions into pigs. Some people also burned barley on Apollo's shrines.

“Circe is an enchantress and a minor goddess in ancient Greek mythology and religion. In most accounts, Circe is described as the daughter of the sun god Helios and the Oceanid nymph Perse. Circe was renowned for her vast knowledge of potions and herbs. Through the use of these and a magic wand or staff, she would transform her enemies, or those who offended her, into animals.”

Eyyy, a sorceress! Though Helios is not Apollo, they're both associated with the sun. It doesn't mean much, I just thought it was fun.

Demeter was also linked to barley. After Demeter lost her daughter Persephone, some humans tried to cheer her up by giving her wine, but she refused, asking for alcohol made from barley instead. And as Demeter is a goddess of nature responsible for all plant growth including crops, it would make sense for her to be associated with barley.

In Middle Ages, there was a form of divination using barley called alphitomancy.

In India, people use barley for sacrifices and private life ceremonies like births, marriages and so on— and some shamans use it to curse people.

In Ancient Egypt, Osiris was linked to cereals in general, and he was always depicted with barley. Ancient egyptians would make little statues and plant barley inside them. The growth of barley symbolizes the rebirth of Osiris after being killed by his brother Seth.

“Osiris is the god of fertility, agriculture, the afterlife, the dead, resurrection, life, and vegetation in ancient Egyptian religion.”

(I'll get to all the death stuff eventually, I promise.)

They also used barley against inflammation and also as divination tool to know the sex of an unborn child, and modern tests have shown that barley can be used to determine the sex of a baby with 70-75% effectiveness. Just a fun tidbit!

Okay, I thought I didn't have much to say about the second outfit. Uhhhh, oops?

And now finally we move onto the third. Are y'all still alive yet?

It's the ceremonial attire she would wear as a mage-musician during celebrations and ceremonies, and though it bears similarities to the spirit dancers' clothes, there are also a couple little differences! The silhouette is different, and the musicians tend to wear one of the two colours (blue or white) rather than clothes that split between them. Farangis happened to favor white.

Aaaaaand the willow! Promised I'd get to it, didn't I? Get ready, get ready, we're about to take a trip into the underworld.

Don't be alarmed.

“A large tree with long, flowing branches and leaves, the willow tree often symbolizes flexibility and adaptability. The limber and supple nature of its extremities means it bends to accommodate and withstand strong winds and adverse weather. Many, therefore, see it as inspiring and symbolic of humans’ capability to withstand hardship, loss, and difficult emotions. Thanks to its long life and the ease with which new trees can be rooted from cuttings, the willow tree is also seen as a survivor and a symbol of rebirth.”

×

“The willow tree is sometimes referred to as the "weeping willow." This name comes from the way raindrops run down its long leaves, making it look like the tree is crying. The weeping willow is therefore associated with grief and mourning in many cultures.”

×

“A willow’s drooping branches and leaves are seen as a symbol of letting go. In many cultures, willows are planted near gravesites as a way to honor the dead.”

×

“The willow tree symbolism of grief may be due in part to its ability to thrive in wet conditions. This hardiness has led to the tree being seen as a symbol of resilience in the face of adversity.”

×

“Dreaming of willow trees can mean many things, but their main messages are feelings of rigidness, the need to move on, and feeling unsafe.”

Farangis endured jealousy and ostracization from her peers in the temple due to her beauty and skill, and though she stayed loyally until she was sent to find Arslan in canon, she decided to leave the temple to join the clan in this AU.

She was sent to the temple because her parents died and there presumably was nobody left to take her in— and having to deal with grief on top of a new environment seemingly very hostile to you can't be easy in the slightest. And here we get to the theme of loss— she lost her parents and struggles to deal with the fact before she joined the clan. All the death/afterlife associations I've built up until now all culminate in this grief of hers, those intense and complicated emotions that ultimately resulted in her leaving the temple (“letting go” of the expectations placed on her by the adults, by her parents, letting go of a toxic environment, no longer bound to her parents' wish) to seek out a “rebirth” under Eihon's guidance. No longer was the temple a place of refuge and safety for her, and it's debatable whether it ever was.

And regarding rebirth, you may have noticed a lot of clan-style garments go right-over-left which is usually opposite to how many cultures around the world do it: right-over-left is reserved for the dead. The people who join the clan are functionally dead to the world and the places they came from— the runaway slaves are practically “dead” to their slavers, runaway children and abuse victims are “dead” to their families and abusers, by virtue of them disappearing off the face of the earth and being impossible to find again. And many, particularly ones who had negative or complicated relationships with their previous identities/names and families often opt to change their names, making the death and rebirth a bit more literal.

Farangis and Gieve chose to keep their names because it wasn't their families/parents they had an issue with, and still love them despite it all.

“Most symbolism surrounding willow trees comes from their graceful appearance. Their lightweight leaves, long branches, and protective caves inspire many and hold a powerful message.”

×

“The willow tree originates from China, and in Ancient China, people believed that willow branches could ward off evil. They were often carried around or placed at doorways to keep evil spirits away. The concept of the willow tree bringing good luck and protecting against evil is also prevalent in countless cultures across the world.”

×

“Willow branches also brought protection in Ancient Greek mythology, although willow also symbolized power in general. Orpheus, the bringer of song, carried willow wood with him to protect against evil in the underworld. Hecate, the goddess of witchcraft, also used a wand made out of willow. Willow is connected to music in Greek mythology — the harp that Apollo gifted Orpheus was made of willow wood.”

×

“In some cultures, people plant willows near homes to keep away evil spirits. Willow branches are often used in magical rituals and spells to ward off negative energy. Willow trees also create a ‘barrier’ if they are allowed to grow down to the ground. People have sat inside these barriers during warm months to protect themselves from the sun.”

×

“The willow was a powerful tree that symbolizes healing, strength, and functionality.”

×

“The willow tree is often seen as a symbol of peace. This is likely because willow trees are known for their calming and serene qualities. The branches of these trees are light enough to simply sway in the wind. The soft rattle of the leaves also creates a calming effect that evokes peace in just about anyone.”

These just scream Farangis to me. Also, Hecate is the goddess of boundaries, transitions, crossroads, magic, the New Moon, necromancy, and ghosts— and associated with all of the above plus the night, protection from witchcraft, and knowledge of herbs and poisonous plants. The “transitions and crossroads” could be taken to represent the period between her meeting the clan people and choosing to join them, stuck between two paths before steeling herself to choose one.

And of course, they also have medicinal properties!

“In ancient times, willows were used for their medicinal properties. Their leaves and bark are said to help with inflammation and other ailments.”

Arrows were also apparently made out of willow branches in some cultures, which is fitting considering that Farangis is a skilled archer.

And at the bottom of the white coat, you'll see elaborate patterns adorning the side slits— they're supposed to be like, very highly stylized renditions of cypress trees though I certainly got carried away and now I'm not sure they look like cypresses anymore. Ha, told you I'd eventually get to them!

“In the words of the Shahnameh, cypress represents a single-minded, professional and wise man. In ancient Iran, at Yalda night, a tree called Yalda tree was decorated, which was generally made of cypress and pine trees. It is said that the decoration of cypress and pine in Christmas was adapted from ancient Iran, because the Iranians looked at these two trees, especially the cypress, as a symbol of resistance against darkness and cold, and they stood in front of the cypress on the first day of January. And they vowed to be strong and stable until the next year and plant another cedar sapling. In the classical tradition, the cypress was associated with death and the underworld.”

I have already talked about all the reasons I decided to rope in death and resilience in sections above!

“In Greek mythology, besides Cyparissus, the cypress is also associated with Artemis and Hecate, a goddess of magic, crossroads and the underworld. Ancient Roman funerary rites used it extensively. In Jewish tradition, the cypress was held to be the wood used to build Noah's Ark and The Temple, and is mentioned as an idiom or metaphor in biblical passages, either referencing the tree's shape as an example of uprightness or its evergreen nature as an example of eternal beauty or health. It is popular in modern Israeli cemeteries, with contemporary explanation being that its shape resembles a candle and its being an evergreen symbolized the immortality of the soul.”

×

“The tree is one of the oldest symbols of mourning. In fact, ancient Greeks and Romans referred to the cypress as the "mournful tree" for this reason. Adherents of Christianity and Islam historically planted cypress near burial sites and cemeteries for protection against evil spirits.”

So... there you have it! Farangis' design sheet! I hope y'all liked it, Gieve is slated to be next though I think I'll probably end up taking a good long break first.

#arslan senki #the heroic legend of arslan #heroic legend of arslan #wolfpack au #winds of wolfsong #farangis #rotten egg's shitty art #the character design sheet saga #symbolism #how fucking long is this post??? #long post #just in case #so yeah there you go! #hope y'all enjoyed this as much as I enjoyed creating both the designs and the post #it is currently... *checks clock* 3:40am as of uploading #I have been typing away at this post since like 1am #I'm very tired and I'll head to bed now

[nashiriel]

I have to say both Consanguinity and Victory stand out for me as usually I can't stand reading A/B/O often all feelings seem...removed? Good or Bad and the hyper feminization of any "omega" often just...makes them nothing like the character they are supposed to be?

In Victory were Luke, for all almost every control is taken from him...he fights back (with help).

In Consanguinity sure Addam especially finds Luke very cute, but at least the (saner) members of houses Targaryen and Velaryon still respect that he is a living breathing person. He also still feels like Luke.

This is rambly but anyways, glad I took a chance of those two after reading Carrion. ^_^

I wrote such a long response to this and Tumblr ate it 😑 Thank you so much for such a lovely comment! I’m so happy that you took a chance on both of those fics and found it worth it. You’ll have to forgive the incoming recreated essay:

I have to admit, I’m not massively fond of some common tropes in A/B/O fic gender dynamics - at least, not when they’re played straight. Considering ASOIAF already features pretty strict gender roles with characters who struggle massively against them, there’s definitely a lot to explore when you introduce A/B/O into the mix!

When I was picking prior Targaryen omegas, Alysanne seemed an obvious choice - not just for the sheer number of children, but the fact that she was so focused on gender roles and improving rights, whilst being married/bonded to a guy who very much fell short in that regard. So the idea of her and Jaehaerys being held up as the Targaryen ideal pair as a bonded alpha/omega in that context was quite interesting.

I did think about Vaegon being an omega for the lol factor, but given Jaehaerys’ treatment of his daughters, I didn’t see him letting Vaegon off with a Citadel career if that had been the case.

And then I chose Visenya for the other, because I quite liked the idea of one of the fiercest, deadliest members of House Targaryen being an omega (you can bet Rhaenyra, Visenya fangirl that she is, helped hype Luke up with stories about how badass omegas could be after he presented), and also because that was quite an intriguing dynamic to me - an omega who could only produce the one child, the multiple bride aspects (I don’t think Aegon ever actually bonded with Visenya) and with Rhaenys being the more traditionally feminine one who Aegon preferred as a beta instead.

So for Luke in both fics, I definitely wanted to write him in a similar way to how I’d write in non-A/B/O fics. The fact that Jace is an alpha in Victory and yet is in a similar situation was quite important; he and Luke empathise with and empower each other, and Luke is very much the ringleader of their whole plan there (fun fact: his expression at the end is very much reminiscent of him smirking at Aemond over the roasted pig in canon).

Even with other characters, my rule of thumb is generally that their personalities should not really shift depending on what I’ve assigned them as but rather on the situations they find themselves in. Aegon III, who is obviously quite withdrawn and traumatised in canon, getting ready to dump wine on Aegon II’s head at the start of Victory because of the treatment of his family despite being a beta is probably a good example.

In Consanguinity, the power dynamics between Luke and Addam - Luke is younger and rides a smaller dragon, but he’s future Lord of the Tides and was massively higher on the social totem pole than Addam until a short time ago - and the fact that Addam is so laidback, makes writing them as a pair quite fun! The bit where Luke admits he’s not sorry for taking Aemond’s eye and Addam finding his feralness pretty appealing was in my mind from the start. You can see hints that here as well the Greens are far more traditionalist in their mindset, which is a definite cause of friction between both sides.

As Joffrey demonstrates, the Blacks very much consider Luke to be every much a fighter and future lord in his own right as his brothers, and if someone objects, they’re very happy to introduce them to their dragons. Which is going to be a pretty important factor for certain characters going forward.

#house of the dragon #lucerys velaryon #asks #consanguinity #victory

[exalted-dawn-drabbles]

lmaooo unhinged thought but

"glad to see you haven't become food for the vultures" for the "Talenna and Thalia escape the Circle together" idea?

hehehehehehehehehe you can have a little bit of depressed Thalia and pissed off Talenna uwu ass a treat

for @dadrunkwriting

Rated T: For semi-graphic depictions of the cleaning of dead animals, ~750 words

Carrion | By Exalted_Dawn

“Glad to see you haven’t become food for the vultures.” Thalia started, her head snapping up from where she had buried it between her knees, cradled in the mud-stained, tattered skirts of her robes. Her face was sticky with dirt and tears, causing the strands of her currant-stained hair to cling to her cheeks and shroud her eyes. Through the shredded curtain of tangles, she could see the deep plum color of the Ansburg robes, torn at the knee by the clean cut of a dagger. 

Her lip wobbled and pulled tight, before she dropped her gaze again. 

“I see your plan to be found by the Templars has failed.” 

Maker, why did she have to come back? It had been three days since she left– she should have been miles away by now. Thalia wasn’t sure whether she should feel relieved or mortified. Though, she was probably too hungry, too tired, to feel much of either. 

She just wanted all of this to come to an end. 

“Why are you here?” she whimpered, the weight of her situation coming back to bare. 

Rather than an answer, something thudded to the ground at her feet. A dead rabbit.

“I figured you might be hungry.” 

She was. 

“No- why are you here?” she repeated again. Why would she come back? She should have been long gone. Returned to her clan or whoever was waiting for her. She had made it plenty clear that she had no intention of staying around, and Thalia, she… she wasn’t sure what she wanted. She still wasn’t sure. 

But then, she supposed most of her life had been decided for her. Stands to reason that she would not even be able to pick a direction to walk in.

Another wave of emotion surged against her chest, pressing so hard against her ribs that she felt like they might break. Her body ached with it, the need to simply break down and cry. But what good would that do her?

There was a scuffing of earth beside her. “What do you mean? We need to eat, do we not?” The sound of snapping branches shifted to snapping fire. The hollow thunk of wood being piled on wood. A campfire. 

Her body was bumped as the woman sat down beside her, grabbing at the rabbit and setting to work cleaning it. Well, if nothing else, now she had a good excuse to keep her face hidden. She wasn’t sure watching a rabbit get skinned would be good for her appetite. 

But that begged the question– 

“You came back just to feed me? Why didn’t you just keep the rabbit to yourself and keep traveling?” she mumbled. “I believe you said something about me ‘having an obligation to live for myself’...” The sharp snap of that memory echoed in the back of her head. A snarl. A slap. Disappointed, disapproving eyes paired only by a harsh, scarred scowl.

Now though, even the scoff she made sounded empty. As if she could not even be bothered with derision. “We both know there’s no Void-born way you would be able to survive out here on your own. I was the one that pushed you to leave that tower. It would leave a bad taste in my mouth if you were to die out here now.” 

Great. So she was just a burden then.And a pointless one at that. 

“You would have a better chance of making it back to your family if you just left me…” she grumbled. 

“Aye, probably, but I don’t want to deal with the guilt, and over a shem no less. I’ll make sure you live long enough to make it out of these woods and to some city or something. After that, if you want to give up and turn yourself over to the Templars, then that’s your choice. But until then, we’re stuck together. So do me a favor, shem-” 

Two more ‘thunks’ against the ground in front of her. One dull and the other metallic. 

Thalia lifted her head– it was another rabbit. And a knife.

She, Talenna, was looking at her again. Her eyes were sharp. Expectant. Impossibly, irrationally expectant.  

“Make yourself useful,” she said flatly, and turned her attention back to her own half-cleaned rabbit. “You might not care, but I have no intention of becoming carrion for the birds. And for that-” 

There was a disgustingly wet tear. Talenna took a leg and stabbed it onto a stick. Ew. 

“-we need to eat.” 

#dadwc #dragon age fanfiction #talenna ethera #thalia trevelyan #hopefully I managed to do the girl justiceeeeeeeee #aaaaaaaaaaaaa #poor Thalia #she never asked for this LOL

[blysse-and-blunder]

In lieu of a week in the woods

sunday, august 27, 2023 ~ 11:30pm

just got back from 6+ days off the grid, swimming, drinking tea, porch sittin’, and generally revisiting old stomping grounds. somehow it still wasn’t long enough.

(you can add a read more on mobile now??!!)

Reading picked out some specific weird old trade paperbacks to read at the cottage, and successfully finished one: margaret atwood’s lady oracle. one of those books where I will be thinking about it forever, but not necessarily because I enjoyed it? good prose moments, good turns of phrase or moments of clear perception, but i found the main character sort of perplexing—the bits of old Toronto, vintage mid century canadian childhood and adolescence, were probably what will stick with me. That and the way that I think it was trying to get psychonanalytic but, in classic 80s feminist fiction style, it didn’t make a ton of sense. also the fatphobia? like, experimenting with the pov of someone with intense body dysmorphia / weight shaming / internalized fatphobia felt unempathetic? like i was supposed to be impressed or titillated or surprised by this choice, that the book would even consider having a main character who was fat. period typical, sure, part of the mid century setting, sure, but also like. gratuitous.

also finished italo calvino’s the baron in the trees, and a.k. larkwood’s the unspoken name, and started the audiobook for the long way to a small angry planet. Also began my harrow the ninth reread, and wow this book is good. and even more so when you can follow what’s happening.

listening only the fact that I did spend so long literally in the woods has prevented me from having in-depth thoughts and feelings about hozier’s unreal earth. more to come as I sit with it longer, but so far—strong positive feelings. some new ground, some old ground, and some things that bridge the two nicely. worth listening to with headphones or however you can pick up all the layers in the mix. I really like ‘Icarian carrion’ on this listen.

watching watched a couple of episodes of Star Trek: Strange New Worlds this evening, since being back— ‘lost in translation,’ and the lower decks cross-over. loved seeing boimler and mariner in the flesh, and the different gags they fit into that one, despite the fact that one of the things I’ve liked most about this season has been the show gradually giving time to some of the more philosophical questions trek can explore—but lower decks does that too, sometimes better, and these two episodes back to back fit pretty well.

playing it was a very boardgame forward week at the cottage— clue, PARKS, and a new one for me, shadows over Camelot. not an uncomplicated setup, but some of the tie-ins to actual arthurian themes (the grail quest keeps pulling players in but it will grind them up and spit them out! the next generation are the ones who survive!) caught and held my enjoyment when the different mechanics threatened to lose it. I also tuned in to d&d remotely for a bit, though my connection was bad, and my rig was rated ‘haunted’ by the other players. they could hear crickets over the voice chat 😌🌲

making sewed a new patch onto my jacket and moved another two—picture to follow. didn’t do any of the mending I brought, but have had thoughts about what makes sense and what I might buy to supplement the projects. new fabric store on my commute deserves a visit, methinks.

working on truly the answer here is ‘not overthinking or delaying out of perfectionism’. which I have already done. finished all but the last eng 385 essay feedback, finished proofing for joe and responding to the department’s newsletter person for the piece she’s writing; still have to finish this letter of recommendation and these two (2!?) chapter drafts. the point is to be able to write a final sentence and just. let them go. learn how to not stop shy of finishing something. learn how to bring something (anything) to a state of some kind of completion. sure, right. sure.

if you need me, I’ll be back in the woods.

#in lieu of a commonplace book #weekly roundup #ilcb

[ratboychronicles]

so,,, weird thing about yew berries is that. the seeds r poisonous, but the flesh isn’t. and the seeds are HUGE. so um. just pretend Einzi ground them up and hid the, in there ok?? ok

now i shall yap about how Carrion died (detailed) <3

so prior to everything, Carrion lived at home with both of his parents and his little brother, Aspen. his parents aren’t,,, evil, per say, but he could barely stand to be around them. once upon a rime he had a good relationship with his father but that slowly drifted because of his transition and a general growing distance. his mother,, he always hated her, he found her impossible to tolerate and he became extremely critical of her behaviour when his brother Aspen was born (Aspen was born when Carrion was 16, so the criticizable behaviour of his mother + teenage angst was a nasty and brutal combination). Carrion was the one who took care of his brother the most, he would usually drop him off and pick him up from daycare and school, he made his meals, he took him out to parks and to get food every Saturday—he was Aspen’s primary caregiver. It wasn’t as if Carrion minded very much, he didn’t have many friends and he adored spending time with his brother, but once he was in college it became harder for him to be so attentive to him. Instead, Carrion began bringing Aspen with him to his cottage for 2 months every summer to spend as much time with him as possible. The cottage was given to him after his grandparents had passed and the ownership of their property then transferred, and Carrion spent lots of time there. He brought Aspen to have campfires, to swim in the lake, to read him bedtime stories and to wander the woods for hours at a time looking for animals, mushrooms and whatever else they could find. In that meantime, there was someone who lurked from behind the bushes, waiting to strike,,,

When Carrion was 25 and Aspen was 9, Carrion had decided he would sell the cottage and then use that money to move away and buy a house elsewhere. He had planned to bring his brother with him, as he grew increasingly concerned for his wellbeing when he was at home with his mother. That particular summer, Aspen was at a summer camp, and Carrion had found someone interested in buying the cottage. With that, Carrion spent that summer appreciating his cottage one last time and packing up. In the last two weeks, however, he began to receive anonymous gifts. Of course, the inherent reaction was: what the fuck??? Which was probably a normal reaction, but at the same time—he had never received these kinds of anonymous gifts before. He felt,, appreciated, for the first time ever, really. The gifts weren’t particularly creepy, either—things like flowers, sweet treats, the usual romantic gestures. Carrion quite enjoyed the gifts, even if he held some suspicion—he did put a letter on his front doorstep giving his name and phone number, but he received no reply, although the letter was gone the following morning. On his last day at the cottage, he did feel sad to leave—mainly because of the memories he had at the cottage, but he also felt sad he couldn’t seem to get proper contact with his secret admirer. Despite this, it didn’t stop him from leaving. There was one final gift on his doorstep, left right in the morning—a pie with red interior labelled as raspberry pie. This time, there was a note written along with it that read:

“Dear Carrion,

If I stand correct, today is your final day here. Oh, how sad. I’ve quite enjoyed our fleeting time together … you’re a lovely man. I will miss you. I hope you appreciate this gift, I made it myself :) all I ask is that you eat it today, it won’t taste as good tomorrow!

Safest of travels. Perhaps we shall see each other again.”

Carrion had received food from this person before, and so—what was the difference? He allowed the pie to sit for a while, but by the evening after dinner, he figured he’d have a slice before bed. The pie was incredibly sweet, almost a bit too sweet for him, but he still took enjoyment in eating it.

Within an hour, Carrion had died from cardiac arrest on his kitchen floor (womp).

Einzi had done what he truly felt he had to. He came in through Carrion’s window and carried him out of his cottage, and brought him to his tent to begin his,,,, experiments.

He spent about two sleepless days on his experiments. He performed an autopsy and studied him closely, adjusting his incantation accordingly. Even with his mutilation of his body, he took quite good care of him—speaking to his lifeless body gently and keeping his touches soft. He placed a spell upon his heart to keep it beating and to keep his body in decent condition, sewing him back up and wrapping him in a wool coat. Before he put the cloak on him, he did carve the first letter of his name into Carrion’s lower back, drained the blood and THEN he had finished his,, project, signed and everything. He placed him in a field of flowers, and scampered away before he could wake up. From there, Carrion had started a new life—or I guess,,, new death ,,??? Because his body hadn’t been put to rest and was instead meddled with, Carrion’s “spirit” never truly left his body and allowed him to be revived, but he has slight connections to the world of spirits by proxy of dying at all. He’s stuck in the living world, but ghosts that exist in the living world can be seen by him. anywayz!!! Carrion hates his life and wants to die desperately <3 he cries about his brother every other day

#yippie #oc story #ocs #original story #need to make a title for this story mmmm

[rotworld]

14: Nostalgia

a trip back to your small hometown leads to a long overdue reunion.

->explicit. contains discrimination, implied child abuse, murder, gore, blood drinking, terato.

.

.

.

It feels a bit like turning the pages of a singed photo album. A line of things frozen just as you left them, and then a scorch mark—a hole in the past. Someone has come and started little fires throughout your memory.

That’s the sweets shop where you’d press your grubby little fingers to the glass and watch Ms. Martz set out the day’s fresh cookies and fill up the candy jars, but the decor is different and there’s two teenage girls lounging at the register counter. The mattress place across from your old favorite coffee shop is gone, clipped out with hole punch precision. The empty building where it used to be has been stripped of all signage, nothing but dusty concrete and disembodied wooden beams for a storefront display. There’s the courthouse with its looming clocktower, the factory silos, the ice cream stand along the riverfront, closed for the season, and it’s all familiar, almost how you remember it, but not quite the same. 

People act odd at first, everywhere you go. You’re branded an outsider, held at arm’s length until it slips out at some point: “I grew up here.” It’s the strangest sort of homecoming, like showing up late to a funeral. Everything is warmth and wistful sadness. You keep running into people you used to know and everyone has news for you, updates and gossip that make you feel even stranger. Dr. Hanson passed a few years and nobody likes the new guy because he’s curt and quiet and doesn’t bother getting to know anybody. That deathtrap of an old sawmill you used to climb around as a kid is padlocked shut now. 

They found another body in Abbey Hill Park.

You hear about it from Mr. Simmons when you get behind him in line at the grocery store. He taught children’s soccer. He’s retired now, he says, in good shape except for a bad fall last winter while he was out shoveling snow. He mentions the body offhandedly, like something he forgot to pick up at the store. “This was five, six years ago,” he says. “It was just like the first one, if you remember it. You might not, you would’ve been real little at the time.” 

You remember. You were little but it was inescapable. It was hiding everywhere, an ugly thing everybody tiptoed around with whispers and curfews and nervous glances. Mrs. Werther’s class didn’t have to come to school for a week, and they had a substitute teacher for the rest of the year. You heard that the sheriff’s son got ahold of the crime scene pictures and started passing around copies, so everyone knew Mrs. Werther was half-eaten by birds. They’d plucked out her eyes and stolen the tongue out of her gaping mouth and a few of them had torn into her soft belly and started eating everything inside. Small bones and bits of viscera turned up in bird’s nests all around the park for a while. 

A freak accident. That’s what the official verdict was. There had been a construction project nearby, some unstable scaffolding and haphazardly piled debris. How a brick flung itself across the street, up the hill, and against Mrs. Werther’s skull remained a point of debate, as much as where it had gone afterwards. There wasn’t much to work with. No murder weapon, no fingerprints, no witnesses. Just a body in a flower field and a flock of opportunistic carrion eaters.

“That’s awful,” you say, the thoughtless, reflexive way a person does to any bad news. 

“Sure was,” Mr. Simmons says. “Nobody’s calling it an accident this time, though. They caught the guy. People are saying he dumped the body there thinking it’d get pinned on somebody else.” He says the words “somebody else” with sharp disdain. “That whole mess keeps me up at night. Everyone knew. You ask your folks, I’m sure they’ll tell you the same. We didn't used to pussyfoot around just to keep the peace and look progressive. Things like that don’t belong here, but they went ahead and let it get away with murder—”

“He was just a fucking kid!” 

Mr. Simmons’ jaw snaps shut. Everything gets quiet around you. People are staring. You fumble with your groceries and find a different line to stand in. Your face feels hot and your heart is pounding. It’s just another one of the things that hasn’t changed about this place. 

You take a walk to clear your head. All of the houses in your old neighborhood are the same. There’s still a big bump in the concrete where a tree root snuck underneath the sidewalk. Someone new lives on the corner and that big, beautiful garden you remember has shriveled up and become overgrown with weeds. The elementary school is across the street and classes must be out because there’s a long line of cars creeping through the parking lot and kids rushing across the lawn. Your eyes are drawn through the mass of people to an unusually tall man standing off to the side, a child huddled beside him.

They look startlingly similar. Both tall, both with thin, gangly limbs and dark hair, both with shockingly bright, yellow eyes. You haven’t seen the man in years but it’s him, you know it is. His face is like the rest of town, changed in uncanny ways and yet exactly the same. 

“Wes.” His name just slips out in a shocked whisper. You’re too far for him to hear you, a street and a parking lot away, but his head snaps up and those wide, piercing eyes find yours. 

He stares. He smiles. Your feet are tripping over themselves and you’re crossing the street without even looking. “Wes!” you call. Your excited pace quickens when you notice his hand is bleeding. 

He’s wearing a blue button-up and slacks, a leather bag slung over his shoulder. “Hey,” he says. “Been a while.” 

“Your hand—” you stammer. 

“It’s fine,” he says. It’s not. There are awful bites all over, deep cuts and lacerations around the joints. Blood trickles steadily between his fingers and into the grass. “Could you grab the bandages from my bag?” he asks, lifting his shoulder. “They’re in the biggest compartment, right there. I don’t want to get blood on everything.” 

Just like when you were kids, he carries several boxes. Small adhesive dots, large, patterned ones with little cartoon animals, even some gauze and disinfectant crammed in beside books and folders. You see an elementary math textbook, a planner, a thin stack of printed handouts. “You’re a teacher?” you ask him. You mean to ask him, “You stayed?”

Wes gets it, though. He always does. “I thought about it a lot,” he says. You feel his gaze on you, that steady, intimidating focus. There’s fondness and gratitude in his eyes when you smooth a band-aid across his knuckles. “It would’ve been easier, in some ways. Getting a job somewhere else. But it occurred to me that I might be needed here. If there was ever another one.” 

The kid half-hiding behind him hasn’t said a word since you walked up. Just like Wes, he sticks out like a sore thumb, a head above his classmates with bony hands and big, owlish eyes. He clutches the straps of a Spider Man backpack and chews his lip as he watches you. There’s still some blood smeared on his cheek. Wes rests his uninjured hand on the boy’s shoulder. “This is a safe person,” he tells him, nodding towards you. “Kind. Friendly.” 

You smile. The boy looks at his shoes. “...I’m Neely,” he mutters. “It’s…nice to…meet you.” He has the same high-pitched, hoarse voice Wes did as a kid, the same unusual cadence and long pauses as he struggles to find the right word. “Do you know…what I am?” he asks, whispering. 

“Yes, I do,” you say. 

He narrows his eyes like he doesn’t believe you. “Mr. Lynwood said that…that lots of people make…they make, uh…” 

“Assumptions,” Wes says. 

“That,” Neely says. 

“I don’t,” you assure him. “I’ve known Wes—Mr. Lynnwood for a very long time. We both went to this school, in fact. We were in different classes, but we were best friends.” 

Neely gets quiet. He digs the toe of his shoe into the dirt restlessly, his eyes flicking back and forth from you to Wes. A car honks and you see a man and a dog in the front seats of a minivan. There’s no family resemblance at all, but the man waves and Neely trots over with a, “Byeeeee, Mr. Lynwood!” 

Wes waves with his good hand. He waits until Neely has climbed into the backseat and the car long gone before he tells you, “He’s had some trouble with teething.” 

“Ah,” you say. 

“It’s how he deals with his feelings. Mostly the bad ones. But the kids are good. They don’t pick on him. They understand he needs different things.” 

The last bandage wraps around his thumb. Wes thanks you. You shrug it off. You don’t leave. The pattering footsteps and shouts of small children filter out and fade, the rush in the parking lot thinning out. “I have a lot of work to do,” Wes says.

Your heart throbs painfully. “Right, no, of course—” 

“So come over.” 

You think you do an admirable job of looking casual and not shocked or flustered, jamming your hands in your pockets. “Like, to catch up?” you ask.

Wes’ gaze moves from your eyes to a little lower, your lips or maybe your throat. He watches the muscles in your neck flutter when you swallow, nervous and excited. He licks his lips. You feel like a teenager again, crouched behind the riverfront ice cream stand on a chilly autumn day, your hands in Wes’ hair and his lips crushing yours, grinding on each other like you’ll die without this. “Sure,” he says. “To catch up.”

Wes lives in a small, cute house near Abbey Hill. The driveway is half-cement, half dirt. There are flowering shrubs and wild berries growing under the windows, a birdfeeder and stone fountain in the front yard. A child’s drawing of big, smiling seagulls—signed “Neely age 7” in a crude hand—is proudly displayed above a brick fireplace. He gives you a brief tour—living room, kitchen, bed and bathrooms, a home office in a cozy, furnished attic. That’s where you are when you both start dropping the facade, you poking through his collection of house plants and teaching theory books, him standing beside a reclaimed wood desk and running his fingers across the surface. 

“Neely’s been the only one since me,” he tells you. “Seven years ago. His parents took it well. Better than mine.” 

“They’re good to him?” you ask. 

“They’re great. Had them at conferences. They ask lots of questions. They listen.” The floor creaks. You hear him shifting closer, coming up behind you. “They come over sometimes. It’s nice. Then it’s so quiet, after they leave.”

Your hand hovers over the spine of a psychology textbook. A wordy title, something about attachment theory and child neglect. “Are you lonely?” you ask him.

His hand slides up your arm to your shoulder, fingers caressing your jaw. “Are you?” he murmurs against your ear. “You came back.” 

He urges you to lay your head back and bare your throat. You do, your eyes fluttering shut. Wes’ lips trail along the side of your neck, kissing you, blowing softly on damp, shivering skin. His hands are gentle and fleeting, restless like he’s afraid to leave some part of you untouched. They caress your sides and your chest, one wandering teasingly down to your stomach while the other cups your jaw. You want to turn around. You want to see him. He never lets you look. Wes moves his body in a slow, sensual grind against you and you whimper, eager for more. 

“I thought about you,” you say softly. 

He hums in acknowledgement, sucking at the throb of your pulse. 

“I thought about—about her. That awful teacher you had. All those horrible things she did to you and nobody did anything.” It’s fucked up to bring her up, here and now, but you do. You can’t stop the words from spilling out. Wes slows his movements but he doesn’t stop, nipping at your skin as though chastising. “I think about it all the time. Did you know a psychologist came to our class? I think they talked to everyone, even if we’d never met her. I remember one time, Carrie—do you remember her? She started crying because there were a bunch of sparrows making a nest by the front doors. She thought they were going to eat her. Everyone was scared of birds.” 

Wes chuckles, every puffing exhale warming your skin. He’s not upset, but he doesn’t want to talk. He’s just letting you ramble. It’s only fair. He finds a spot he likes, where he can feel your heart beating and every pass of his tongue makes you flinch and shiver, head lolling back against his shoulder. “Everyone but you,” he murmurs. 

You laugh. Wes slips his hand into your pants and you buck your hips against his quick, talented fingers. He breaks away just briefly and you hear fabric shifting, his shirt hitting the floor. “I was lonely,” you admit. “I think about you a lot—” 

Your words break into a moan when Wes seizes you, trapping you against him, and bites you on the neck. It hurts and it feels mind-numbingly good. You push your hips back into him desperately and he humors you, grinding against your ass. “Been thinking about you, too,” he murmurs, the words slurred and muffled against your skin. 

“D-don’t talk while you’re—Wes!” The hand on your sex starts moving faster, his fingers working you into a shivering mess. He moans, tongue darting out to catch a bead of blood dribbling from the bite. He’s starting to get hard and rock his hips more insistently. You’re slammed up against the wall and you hear flesh tearing, his wings ripping through his back. 

“Think about you all the time,” he moans. “Think about high school—making out by the river. The first time you let me drink from you. Wanted you to stay so bad. Wanted to get married…”

The admission slips out with a breathy whine and he’s dry humping you so hard you can feel the outline of his cock through both of your clothes. You want him inside you but he’s too fixated on your neck, licking and kissing the shape of his teeth in your skin and sucking every drop of blood that oozes to the surface. This is orgasm for him, the peak of his pleasure. Fed and comforted and holding you in his arms, he sinks to his knees and brings you gently down with him. His wings, feathers wet and clinging together, fold around you. He keeps kissing and licking you even after he’s finished, nipping the bite affectionately. 

“Sorry, I…sorry,” he murmurs. 

You hold yourself back for a second. You’re wired, worked up and needy for him, drowning in every memory of the time you’ve spent together, but that doesn’t matter, you think. It doesn’t make this feeling any less real. “I wanted that, too,” you say. 

Wes’ cock twitches in his pants. “Can’t just say stuff like that—” 

“I mean it,” you insist. “I only miss one thing about this place, and it’s you.” 

His movements are shaky. His hands tremble as he shifts you around in his lap, allowing you to turn and face him. You look up at a face with a sickly, gray complexion and sharp features. A light speckling of feathers and slender quills poke out of his skin, clustered around his neck and shoulders. Wes’ enormous wings are folded, one draped against your back, the other curled behind him. His long legs are crooked, bent in the same strange ways as a bird with hooked talons instead of feet. It’s the first time you’ve seen him in full, not just a glimpse. He looks at you the same way he always has, his expression soft, his lips parted with just a flash of sharp teeth peeking through, fondness mingling with relief. 

You look at him the same way you always have—with awe and affection.

The sex is rushed and clumsy, not much different than when you were younger. You’re both worked up and impatient, clawing at each other, bumping noses. Wes bounces you in his lap and then seems to get restless, sitting up with his cock still deep inside you and his arms around you, lifting you easily to pin against the wall. You wrap your legs around his waist and his thrusts are slower for a while, a little less frantic. He leaves small, affectionate pecks on your cheek and collarbones, nipping at the bite he left earlier. 

“Not going to last,” he warns you. Sweet of him and totally unnecessary, because you’re so far gone after two orgasms and well on your way to a third. It doesn’t matter how hurried it is, how rough he gets with those sharp, taloned fingers sinking into your skin—it’s exactly what you wanted. There were lines he never let himself cross before. You never saw him, sweat-soaked gazing at you with those golden, lust-filled eyes, your name the only word on his tongue. It’s everything you wanted and more. He’s stronger than he should be with that fragile, willowy build, determined to keep you aloft as he fucks all the doubt and uncertainty out of you. 

It’s a kiss that finally sends him over the edge. Your lips on his, your tongue pressing into his mouth, fingers tangled in his soft, feathery hair. He keens, hips stuttering, and your shoulders dig into the wall from the force of his last, desperate thrusts. The ache is satisfying. You sink to the floor together again, sharing breaths, panting softly. Wes kisses you again, sharp teeth digging into your lower lip. It reminds you of being younger, but it’s not the same. It’s better. 

He makes dinner. You try to help but he pushes you out of the kitchen with his wings, blocking your view of the stove. You talk across rooms in short, disjointed thoughts, getting to know him all over again. There’s a stack of graded math assignments neatly arranged on a coffee table in front of a framed photo. It’s from high school. You’re in the woods, the old lumber mill in the background. Your smile is big and toothy. Wes is smiling, too, but he’s looking at you instead of the camera. 

“How long are you gonna stay?” Wes calls from the kitchen.

“Dunno,” you say. “A little while, at least.” You pass Neely’s drawing, chuckling. You pause, crouching by the fireplace. 

There’s one brick in there that’s a slightly different color from the others. You run your fingers over the bumpy, chipped texture and remember what it felt like against your palm.

#rotpeach writes #goretober #original

[littleragondin]

On Repeat Tag Game

I was tagged by @bengiyo and @troubled-mind to put my repeat playlist on Spotify on shuffle and list the first 10 songs. Thank you both! ⸜( *ˊᵕˋ* )⸝

As always it's a little bit all over the place, but here are my 10!

aeseaes - Carrion Comfort

I have liked all aeseaes songs I have heard so far. This one I heard for the first time as I was re-reading Abarat by Clive Barker, where the villain (who fascinated me as a teen) is called Christopher Carrion, and the song has been haunting me since. Also I can't resist some cannibalism imagery.

Luther Vandross - Your Secret Love

Haha okay, so maybe I listened to this one on loop while I was working on my Love in Translation's gifset. I just really, really like this song - I am a sucker for love songs, and he is so, so good at it. Plus, what a voice...

안예은 Ahn Ye Eun - 홍련 (紅蓮) HONGRYEON

Alright, I discovered Ahn Ye Eun (kinda) literally two days ago thanks to @petrichoraline and I already have three songs of hers in the on repeat (the other 2 are Trumpet Creeper and Changgwi). She has an incredible voice, her instrumentals are so rich, and I adore how she plays around with horror themes and traditional myths. I am a little obsessed. (I'd recommend going down the comms a little, someone translated the lyrics and gave a few notes)

Debout sur le zinc - La déclaration

That's my favorite song of theirs and one of my favorite love song period. It's very sweet, but my favorite is the ending verse where he says. "It's a bit of a declaration [of love] even if I know that you're not/ the remedy nor the solution, just a splint on my arm/that small thing linking us to others when we don't do well/an ultimate language of survival that put the world back on its axis" - recognizing that love won't heal him entirely but is still necessary for him to survive.

Jonathan Hultén - Where Devils Weep

I cannot for the life of me remember how I found this one, but the sorrowful music with those, in the end, hopeful lyrics have been a pick me up the past week.

Déportivo - Les Bières Aujourd'hui S'ouvrent Manuellement

Deportivo is a french rock band from my teen years, so this cover is a bit of a throwback. This is a quietly sad song about a man realizing that his long term relationship has run its course - "It will always be a mystery to me/how the body get used to it/when love dies slowly". It talk about the very mundane things (his partner turning their back at him when they go to bed, the clicking of their spoon the only sound between them as they dine) that made him realize they are not in love anymore.

The Real Zebos – Puttin' On the Ritz

Tons of covers of this song exist (I do love Taco's version from like 1982 I think). This one came up in the spotify recs and it clicked for me. Love the singer's voice, and it feels fresh without losing it's original vibe.

Simon & Garfunkel - America

I have slowly been working my way through Simon & Garfunkel's discography over the last few months -because all their songs I grew up with I love. But since I discovered this one, it's a go to when I feel down and I need something for comfort (there is something that makes me feel heard in "Katie I'm lost I said though I knew she was sleeping. I'm empty and aching and I don't know why").

เงา (SHADOW) - LAZYLOXY

Guess what show I'm excited for!!!!! Joke aside, I put Lazyloxy's opening for Rakdiao on loop for weeks when I watched that show, so the moment this came out spotify stuffed it under my nose and I really like it!

Elisabeth (2005) - Marktplatz in Wien (Milch)

Like last year, October somehow means I start putting the 2005 live recording in Vienna of Elisabeth on repeat. I love musicals, and I have a special relationship to this one (it's the musical that got me into Takarazuka and my first German musical). This song always scratches the itch perfectly so I listen to it even more than the rest of the album (all songs with Lucheni are top tiers for me)

If you feel like doing it, I will tag @petrichoraline, @sparklyeyedhimbo, @scienceoftheidiot, @howdydowdy, and @iguessitsjustme !

#the start of the month has a been a little gloomy so it reflects in the on repeat songs i feel like #but it is what it is! #tag games #music #video #Youtube

[phlyaros]

I'm not part of the peoples the conversation concerns, so take me with a grain of salt, but I like helping and I want to help create new associations that aren't actively racist and have their roots in observations of the real world [vs the appropriation of indigenous beliefs.] And I want to encourage the creation of one's own mythos that isn't 1 to 1 translation thus still engaging with the racism. Soo. As a literary dweeb & freaky little grotesque fan, here's a few [but not all of my] ideas.

Carrion eaters are an obvious choice but you risk further demonizing them - if you use this I'd advice making your 'monster' something that is not actively malicious but instead just an animal existing. [And yes, your horror monsters can DEFINITELY be things that aren't going out of their way. It can actually be scarier and carry more depth to have them be things simply existing, or things of pure metaphor/symbolism. Yknow, anything other than "out to get you."] Honestly, most 'obvious' choices are probably at risk of this. Pick something weird or innocuous if you can.

Rabbits are an animal that are present enough to be hunted and eaten and if they are the primary food source you will still be starving. Your stomach will be full but you will still be dying. There is not enough fat on their lean bodies to feed a human being. Like most rodents, rabbits kept in captivity as livestock are apt to just fall over dead one night. They have real purpose to their cannibalism - only when stressed or they don't have the resources or the baby is sick ect ect ect. They don't do it for giggles.

Horses are a bit trickier. I feel you might risk continued association due to the horse also being a hoofed animal, but there's a very real argument to be made for horses being the first to go during hard times. They need a lot of food and are really fragile and cultures that surrounded horses would eat them in times of need (and you could further use the point that horses are also loved companions - humans feel guilt for the things they do in the name of survival to the things they love.) Horses also just eat small animals for no real reason, and meat in large quantities is toxic to them because their liver isn't made for that, so.

People don't like to think about dogs and death in the same string, but they're important in this conversation I think. They're hunters and companions and that little detail of being companions to humans is what makes them incredibly viable. As previously mentioned, humans generally don't feel very good about it when a companion has to die, especially in our current culture of dogs as things to love and not animals we designed to do work. Carnivores don't usually taste very good and you lose more energy the further away you get from plants in the food chain as far as things you can eat go. Dogs require a decent chunk of resources to have and maintain and the average person probably wouldn't like looking at a starved dog very much. Dogs can read human body language and infer the meaning of new words/movements fairly well, and they are capable of deception, but their cognitive ability is comparable to most other domestic animals. I have a soft spot in my heart for dog imagery - there's a lot of associations to play around with in theming, positive and negative, and using something seen as "cute" and "lovable" that is truly dangerous and needs proper understanding like any other animal is a good way to disturb people.

Any domestic animal is probably good in its own right (hell, how many recorded instances are there of birds feeding on their owners? Cats? Dogs?) but my back hurts and I don't want to be typing anymore. Get creative and look at the world around you for inspiration. Your choices are great and many and you'll find things that fit your purpose shockingly well, if you try.

#horror #writing #phlyaros' nonsense #i didnt want to put this in the post #but the whole time I was typing this #I was thinking about a story from a hospice worker about two rats stuck in syrup under a fridge #that only knew it happened because one started eating the other #and the rat that was being eaten was screaming horribly #i don't remember anything about the resolution of that. I dont think they even said. sorry. #the readability of this sucks but i dont have the energy to fix it. also sorry #death with mechanical purpose is scarier to me than pointless death

[glasyasbutch]

playlist: hyssop (B-side)

10 years gone, all that's left is the knowledge that he was something great and powerful wielded by the hand of a woman even greater and more powerful

link to playlist on spotify

link to A-side post

1. Real Love Song (Alternative Version) by Nothing But Thieves

This is a dark song, real dark / Feral tear off your skin to the bone dark / I'll drink myself to death dark / Do anything to feel your breath on my neck dark

I wanted this entire playlist to have a sort of otherworldly, not quite right vibe to it, which is why I picked out this alt version with the weird fading instrumentals instead of the original.

As for the song in particular, this was the first one for the Forgotten playlist and I picked out because it has such a sense of desperate devotion. While I don't think that he ever had romantic feelings for Springwane, I like to imagine there was a kind of obsessive fealty. Like he would have done Anything if she asked, he didn't know how to think of himself if it wasn't in relation to her and what she needed from him, and he only wanted for her to recognize how truly committed he was.

2. Carrion Comfort by aeseaes

Bleeding a blundering mess / Beetles and worms in his chest / Sorry seeder, bottom feeder / Nipping at what ankle's left / All you wanted was a little taste / Won't let a single sinew go to waste

I really wanted a song that would get across the violence and destruction of the forest, the way it tears itself apart endlessly even without the Hunt in it. Those qualities have always enthralled and perhaps even inspired Hyssop, and this is a tribute to how the ranger fed the barbarian if you will.

3. Protect and Defend by Stuart Roslyn, Matt Founding, and Audiomachine

Another instrumental piece as a fight scene soundtrack, complement to Nemesis from A-side. While the other one is more cinematic and bold, this one's a bit more creeping and sinister for those good Unseelie vibes. Also the title is a bit of icing on the cake given that it's for his time as a court warrior.

4. The Howling by Within Temptation

We've been searching all night long / But there's no trace to be found / It's like they all have vanished / But I know they're around / I feel they're getting closer / Their howls are sending chills down my spine

Within Temptation sister song for Faster from A-side.

I know y'all really cute-ified the dogs but have you thought about how fucking terrifying it would be to get attacked by a pack of ghost dogs. POV you're getting fucking murdered by the floating top half of a wolf.

5. Wild Hunt by Alexander James Adams

Come, join the hunt for the fox running fast / We will ride in the front, you will take up the last / Through the night and the cold, through the mist without rest / Cursed by magic of old, you will never be blessed / Come and ride!

DM's pick.

6. Midnight by Radical Face

And I sank my teeth into your ribs / And drew out the blood that had turned on you / And left you to find your way back home

The literal meaning of this song is about a forest witch who cures a kid with leukemia and then has to skip town so they don't hunt her down and kill her. But I think maybe it could also be about an Unseelie queen taking in a lost young man desperate to be something and making him anew in her perfect violent image and then abandoning him.

#hyssop #playlists

[crowley-in-arkham]

My home.

The ride to my house was quiet and tense. My clothes were stained, unsurprisingly. I'll have to get rid of them. Crane's truck, for its behemoth, felt tight, despite the space between us being nearly a foot in length.

It smelled like coffee and cigarettes; a sweet hint of burlap and straw lingered faintly in the air. The dash was coated in a layer of dust, and the truck itself seemed to hobble down the Gotham streets.

I watched the city lights dance on the water as we crossed the bridge from Arkham Island. In the water emerged the beast, Carrion. I turned to look at Crane instead.

"Do you even know where I live?" I asked softly; Crane nodded, his eyes straight ahead.

"Your address is on file."

I have an sound of acknowledgment then looked back to the water where Carrion had vanished back into the inky black pool.

"Jon," I started, "Can you tell me more about Scarecrow?"

I heard Jonathan snicker, "As my therapist or my friend?"

My fsce fell red at the prospect of "friend".

"As your friend, I suppose," I said in a small voice.

"He's me; like Carrion is you. Though it's a little different. Scarecrow is suggestive; it's more like someone's cooin' in my ear tellin' me to do shit. He'on need control. Most a' it, I chose to do; sometimes 'a keep him quiet, sometimes 'cause I wanna. He takes over, but it ain't always against my will. He'on usually suppress me anymore. Stops bein' one a' us starts bein' both a' us."

"It isn't always like that?"

"Scarecrow's a little rudimentary."

"In what way?"

"Kinda like a child, I s'pose," Jon motioned his hand, "Impulsive, angry. Ion got much control over his tantrums."

"Now-"

"'Fore you go Dr. Crowley on me, I've oughta ask:" Jon stated, "couldja pass me a cigarette?"

I tilted my head at Crane, "uh, where do you put them?"

"Check the glovebox," Jon said, "Usually gotta spare in there."

I ran my hand through the dust on the latch, and popped the glovebox door, which fell open with a thud. There were papers, receipts, a half-finished carton of nonfilter cigarettes, and--

A gorgeous bronze-colored revolver with a beautiful spruce grip engraved with crows.

"Jon you can't have this," I furrowed my brows, "You're a felon."

"It ain't mine."

"Like hell it isn't."

"Ain't she pretty though?"

I plucked a pack of cigarettes from the carton, tapped the bottom to my palm several times, then plucked a single sweet-scented cigarette from the pack.

I placed the butt of the cigarette against Jon's scarred lip, and whispered mockingly, "You want me to light it too, hun?"

Jon laughed a guttural laugh, "Di'n't answer my damn question. An' no, I can take care 'a it."

He flicked a lighter out of his coat pocket, and lit the cigarette. "Wan' one?" He flicked the lighter towards me.

"No, I don't smoke."

"Good girl, always had been."

"It's a nice gun."

"Ain't she? Damned slow to reload though."

"How'd you get it?"

"Was a gift from Oz."

"Wonderful wizard," I joked.

Jon shot me a look, then smirked. "S'pose that makes you Dorothy."

And I snapped back gleefully, "And that makes you brainless!"

He plumed smoke from his lips as he chuckled.

"Your place out by that diner, right?"

"Why, you hungry?"

"Starvin'. Whatcha want?"

"You don't want me to cook?"

"Ya can cook tomorrow."

"Halloween's tomorrow."

Jon looked somewhat surprised, then chuckled, "So it is. Well, yer stayin' home for it. Gonna have some trick-or-treaters?"

"I live on the second floor."

Jon shot me a look, "we're pickin' up fuckin' candy."

"Thought you didn't like kids."

He chuckled, "You think this is for the kids."

I raised a brow and tilted my head, "Then who--"

"C'mon, think about it."

I chuckled, picturing the faces of Gotham's parents falling white when the Scarecrow opens my apartment door with candy for their kids.

I began laughing a bit harder, "Christ, just imagine the look of their face!"

"Probably shit 'emselves."

Jon snickered as I spiraled into a wheeze, "We're picking up candy, you've convinced me."

I caught my breath, and Jon smiled dumbly as he stared ahead.

I swallowed and asked in a recuperating breath: "The hell you smiling about?"

"You," Jon said. I flushed.

"Ain't never seen you laugh like that, whole time knowing you." He turned into a street, "just different, I suppose."

The lights of the city flicked behind him.

"Ya usually got all these pretenses, this veil 'a control," he huffed amusedly, "Seen different sides 'a you today. That there though? Tha's a new one."

The truck hobbled around a corner and crawled into a parking space between two cars half it's size.

My apartment complex is a small building of four apartments. I was lucky to find myself an apartment so close to Arkham Island-- then again, most of the city's residents try to steer away from districts near the bridges that connect Arkham to Gotham as far as they can.

Even the white tattered building showed a fear of Gotham's criminals in the bars that line the downstairs windows.

Jon stepped out of his truck and made his way to my side, opening the door for me.

"Very gentlemanly, Dr. Crane," I teased.

"Shut up," he chuckled, "It's the polite thing to do."

"Truely the apex of your southern hospitality," I stepped- more accurately: hopped down from his truck's passenger seat.

"Lead the way, miss."

I made my way to the front door, Jon's truck's lights left us in the all encompassing dark of Gotham. Jon lingered behind me as I plopped a code in the lock and opened the iron gate, and then the same for the heavy green door beneath it.

"A lil paranoid?"

"It's Gotham, they have reason to be."

"Yet, here I am," snickered Jon, "Waltzin' in under their poor lil' noses."

"I'm sure you're not so cruel as to gas my entire apartment complex."

"I mean," Jon snickered, "Ain't ever stopped me before."

I closed the gate and door behind Jon as he stepped into the dim sage green hallway, dilapidated stairs to his left, a door to each of his sides.

He let out a chuckle, "Of I weren't, well, me, I'd say this place were eerie."

"Well, it's an apartment building in the middle of the night, they're all kind of eerie."

Jon smirked at me, "After you, miss."

I rolled my eyes and made my way upstairs, fumbling with the two keys on my lanyard before plugging the smaller of the two into my apartment door and pushing it open.

"Vic, I'm home!" I said as I flicked on the light to my apartment, I motioned Jon into the rust brown corridor. "Welcome to my humble abode."

He strode in, like a man on stilts, eyeing my autumn decor with a critical eye. I turned to lock the door behind us.

He chuckled, entering the main room. An open layout kitchen and living room, melted into one modestly sized commonroom.

"Looks like a little dollhouse in here," He teased looking down at my furniture.

"Not all of us are trees," I responded, with a look of amusement.

He chuckled, "Gotta dust the top 'a yer shit."

I rolled my eyes, hung up my coat, then took off my shoes, "Relax, stay a while."

Out from my bedroom padded a large grey cat, making his way to me excitedly-- when, suddenly he eyed Jonathan Crane, and promptly darted off to my room.

"That 'Vic'?" Asked Crane, with a raised brow.

"Yeah, Victor," I sighed, "He's just a bit skittish with new people."

"Smart cat," he snickered and took off his coat and shoes, placing his boots beside the bench and hanging up his coat next to mine.

"I'll get you a blanket and a pillow--" I paused, "Sure, you don't want the bed?"

Jon chuckled, "You offerin' ta share?"

I rolled my eyes, "No, you're just-- big."

He let out an amused huff, "Ain't the first time I heard that."

I flushed, "I'm getting you a pillow and blanket." I chuckled, "Dirty old man."

I opened the hallway cupboard and pulled out a knitted blanket and a couple of spare memory foam pillows.

"Whadja you wanna eat?" Jon called down the hallway.

"Just get delivery," I responded, closing the door to the cupboard and stepping out into the livingroom again, "What do you want?"

Jon had flopped himself down on my loveseat and leaned comfortably back as he spoke, "That's what I'm askin' you, walnut."

"Uh-" I pondered for a moment, "There's a Thai place down the road, you like Thai?"

Jon shrugged, "Ion care."

"Thai it is then."

I tossed the blanket and pillow at him and turned to walk away, stopping only to look back at him and say:

"Remotes and stuff are in the drawer on the coffee table, the shelf is classics only, aside from textbooks-- well, you can read. I'm gonna go take a bath and get changed. You need anything just give me a holler."

"'Fore you go--" Jon started, "Wouldja write down the codes to the doors outside for me?"

I tilted my head, then nodded, "I mean, alright. You picking something up?"

"'N case I need 'a go on a liquor run."

I rolled my eyes, "Gotham's dry by midnight, better go soon."

He chuckled, "Probably be back 'fore you get outta the tub."

I shrugged and smirked, "With your hobbling old ass? You might miss your window."

He rolled his eyes, "Keep talkin' and I'll have you hobblin'."

I snickered, "Yeah? From the jokes you've been making today it's a coin flip between whether that's a threat or an offer."

"Go get in the damn tub," he chuckled tossed a pillow at me, which I promptly threw back.

#arkham asylum #dc comics #batman rogues #batman villains #dc universe #working at arkham #dc #gotham rogues #crowley in arkham #jonathan crane

[dansnaturepictures]

26/12/2022-Lakeside and home part 2 of 2: Flora, fauna and fungi 

Following on from my previous post, I saw some lovely birds at Lakeside on my Boxing Day walk this morning with two lovely thrushes, exciting Redwing and an intimate view of a scrumptious looking Song Thrush in the bushes along the northern path. I got a cracking view of a Blue Tit looking wonderful in the bright sunshine in the hedge that surrounds the bowl, I took the third and fourth pictures in this photoset of it a key photo to remember today by of a species I photographed on a Boxing Day before I saw others. I got lovely views of Great Tit as well and diminutive delights of Wrens seen well on the walk. Carrion Crows at the top of bare trees in the milky winter sunlight added good mood to the walk and Magpie high on a tree was nice to see with a Magpie on a picnic bench which someone was taking a photo of too which was nice to see. Waterbird wise a Herring Gull remained on beach lake with the Black-headed Gulls and I saw another well flying over the northern path late on in the walk. Seeing a radiant pair of Mallards, an enigmatic Coot and ebullient Moorhen swimming close to a fishing jetty and picking bits off it possibly seed was another outstanding moment of connection to nature at the northern edge of Concorde lake which is lovely for a bank holiday day, I took the seventh picture in this photoset of the Coot, eighth of the male Mallard and ninth of the Moorhen. At home today I got good views of a Robin on the fence, House Sparrow and Collared Dove on the balcony feeders and Blue Tit and Goldfinch in the back garden.

Though random the sight of the carrot seed head in the fifth picture in this photoset wedged into a crack in a fence post beside the steam railway track was alluring, and red deadnettle caught my eye out the front once more I took the second picture in this photoset of it. I also liked seeing old man’s-beard by the road entrance. Fittingly for Christmas I enjoyed in the bright sunlight the mistletoe along the northern path which the tenth picture in this photoset shows and I liked seeing flowers on the balcony and rose hips, emerald firethorn leaves kissed by the exquisite sunlight as the first picture I took today in this photoset shows and flower leaves in the plant pot in the front garden. I was happy to see the shelf fungi in the sixth picture in this photoset on the trunk of a tree in the southern fenced off area at Lakeside which I’d seen before distinctively by a puddle, a pretty sight.

Wildlife Sightings Summary: Woodpigeon, Collared Dove, Carrion Crow, Magpie, I seem to recall Blackbird, Redwing, Song Thrush, Wren, Robin, House Sparrow, Goldfinch, Great Tit, Blue Tit, I seem to recall seeing Starling I certainly heard them late on today, Mallard, Moorhen, Coot, Black-headed Gull, Herring Gull, Grey Squirrel seen nicely again and a beetle at home and fly the other side of the window today. I heard the distinctive high-pitched call of Jackdaw at Lakeside. 

#woodpigeon #collared dove #carrion crow #magpie #redwing #song thrush #robin #house sparrow #wren #great tit #blue tit #mallard #moorhen #coot #black-headed gull #herring gull #jackdaw #photography #england #world #nature #uk #earth #happy #thrush #thrushes #christmas #boxing day #boxing day walk #sunny

[stvrsold-arc]

yes. here's some undead charlie headcanons.

charlie dies by aspirating on her own vom. yes, super grody, but what's a BETTER way to go as a superstar. it's so gross and unglamorous. the crime scene photos are leaked on internet, so those are the last pics of her ever taken. it's not a pretty legacy.

charlie comes back by some unknown force, i think could be case-by-case / plot-by-plot. but i'm marinating on this. i think it'd be funny if she was brought back wrong after a huge ritual done by fans or something.

nova is dead to the universe as we know it. no one knows she's alive except the people closest to her. she holes up in her malibu home. plenty of hyperzoomed paparazzi/creepshots have circulated where there's a barely visible silhouette of charlotte in her home. lots of conspiracies exist because of this. like she's on an island with elvis and tupac or something.

charlotte is super zombie-esque. she rots over time and has a dead smell about her. flied, maggots, etc. she's not a pretty sight. but she also has some other interesting qualities per my own discretion : gross, overgrown talons/claws for ripping flesh, blackened sclera + red irises that deepen when she enters starved rages, hyper awareness but most importantly superhuman scent of smell, and heightened strength for more epic takedowns.

she tries to cover up her rotting flesh with makeup and has even sought out ways to reverse this, starting with creams and skin treatments. some of them work, most don't. but she seems to be getting a hang of the routine.

charlie tends to lose hair in large clumps, and clumps of orange and blond hair can be found in her wake. her hair does grow back after heavy feeding.

charlie HATES killing people or animals to feed. she tries to pick off carrion like a buzzard : roadkill, dead vermin in alleys, washed up animals on the beach, scraps from butcher shops including blood and extra bits ... she'll do anything before she enters a bloodrage and kills whatever is in sight in order to satiate her hunger.

there's been a few unfortunate sightings of nova slinking around hollywood, though charlie is usually in disguise. but it's not a good look when she leaves behind a clump of hair or a shed talon at her crimescenes.

#this one is a little grody so proceed w caution #but i think it's silly #VERSE 002 ✧ SUPERDEAD SUPERSTAR.

[senstless]

Splinterlands Monster Highlight Featuring TRAPP FALLOWAY smashing to a victory

Featuring Bronze League Summoner and Monsters in Action!

I am back with another awesome monster highlight. This was from a very recent battle in the past couple of days and I'm excited to share it because it's the first time I was able to really utilize and dominate a match with Trapp Falloway.

Weekly Challenge -TRAPP FALLOWAY

Edition: GLADIUS Rarity: EPIC Element: DEATH Attack: MELEE Abilities: BLOODLUST Abilities" WEAKEN Health: 5 Speed: 4 Attack: 4 Armor: Reasons Why I like it

I think Trapp Falloway it's very unique card. Having a four melee attack combined with a speed of four and a half of 5 all will only cost you four mana is unique. This means it could be used in Little League games and other low mana matches where you typically don't have heavy hitters like this. The two abilities of both weekend and bluff bus work together surprisingly effectively we can go drop your bullets off of bloodlust means every time you get a knockout you start adding one to your stats. Considering where you start for speeding attack it doesn't take long before you will be delivering to the pretty vicious blows. The biggest weakness I see and no armor makes it a bit prone to getting knocked out before I can get a roll

The Matchup - Where Rules Sets, Splinters and Mana Collide

The Rule Sets

Watch the Match Here

MANA: 34

Ruleset: Equalizer: All monsters start with the same health, based on the highest health in either team.

Ruleset: Super Sneak: All Melee monsters gain the sneak ability.

SPLINTERS: Fire, Water, Life, Death

Initial Rule Set and Mana Gameplay Thoughts

Rulesets I think the rule sets are probably going to impact this match the most. Having super sneak allowing all monsters Disney tech opens up the playing field to melee card that would normally otherwise be ignored. Make a lot of great teams with fire water and death. Especially water with inspire and really make some of those little memory cards much more powerful with armor. Equalizer also means that some lower mana cards when I will be much more difficult to get through with everyone should have the same amount of health.. Mana Heaven only 16 mana to pick your monsters will definitely limit this matchup. More than likely to fill it a full team it will require a lot of zero one and two men of monsters with a few bigger more powerful monsters. I think the 16 mana still plays well mostly with fire water death Splinters

Not having dragon or Earth is not a deal-breaker in this matchup, although I could see where people would prefer to play Earth with some of their thorns and low mana monsters. I still think this will be a fairly good matchup with anything available splinters.

Summoner OCTAVIA SHADOWMELD I chose Octavia because I wanted to play Trapp Falloway. I've been waiting for a while to find a good magic to play it and chose this opportunity it was unfortunate that I had to spend the extra mana on the summer

First Position CHAOS AGENT Who doesn't love a good Chaos agent after it gets help boost if it's Dodge hoping to keep it around in first position for a while allowing the rest of monsters to attack

Second Position CURSED SLIMEBALL Will not a typical powerhouse, it's very slow and doesn't deal much damage but it only cost one mana so I think it's a great second position card

Third Position CORPSE FIEND Corpse fiend goes in as well since it's a zero mana, so far I'm not really dealing much damage out but I'm pretty happy getting so much health and that line up

Fourth Position TRAPP FALLOWAY This is the heavy hitter of the group, should be first to attack do the most damage and hopefully build some impressive stance of bloodlust.

Fifth Position CARRION SHADE Really turns powerful and equalizer, will only having two speed the flying tends to create several misses and having five health mean to stick around for

Sixth Position CRYPT BEETLE And last but not least, creepy Hill is an amazing place here because it has Shield. It will be only taking half the damage and it has armor Plus boosted health. I'll let all those melee monsters sneak attack on this guy for a while.

Opponent Lineup & Match Play

Summoner TARSA Typical play, fires a great one since you get a boost to melee damage

RADIATED SCORCHER Another solid play here, having shatter and first position means it cleaning heavily on The fosters

KOBOLD BRUISER A pretty heavy hitting monster especially after the summoner boost. It's a great play

SERPENTINE SPY Military solid play feeling three damage and opportunity means my opponent it is pretty heavily.

URAEUS another great heavy hitting 3 mana monster. With at least one armor.

BATTERING RAM After the summer boost battery around becomes another formidable foe doing two damage with opportunity.

SCORCH FIEND Solid gentleman of monster play. Clearly not the strongest and mostly just to absorb hits.

Round 1

Just looking at the teams before everything starts I'm feeling a little underpowered versus my opponent who seems to have a lot of damage dealers team, the only good thing for me is that my summoner has taken away one health and Trapp Falloway has offset there's someone who's boost leaving them all with poor health.. But as the round starts I get to attack first and Trapp Falloway knocks out it's first card and gets his first bloodlust. His round one ends I score my second knockout with none other than cursed slime ball, my weakest gets lowest attacker.

Round 2

It's around two starts my opponent still has more cards dealing more damage, but I have a card that is able to deliver a single knockout blow to everyone of their cards. It's round two plays out I get lucky with a miss on Carrion Shade preventing it from being knocked out.

Round 3

At the start of round 3 I have more cards, but many of mine are close to being knocked out. Once again speed and power kills and I get to go first. That means that will score another knockout with Trapp Falloway and get to trigger my second bloodlust of the match I get another Miss on Chaos agent before losing another card leaving trap alone at the back.

Round 4

Ground floor starts and it's becoming almost routine now. Trapp Falloway goes first, get to knock out, and adds to its stats. After this knockout I'm dealing seven damage with seven speed and I'm at five health.

Round 5

Around five starts and I am close to being knocked out. The only positive thing is given my speed and my attack I will get rid of cobalt bruiser before it can attack me and knock me out. Another boost puts me to 8 damage and speed with three health.

Round 6

I scored my last and final knockout match as well as the victory knockout and push track to a nine attack 9-speed with for health.

Thoughts - and Chances to Win Again

Looks like I'm an 89% favorite to win, I assume this has to do with the RNG and the misses I had on both Chaos agent and Carrion Shade. If my opponent hit every attack then I believe I would lose before I had a chance to build up my stats. It looks like maybe I should have had Trapp in third position vs fourth to increase my odds of winning to 100%. I'll have to consider that for the next time and put more protection on the back end to allow it to build more stats.

~~@senstless

#splinterlands #play2earn #playtoearn #nft #gaming

[wndybyrd]

i can't believe you. i can't believe you did this to me.

*PROMPT : here.

azure orbs—pools swimming with fear—watched the fluttering fae unblinkingly. she could feel the rage as it rolled off of carrion's small silhouette, a raw and unforgiving vehemence that encircled wendy like invisible twine, rooting her in place. still as stone, only the girl’s lower lip showed sign of a quiver.

wicked as she was beautiful, wendy’s guardian was no angel. a malignant presence seemed to linger wherever carrion wandered, turning the air cold as winter and sending shivers down wendy’s spine. she’d wondered if peter had picked her for such reasons : to strike fear in any man or beast that dare threaten her, his little bird. yet, despite her claim as ‘protector’, carrion’s role felt more akin to a captor. night and day, those watchful eyes ( empty of anything but malice ) bore into the child, waiting for her to slip-up . . . as if she hoped wendy would make a big enough blunder that she could relish in the delight of reprimanding her without consequence.

she’d heard some of the lost boys whispering about a nightmarish event between the tiny devil and one of their own. he ( though none would tell her who exactly ) had come back pale as a sheet with eyes wide as saucers, so shaken he refused to even speak on the encounter.

wendy couldn’t help but let her mind wander, fearing what carrion had in store. would she carve into her like a christmas ham, flaying her for such insolence ? maybe she’d rip out each fingernail, one by one, or stick her soft skin full of needles ? the darling’s imagination was her greatest gift but, in this moment, it morphed into a mean enemy.

smallfolk were full of wile, marking helpless humans ( like herself ) as targets for their impish pranks. the girl prided herself in this one little victory. to have entrapped her winged chaperone long enough to make a swift escape for the sea had truly been a feat worthy of praise. and she couldn’t deny the pleasure of getting back at carrion, just a bit. it was her fault that wendy's visits with the quartermaster had grown fewer and far between. freedom had become a rarity when there was always someone, or something, tugging her back to the hollow tree-home.

" i didn't-- i just . . . i'm sorry. " the words were as meek and small as she felt at that moment, despite the obvious difference in their statures. " but i had to see them ! it was important. besides, they aren't anything like the rest of those dastardly pirates. " against her better judgment, the two had forged a bond that bordered on 'familial'. everything she'd ever known about pirates—the stories she'd weaved about them—cecco was the paradox.

glass bones rattled as the shaky young girl took a single, uncertain step backward ( carrion's temperament too overpowering to bear any longer without a bit of distance ). hoping to worm her away out of any punishment the darkling had planned, she murmured, " you should be proud of me. how clever i was to have tricked you. i promise never to do it again, though ! " even wendy's lies sounded sweet, dripping with earnest, more-so when paired with such innocent eyes.

“ please don’t hurt me ! i’ll be on my best behavior from now on. besides, i don’t taste good at all. it would be a waste to cut or bleed me. and please, oh please, don’t pull out my teeth or eyelashes or hair or— “

#*PROMPT : answered. #*CARRION : tbd. #continuing from that one ask i sent u lolol #tw body horror #tw dental horror #tw eye horror #tw horror #tw harm