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ladyduellist · 3 months

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Epistles of Saints & Sinners

Chapter Summary:

Things heat up in Astarion's tent after Tav offers to let him drink her blood.

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Story Summary:

When Astarion meets the humble bard, Tav, he soon finds out he's the only one between them that knows they are bound as soulmates through their marks. Deciding it's more trouble than its worth, he refuses to tell her along the course of their journey across Faerûn.

But, unbeknownst to him and their companions, Tav is harboring a gruesome secret that she only thought was nothing more than a traumatized period in her life.

As they both come to face to face with their pasts and presents, will they choose to move forward or let it consume them?

Healing isn’t linear—after all.

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Chapter 6: Ribbon*

Ao3

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Word Count: 6.1k

Pairing: Astarion x female bard Tav

CW: Smut, CPTSD, Vaginal Fingering, Breast Play, Act 1 Spoilers

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For she is slowly being pulled by strands of the spinneret. A spider that sews his web with such intricacies, they are mistaken for complex pieces of his soul. The predator lures a victim into silken promises, and when finally ensnared, there will be no mercy for the fangs that drain them alive.

— Gale of Waterdeep, poetry from The Wilderness

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“I agreed to let him continue journeying with us at your convincing behest, after we found out he was a vampire and AFTER we learned he had already bitten you. I will not retract my decision on the matter, but you cannot expect me to fall back and watch as he takes advantage of our—your—good tidings. Tav you are one step away from being spun into his web, if you’re not there already,” Gale argued loudly.

Astarion sat on the edge of the ratty stool outside of his tent, polishing his daggers. He would, at times, tilt the point of his ear in the direction of the bitter heart-to-heart between the wizard and their humble bard, attempting to decipher each sentence his victim held firm to in her rebuttal. But, her pitch was that usual quiet sultry measure, like honey dripping onto berries, she carried and he couldn’t hear a damned word from her mouth.

Mouth. Her mouth. Their lips.

Ah, yes, he had tasted her the previous evening. Inside Tav’s tent, testing the pliancy of their lips against each other—she yielded to him. He had swiped his tongue across her bottom lip after a few preludes of longer, more downy, kisses until she mewled for him.

So delicately did her pecks tap, using her lips as a confessional upon each pore of his pallored shade. At one point, when she had felt bolder, she licked his upper lip with the tip of her moistened tongue. Astarion rewarded her with a groan, coercing her to glue herself to his chest with her own while he guided her hands to hold onto his broad shoulders.

And her eyes, those very wide orbs of storms. They searched. They searched. They searched. A risky assessment of his features; an oracle knocking on the undeath pane of his soul. He couldn’t stand it. Not a single one of his pillaged targets had ever sought him out in this manner, too enthralled with their own lusts. The meddlesome witch with the tempting gaze made his throat twist with sour spittle.

Lo, with a crown of stars fastened in her hair, she’s the queen of swords. To pierce the hearts of men and drain them of their festering cancers. Her eyes; the ocean—you’ll drown, you’ll drown, you’ll drown.

Oh, but the tides shortly fell from her court, right back into the shadow of his hands. Because her lips were swollen for him, so luscious towards the end of their interlude, that he pricked the spike of his fang into the dewy tissue of the lower vermilion of her lip. The tiniest beads of blood formed and he nursed upon them with sensitive suckles.

Astarion could hear the irregularity of her flitting heart, like the melody of a black-capped chickadee, and his soul mate mark began to pulse in tandem with her frolics. She quivered in his arms over and over again, with gasps and goose flesh along her arms, until their kisses slowed and he wished her a fair rest of the night.

This was the exact leverage he needed and she so readily provided it to him. The song she sang by the river—the longing in her voice—was for him. For a connection she so desperately wanted to believe was still alive in the world. And by the immoral scriptures hidden from saintly eyes, he would perform to her. He would take up the mantle, murmuring corruption in between her thighs until she was screaming his name. He would play the part of her lover and she would gladly be his defender.

Because she was touch-starved. Because she wanted tenderness. Because she would protect him from his former master.

With this, he would have some form of sanctuary. And if all of the stars aligned, Tav and the rest of this questionable gang would help him in his pursuit in true freedom from Cazador.

But, her wavering request of ”please, don’t hurt me” kept reappearing in his thoughts, as if it had been drawn in the fog of a tarry marsh.

“You’re protecting him? For Mystra’s sake, why?!” Gale’s continued goading grounded Astarion back to reality.

What? He could only hear the soft whispers of Tav’s voice, but judging by how Gale looked over her shoulder with a heavily creased brow in the vampire’s direction, her answer was unanticipated.

As Tav stalked off, boots creating clouds of dust leading out of the camp, Astarion stared at the back of her form long after she left, with the opinion that his tadpole must have consumed more of his brain matter than he originally thought.

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The pangs of hunger were unbearable.

Daggers in hands, freshly sharpened, Astarion stationed himself on the side of the dilapidated house. The overcast shadows of one of its walls provided the perfect hiding spot. Shadowheart crouched behind him, preparing a warding spell, trying to ghost the incantation with bitty utterings.

“Shh. I’m trying to concentrate,” he chastised under his breath.

In front of the building, he eyed Tav like a hawk as she sang to the oversized lard of an ogre. Her flexible fingers strumming the lute, she had been trying to distract the monster with an on-the-spot folk song called: It’s Never Ogre. He mocked her for the painfully moronic pun, while not acknowledging the slight upturned cordiality near the corner of his mouth.

Before they decided to confront the last beast of the Blighted Village, she told them her plan with her typical bashful confidence. She’ll play her notes with a garish tale of gluttonous delights, then, when she gave the signal, Astarion would sneak up behind the ogre with a devastating attack into his spinal cord—rendering it immobile. It was an attack the spawn had conducted enough times to the point of it becoming second nature.

His stomach churned again and he keeled over at his waist in pain, one of his weapons almost slipping out of his cold grip. Why the hells did he continue to condemn himself to this fate?! He was free damnit!

“Astarion, when was the last time you fed? I can hear your guts and dare I say you look deader than usual,” Shadowheart dismally questioned.

She peeked around his shoulder to glimpse at the concert their leader was desperately trying to continue with a phony smile plastered on her expression. “Just don’t get any ideas about my neck, fanger.”

He baited the Sharran cleric with an impudent fleer. “You’re assuming I’d even think about sinking my teeth into that darkness thickening your blood. You’ve forgotten, I was already there for two centuries.”

“Hush or we’ll miss the gesture.”

”Would you like an appetizer with dinner tonight? How about a plate of roaches? Eat up, my beloved spawn.”

Astarion shuddered exhaustively with each turn of his joints. He felt weak. Too weak for combat. During the last couple of evenings, he prowled the night, creeping upon deers and boars in the area. But, as he got close to his potential hunts, he would taste the chilled blood of decomposing rats on his palate.

He would recoil, like the obedient man he was for master. Instead, seeking out the familiarity of smaller woodland creatures in the vein of squirrels and rodents until they became too weary to descend their hiding places—knowing a strange predator was on the loose.

Tasting the ichor of the minstrel had made him too greedy. No. He was undeserving of the warmth that flowed throughout his body as he drank from a thinking creature. It was like being wrapped in a blanket on a crisp winter’s eve from the inside out and the only comfort of his sanguine life he was entitled to, were the corroded bits Cazador approved.

Submit to him. Draped in master’s arms while he feeds dribbles of red decay on your lips. His unholy communion. Body and blood of Cazador. Amen.

“Astarion! ASTARION! NOW! SHIT!!” Shadowheart was shaking him violently.

The shrill of Tav’s screams echoed throughout the rest of the vacant village as the ogre tightened his ginormous hand around her torso.

“Fuck! Fuck! FUCK!” Astarion panicked aloud as he regained his senses.

He ran forward with no time to sneakily assassinate the giant. Lunging on his back, the vamp grabbed onto rolls of fatty tissue to climb upwards. With the point of his blade raised, he carved through the air and stabbed it in the middle of his back, slicing through vertebrae. The ogre, thrown off balance, stumbled to the ground.

Astarion pulled out the dagger and lunged it a final time in the back of its head, a smell of foul blackness spewing from the wound, killing him immediately. Tav scrambled away from the slumped fiend’s body, coughing, gasping for breath.

Shadowheart ran to her side with a minor healing potion. “Hold still, let me at least check you for injuries.”

“I guess he hated the song after all,” she joked. “I think I’m fine. Maybe a few bruises. Are the two of you okay?”

Astarion trotted over to them flicking inky blood and greasy fat off his blades before sheathing them onto his back. “Nasty creatures those. I'm all for murdering our enemies, but maybe we could avoid the ones failing to practice good hygiene in the future.”

Tav smiled up at him with a breath of relief. “I’ll be sure to ask them ahead of time to bathe before we decide to play slaughter roulette.”

The cleric stood quickly, pointing her finger inches from his chest with circles of scorn spiraling in her eyes. “Lady of Loss guide me. Astarion, you were in a total state of haze! She almost died out there!”

Shadowheart wasn’t incorrect by placing her ill contempt on him. It was his fault. Being around the others with his newfound freedom had been nothing short of exhilarating thus far, but it proved to come with its complications, including these episodes he couldn’t seem to gain control over.

He scrunched his face dramatically. “I—well, he’s in his grave now, isn’t he? And here she is: alive and breathing with that golden voice still intact.”

“Ugh, fine. I’m not going to argue with you if you’re going to gloss over what just happened. Just know that if you don’t feed soon, you’re about as good of use to us as a corpse is—pun intended. Tav, I trust you’ll keep his bites in line.” Shadowheart trudged over rubble towards the ruinous home, likely in search of supplies before nightfall.

Astarion reached down, offering his arm out for Tav to grab onto. She wrapped her hand near the crook of his inner elbow and he easily pulled her body weight up in one heave, still keeping her in close proximity to him.

“You’re truly alright? I would offer to kill the piece of shit that harmed you, but it seems I’ve already done my good deed for the week,” Astarion sarcastically grinned.

“Must’ve been the line I inserted about a dwarf mocking their loincloths that riled him up,” she giggled.

“Serves you right then for singing such awful lyrics.”

She playfully punched his bicep. “But, aside from that, you could have told me last night that you needed blood.”

His eyebrows rose. There was a languid swallow to bite back another spasm rumbling from within. And one more to cower behind the rascal he summoned forth. “I seem to remember our focus being on other delights.”

Tav’s ears flushed. She folded her arms against her bust in what appeared to be mild indignation. “Astarion, I’m being serious. Please consider the danger you could be putting us or yourself in next time if your hunger is present to this extent. I would almost consider being heartbroken if you were harmed.”

Astarion was grateful she didn’t inquire further about his mishaps. He wasn’t ready to confront these diseased irreverent reflections, let alone pretending someone cared about him enough to confide in them about the personal affairs of his unbeating heart.

He moved his hand to lightly touch her cheek with the back of his fingers, offering her a pulpy grin. “Almost consider? I think you may have given away who your favorite companion might be! I’m just glad you didn’t wind up a mangled piece of meat, you daring minx. I don’t want you to go anywhere—just yet.”

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Tav couldn’t stop touching her lips.

They felt raw. Full of blood rushing from the memento of forbidden kisses shared, now the haunting sensation of a ripened plum being pushed against her.

The heat pooled between her thighs as she imagined how Astarion’s tongue might taste in her mouth. Several times she invited him to break through her barrier by licking smooth circles on his lips, but he would only pull back to settle germane brushes of his maw in the delicate reaches of her neck and cheeks. He intentionally held back.

Astarion was a complicated person, easily slipping his debonair mask back on when he needed it most. Living as a slave must have nearly stripped his entire identity away. But, those unbreakable shards that embedded themselves in the lemure silhouettes of his tarnished soul, were the ones Tav wished to know. Because now he walked a path of barbed shells and rubbery bones and she was hesitant to cross his boundaries, leaving her questions at rest—patiently waiting for what he wanted.

As she approached his tent—reciting to herself that she was only offering her blood to him as a means to an end for his hunger—she could see Astarion reclining on the rug in front, witnessing the disappearing sun giving way to night’s oil slick puddles stretching across the canvassed sky.

Her breath caught in her throat, much like when she observed him in the sun. With a pillow tucked under his elbows, he resembled a handsome tunic wearing emperor lounging in deep thought over his conversations with the planets.

“Good evening, my almost favorite rogue. Am I interrupting?”Did I just flirt with him? Gods!

Astarion flashed a teasing smirk. “And a pleasant evening to you, my almost favorite songbird. It’s quite a sight isn’t it? The night sky. I could take or leave that fashion sense of yours.”

Tav snorted. She looked down at her camp clothes, a blue ankle length skirt and light beige chemise she traded with scrolls. “My fashion? Well, I could take or leave your hunger for blood, but here we are!”

He lifted the side of his mouth to show off his canine to her. “Speaking of which,” he stood, rearranging his camp clothes, casting a coy impression. “—you were my first.”

Her eyes were wide as the moons. “Beg pardon?”

“Not that! I’ve feasted on beasts for two centuries, but you—you were the first thinking creature I’ve drank from. I can’t stop thinking about how delectable you tasted. Which brought me to ponder how the others might taste.”

“You’ve been looking at other necks? I actually think I’m a bit sad, Astarion.” Tav delicately placed a hand on her chest, in feigned hurt.

“Now, now, I’m a man of tremendous appetites. Take Shadowheart for instance, she has Calishite Absinthe written all over her, but what do you think about our local Blade of Frontiers?”

She scratched her cheek. ”Wyll? How about a simple sweet cider? Since, he’s such a man of the people.”

“Oh, that sounds very refreshing!” He chortled like a schoolboy.

“Though, you have stroked my curiosity. What did I taste like?” She asked innocently.

Astarion moved in closer to her, catching a strand of her dark ashen locks to play with in between his fingers. “Hmm. I think I may need a fresh sip of your blood to accurately describe the details to you.”

Biting her lower lip demurely, she peered into his garnet jeweled eyes with confidence upon her lungs and a drumming behind her rib cage. “Okay.”

“What?”

“Don’t you still need blood? Take mine.”

He lowered his hand to touch her previously bitten wrist, prudently feeling the healed wounds. “I—yes, I do. But, to make sure you invite me back to dine with you in the future, drops from a wrist isn’t going to suffice this time, my sweet.”

“Then, my neck. Would that be enough?” She posed assertively.

She noticed him modifying his stance to subtly adjust a certain part of himself in his pants. “…yes. It would or at least fill me enough so I can hunt. We can—my tent?”

Tav nodded, giving his arm a flimsy squeeze.

Instead of waiting for him to invite her inside his tent with whatever welcome mat of words he could conjure, she took it upon herself to enter. She noted the plain velveteen rococo pillows in different shapes he had thrown in a pile, a small candelabra lit off to the side with his recent reading material. Stacks of books they found in storages, bookshelves, and chests. A few jars of congealed blood and soiled rags strewn about. But, what caught her eye was a nondescript espresso colored keepsake box that sat under a neatly placed sewing kit.

She couldn’t help but smile warmly wondering what type of trinkets he bundled into the container. Was Astarion a sentimental man? Maybe he was a collector and kept defective coins inside. She swelled with elated tenderness at the remarkable novelty of it.

In the den of blood and evocation of chased pleasures of a thousand faces, a holy box of unknown covenants to a man stood untethered. To keep out the crusades of devils and evil tyrants, how far would the soul be sold?

“Looking for something?” The vampire blocked the entrance to his tent. Tav couldn’t read him, but she did notice the sift of vision fall in line with the box before turning back to her.

“N-no. Only admiring your decor. And here I was thinking you couldn’t possibly have more pillows to add to your repertoire.”

He closed the flap behind him, moving to sink on top of the plush pile. They both tossed their boots over towards a separate corner of the space. “I’m a maximalist when it comes to the luxuriant, including whose blood I choose to drink within my tent.”

The pale spawn’s posture straightened, he patted the space between his open legs, with a come-hither tone. “Forgive my eagerness, but shall we?”

The bard’s heart started to flutter thinking about the vicinity they were about to be in with each other, even if it was only to help out a friend. Friend. Is that what they were?

“How should I sit?”

Astarion beckoned her to come closer with a repetitive motion of his index finger and a seductive grin. Tav crawled over towards him. He drew a circle in the air with the same finger, gesturing for her to turn around. There was a nervous excitement dancing along the fine hairs of her skin when she obediently turned all the way around and sat on the ground in front of him.

He wrapped his arms around her waist and scooted her against him silently, save for the rustling of her skirt dragging. She melted as soon as her back clamped against the coolness of his chest. Unsure of how to position her legs, she bent them upwards, whilst letting the flats of her feet rest on one of the ornate cushions.

Tav could feel him gather the fountain of her wavy hair from her back, placing it over one of his shoulders to give him full allowance to nip at her neck. A waft of her lavender and vanilla scent burst out into a cloud from her wispy strands. Astarion inhaled deeply, gliding his hands from her waist up to sit on either side of her shoulders. She shivered when he leaned in to nuzzle his lips against the balm of her jugular vein.

“You know, I have a rather invasive curiosity you may be able to sate. A minor detail from your morning.”

The songstress tilted her head slightly away from him with inquisition on her mind. “And what would that be,” she breathed out.

“Gale of Waterdeep. What was it that you said that caused such outrage from him? Your conversation seemed rather—heated.” The vampire’s voice was a needling whisper against her skin, as he pecked the area he currently favored.

Tav puffed out a heady sigh. His fingers modestly skittered down her pale arms as if they were tendrils of vines seeking the charity of the sun. “Why would you like to know? Are you jealous of him, Astarion?”

He smirked, the upturned edges of his mouth tickling her neck. “Why ever would I be jealous? It is not him that’s leaving marks upon your body, Tav.”

He mildly bit down on her, unaccompanied by the piercing of his fangs. She cried out when he sucked leisurely on the spot, worrying the velvet of her tender neck in his mouth. Tav murmured a prayer in his name as he spread the thinnest layer of his spit around the sensitive spot. The sound of her name on his beautiful lips caused the fluid of her arousal to settle in between the inner folds of her cunt.

Tav felt so ashamed with her thoughts, succumbing to this man so wantonly that she had only met recently. Of the betrayal of wetness; of the desperation to know what comes next. If he requested her to suck on prayer beads being fed to her one by one by his long fingers to exhibit how lewd of a woman she had become—she would submit.

He removed his gaping mouth away from her long enough to speak. “You’re trembling again, much like the first time I had you in my mouth. Did you come here for a reward—for all you’ve done for me?”

Tav turned her head towards him as far as she was able, trying not to writhe in his arms. “I need no rewards. I just wanted to help you.”

Astarion tilted his head in towards the lobe of her ear, his breath a luring sweet chill of undeath. “Then, what exactly did you come here for? Surely, the reason wasn’t to only let me drink from you.”

Her head spun with lust for the want of him. Not only to quell the fervor her body organically felt for him, but also the unbridled tenebrae of his forgotten beating heart that she kept dipping her toes into. Wading in his twilight. She had never known hunger until this mysterious man came into her life.

And she wanted more.

“I came here for a distraction,” she panted, referencing back to a previous conversation they exchanged. Uncertainty bit at her worried lips about him, what he may be thinking or feeling. “But, Astarion, if you don’t want—

He traced cool brushes across the protruding bone of her clavicle, from one side to the other. “Shhh. Let me take care of you, darling.”

And then, Astarion’s voice was a lyrical cadence caressing her ear, “Let me speak to you of wandering.”

Gilded fingers swooped down her ribs, feeling each ridge until they momentarily grabbed onto her hip. With the vacancy of his other hand, he guided his knuckles to the side of her swollen breast, caressing its rounded shape. Tav felt the walls of her slit clench onto nothing. Her heartbeat sped up in anticipation like that of a small animal.

Closer and closer he drew to the front of her bosom, pulling out gasp after gasp from her until she felt faint. Tav seized his hand, rotating it so his digits could feel her perked teat through her clothes. She implored him to rub it with a “please.” He released a teasing chuckle behind her.

“So very impatient. Though, I have a confession. The first time I bit you, I could see your breasts peeking through your shirt and I wanted to outline the letters of my name on your nipples,” he breathed into the shell of her ear.

He pulled down her chemise, letting her bountiful chest spill free. A pale index finger circled around the spun sugary pink of an areola, eliciting a carefree vibrato from the bard. He tested her sensitivity by giving her nipple a soft pinch. Tav squirmed as he held her, holding onto the wrist delivering his ministrations for dear life.

Astarion kissed the back of her shoulder, a gratifying hum, a low roll on her skin. “Mm. You react so exquisitely to my touch. Should I start with the letter ‘A’?”

Gods, she wanted to scream. She would remove the crown of regal flowers from her head, to smear his want in each crevice of her mouth. He could order her onto her knees, pushing the tip of his cock past her sumptuous lips with promises to anoint her with his cum and she would obey. To allow him to claim her for the depraved woman she wanted to be for him.

“Answer me,” he said roughly, squeezing her whole breast in his hand.

“Please trace your name on me,” she whimpered with an embarrassed huff.

The scrape of the vamp’s fangs were at her neck and she imagined what it would feel like for his sanguine fascination to nip at her tits. The stitch of his razored cuspids mixed with bloody desire. Tav hadn’t confided in him about how aroused biting in general made her or the fact that she had sunk her fingers several times over into her wet hole, remembering how the initial pain of him biting her wrist felt.

He rubbed the tip of her pertness with his thumb in strokes and swooshes, spelling out his name possessively on her flesh. “A. S. T. A. R. I. O. N. Look at you. Being such a good girl for me. Let me see where else I can wander.”

Astarion startled her when he shifted and the grip on her hip went slack. His hand appeared near her foot where the hem of her skirts dangled. He toyed with material of her silken stockings, dangerously lifting up her skirts enough to sift his fingers up and down her clothed shin. The icy touch halted near her inner ankle before he tantalizingly dragged the fabrics upwards, where his limber fingers left a trail of glacial tingles along her leg.

Her eyes clenched shut when the compass of his touch made it to her knee. “Astarion, keep going. Don’t stop,” Tav rasped.

Further up his descent he drifted, reaching the halfway point of her inner thigh. He forced the rest of her skirts up to rest by her hips in one swift motion.

“And what do we have here?” Astarion skimmed his touch along the ribbon tied around her thigh, holding up the hidden lace trimmed silk of her hosiery. “Such forbidden raptures concealed from the world. Did you wear these in hopes I would see them?”

Tav gulped. She answered him with a suggestive moan. Her body tensed as he stroked his fingers between the stocking and the creaminess of her thigh. The folds of her slit were bathed in fluids; her smalls were soaked from her neediness.

There was a sharp intake of his breath, a certain gluttonous deprivation she could detect. He urgently pressed her ass back into his pelvis and she could feel everything. The salivating length of his cock, the perfect girth of it, most of all—how devastatingly hard he could get.

Sensually, he gnawed at her ear lobe. “Gods. Can you feel what you’re doing to me?”

Aloud she whined for him, twitching in his arms. He continued to pinch and pull at her nipple with one hand, while the other tumbled closer, closer, closer to her heaven. He slithered his fingers to frisk the hem of her smalls, drafting the threads delicately stitched along the outer edges.

Astarion kneaded his hand into the space between her thigh and her dripping filth, encouraging her legs to widen. “Reach down and spread yourself for me.”

The smoldering flush overtaking her body was nearly unbearable. But, he was commanding her with a carnally low voice and she wanted, no, needed to surrender to him. And so, she reached down betwixt her pale thighs—like the good pet she wished to be—to push her smalls to the side, timidly spreading the outer lips of her labia.

Clit throbbing to the exposed air, Astarion wasted no time in drawing foreign symbols around it. He circled her nub with his index finger, spreading her gathered slick as if he were savoring the sweetest of desserts before allowing himself to swallow it down.

“Oh my gods…,” Tav managed to stutter out. His fingers were slowly pulling her to nirvana with his golden chilled scald.

For the last several nights, she had thought about his hands on her, guiding her to a blinding light of pleasure. She had never been embraced in such a hedonistic, yet tenderly amatory way in her lifetime. He was practiced in his persuasive dynamics, but he treated her like she was the only woman alive that could bring rhapsody to his aching frenzy. That she was his to keep and place inside that little curio box he kept tucked away for his own bliss.

Two of his fingers dipped down into her gaping hole and a lilt of an impassioned wail came undone from her throat. She had tears in her eyes from all the sensations she felt. Tav thought for years that a man would never caress her again, that she couldn’t bear to let another physically have admission to the spectrums of her ecstasy. But, Astarion roused a blistering zeal she had been petrified was completely emptied out of her from her last relationship.

He easily entered her, rocking her back and forth on his digits. “I can’t believe how your cunt drips for me, lover.”

But, he doesn’t stop the firm thrusting of his long fingers into her canal. He gave her no breadth of room to steady her breathing. His fingers crooked into that spongy spot within her and she perilously concentrated to keep her lips open wide for him. The songstress’s pitch, once mere murmurs of dew drops falling from leaves into the soft earth, became lewd church bells of lamenting convictions sobbing his name.

“Ast—Astarion! Astarion. Ahhhhh. Oooo.”

Deftly does he move his hand from her breast to her mouth. He placed his index and middle fingers in front of her crying lips, coaxing it to open. A long exerted sigh of warmed air left her lungs as she readily—so hastily—accepted his agile instruments into her wet orifice. Tav greedily slid her tongue between his fingers, offering the loveliest of sucklings to them as a succubus’s groan filled her mouth. The holy water of her saliva could not keep him out.

Her body turned pliable when he nibbled near the point of her ear, flicking her earring with his tongue. She sighed around the intrusions in between her lips, finding herself grinding her backside along his hard cock. He stilled her with a thumb pressing along her aroused clit.

Astarion alternated between gentle languorous pumps into her drenched slit and rubbing her sensitive bundle of nerves. He softly stroked from the middle of her vagina up to her unhooded clit, applying slow thrums of taps when she whimpered for him to keep going. Then, he slid his fingers in the shape of a ‘V’ down her inner labia lips slowly until he reached the entrance of her sex, encircling it gently.

The further he prepped her for climax, the more her spit coated his fingers and dribbled down her chin in an immodest show of her starved paradise. The woman within his arms begged for release with her body the more she sacrificed herself to him.

There was a howling wind knocking at his tent and cicadas drowning out their debauched acts. Astarion was washing her ashore with his fingers moving like honey exploring her insides. Her pearl was his to enrapture and he was massaging it so sweet.

“I’m close,” the songbird whispered into the dimly lit space of their sins.

“Sing for me,” he keened.

Then, his fangs were biting into the ripe juncture of her neck and he was drinking her like a carafe of water. The blood was flowing in a deluge of puddles into his mouth, ribbons of merlot streaming from the wound. And the noises he made as if she belonged to only him, sent a twinge of secretions to her nether regions she didn’t realize she could still create.

He lifted up from his supper long enough to tell her to cum for him and she did. She begged and screamed around his fingers in muffled phrases of “I want you inside me” and “ oh my gods, Astarion.” Waves washed over her body in a rite of passage ceremony, contracting around his willowy fingers as they slowed their propels.

As the quakes started to subside, Tav removed saliva soaked fingers from her mouth and tugged on his silvery curls, ripping his face towards her from his drink. Her half-lidded pools of blue bore into the crimson of his eyes. The smells of her vitality and sexual energy were heavy in the air, a luring mixture of creeds continually inviting him in. She stared at the bloody nectar flowing down his chin—the smears stained across his mouth—and crushed her lips against his.

The vampire spawn moaned into her mouth, then pulled back from the kiss. He pulled out his fingers from her quivering heat and cupped her cheek, her musky elixir permeating her skin. His eyes foraged hers, shifting back and forth, as if he were seeking spiritual redemption. And she waited. She waited for him to discover one of the unspoken truths she could not explain.

Finally, he kissed her back, with a salty musk and rich caramel taste thick on his tongue as he stuck part of it in her mouth. Then, there was a frantic impulse where they were placing open-mouthed kisses on each other's hands, necks, and faces. Tav turned around, her breasts still unsheltered and her juices leaking down her thighs, as Astarion wrapped his arms around her back pulling her into him. She threw her arms around his neck and the need to cover herself with his scent from his cool body was insatiable.

Struggling to breathe, she reached down to tear his billowy shirt from his pants. “I want to make you feel good too.”

But, he grabbed her calloused hands and pressed the back of them to his blood-stained lips with soothing pecks. “Not tonight, my dear. You have done more than enough.”

Tav retreated from him with a concerned smile, sitting back on her knees. The spell is now broken and self-consciousness festered within the small space. Something felt—off.

He reached for a few of the rags he kept and aided her in after care. With composure, he wiped her wetness away, then grinned impishly as he cleaned her lips and mouth of her red nectar. Delicately, he pulled her chemise back up over her chest, giving a final rub to her exposed shoulders.

There was a mournful dance behind his eyes and she wanted to lead him from his demons to lay his head in the cathedral of her lap. What’s wrong? She wanted to sing, stepping on airy tiptoes. Her thoughts were oscillating as her heart panged in an act of guilt and a bloom of feelings she wanted to extinguish. What they just did—meant something to her—but she wasn’t sure it did to him.

By the hells, she wanted to tell him. That he made her feel wanted. That she never thought touch could feel like deliverance. That he was wanted too. And she would follow him through his odyssey of entrails because she cared about him with the passing second. But, it’s a conversation she didn’t know how to have.

“I should probably head back to my tent before anyone becomes too nosey,” Tav laughed anxiously.

He simpered silently, opening his flap to the entrance.

She smoothed down her locks, heading for the exit, forbidding herself to look back at him.

”Tav?”

Fuck. “Hmm?” Briefly, she glanced over her shoulder.

“To answer your question earlier about how your blood tastes—” He moved awkwardly, a fleeting expression of contemplation present.

“Yes?”

“You taste like ambrosial blackberries and…a ballad of home.”

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wingedblooms · 1 year

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Groundings

This is a Maasverse post, and as such, there are spoilers for all Maas series. Proceed with caution.

A mystic is someone who gains a heightened sense of consciousness and seeks to become one with divine beings. The word mystic derives from the Greek word to close the eyes or lips. When Elain uses powers that are reminiscent of mystics, she does this:

Elain again glanced at the map. At me. Then closed her eyes. Her eyes shifted shifted beneath her lids, the skin so delicate and colorless that the blue veins beneath were like small streams. "It moves...," she whispered. "It moves through the world like...like the breath of the western wind." (acowar)

As I mentioned in The Ancients, an oracle, which derives from the Latin word to pray or to speak, was believed to be a messenger, or conduit, for gods. In acowar, Feyre suspects that Elain hears the whisperings of the Cauldron. She is also more inclined to pray than her sisters, suggesting it to honor her father and using it when her younger sister is in mortal danger.

Had she beheld this, in whatever wanderings that new, inner sight granted her? Had the Cauldron whispered of it while we'd been away? I hadn't the heart to ask her. (acowar)

The Cauldron is connected to a divine trio (Mother, Cauldron, and Fate/Forces That Be) like the Three-Faced Goddess. Mystic and oracular powers seem to complement one another, and would suggest a deep connection with the gods. It makes sense for Elain to be able to gain higher consciousness, become one with gods, and act as a divine messenger and protector through her Sight with a combination of these gifts. I believe Nesta's interlude with the Mother was just the beginning. In The Ancients and The sense chanted, I mentioned that the Blueblood witches were known for their rituals in caverns and forests, and were considered oracles, mystics, and fanatics. The priestesses in the Night Court also have rituals in a cavern.

Gwyn huffed a soft laugh. “In part. We honor the Mother, and the Cauldron, and the Forces That Be. We have a service at dawn and at dusk, and on every holy day.” (acosf)

The dusk service helped Nesta scry with stones and bones. But what about the dawn service, a time of day Elain is repeatedly connected to?

Elain had already departed with Feyre, claiming she had to be up with the dawn to tend to an elderly faerie’s garden. Cassian didn’t exactly know why he suspected this wasn’t true. There had been some tightness in Elain’s face as she’d said it. Normally when she made such excuses, Lucien was around, but the male remained in the human lands with Jurian and Vassa. (acosf)

Elain wakes with the dawn to garden or bake, but Cassian suspects she wasn’t telling the truth in this scene. What could she have planned? This occurs after she says she can reacquaint herself with her powers, and that her family can find her when they wish to begin. It’s possible she began experimenting with her powers in earnest at this point. On winter solstice, Nesta suspects she might be training with the twins and/or spymaster, so that is one plausible option Sarah wanted to plant. Another possibility (and these can both be true, so it doesn’t have to be one or the other) is that Elain may have sought out knowledge about her gifts at the library and learned about the dawn ritual. Could the ritual the priestesses perform at dawn help Elain understand and hone at least one thread of her Sight?

As Gwyn poured herself a glass, she said, “At the temple in Sangravah, we had a set of ancient movements that we would go through every sunrise. Not for battle training, but for calming the mind. We did cooldowns after those, too, though we called them groundings. The movements took us out of our bodies, in a way. Let us commune with the Mother. The groundings settled us back into the present world.” (acosf)

The wording here is interesting: the movements took them out of their bodies, in a way, and they used the groundings to settle back into the present world. This ritual sounds like what mystics might be able to do, and it also seems made for Elain for a few different reasons:

the time of day, as she is compared to the dawn;

the concept of drifting away to connect with the divine, as she sometimes behaves as though she isn’t entirely present;

the earthy term to remain tethered to the world, as she is a gardener and brings forth life from the ground.

What if the priestesses in the library do something similar at dawn through ancient movements rather than ancient songs (or both)? While it would make sense for this ritual to take place underground in the same cavern, there might be a reason reclusive Blueblood witches needed access to the wind. Does it help them become an unseen force, help them travel on the wind? I can imagine Elain with her eyes closed, embracing the song of the wind as the sun rises with her consciousness, her soul.

@silverdreamscape theorized about Gwyn and Elain using their powers together, and I think that’s a possibility given the presence of priestesses in the bonus. They will continue to play a part moving forward and one (or several) of them could be helpful as Elain explores her powers since they may also seek to commune with the divine. Like calls to like, after all.

Elain said to Azriel, perhaps the only two civilized ones here, “Can you truly fly?” He set down his fork, blinking. (acomaf)

She angled her head, hair shining like molten metal. “Do you sing?” He blinked. (Azriel’s bonus chapter)

These conversations are separated by time and space, but they are eerie in their similarity. It’s like the Harp echoing Elain’s earlier words about reacquainting herself with her powers. And it inevitably brings me back to the two glass caverns: could the priestesses, and perhaps Gwyn specifically, function like sister-glass for Elain, linked in song and dreaming? What would it look like to commune with the Mother, or travel with the Cauldron? Something like this, I'd imagine:

I could not remove my hand. Could not pry my fingers away. I was being shredded apart, slowly, thoroughly. I flung my magic out, desperate for any chain to this world to save me, keep me from being devoured by the eternal, awful thing that now tried to drag me into its embrace. [...] Some tether slipped, and my mind slid closer to the Cauldron’s outstretched arms. I felt it touch me.

And then I was half gone. Half there, standing silently next to the Cauldron, hand glued to the black rim. Half…elsewhere. (acowar)

Feyre becomes one with the Cauldron through a living bond. She is half there, half elsewhere like a mystic. This is a liminal space, like the time when services occur and the bridge where light and dark meet. It is a time of transformation. Elain's wooden rose is also placed in a liminal space next to the Mother on the mantel, giving us a big hint for her future:

Her gaze shifted to the carved wooden rose she’d placed upon the mantel, half-hidden in the shadows beside a figurine of a supple-bodied female, her upraised arms clasping a full moon between them. Some sort of primal goddess–perhaps even the Mother herself. (acosf)

Now, let's look at how the Cauldron moves through the world to imagine how Elain might move if she communes with it:

Flying through the world. Searching. The Cauldron now hunted for that power that had come so close … And now taunted it. Nesta. The Cauldron searched for her, searched for her as the king now sought her. It skimmed across the battlefield like an insect over the surface of a pond. (acowar)

Come, Nesta’s power seemed to sing. Come. The Cauldron caught her scent and hurtled us onward. We arrived before the king did. The Cauldron seemed to skid to a halt at the clearing. Seemed to coil and reel back, a snake poised to strike.

The Cauldron moves like a force, starting as an otherworldly bird of prey and shifting form as it moves. If this reminds you of Elain and Urd, the goddess of fate, you're tracking with me.

Time seemed to slow and warp. The dark power of the king speared toward us. Toward that clearing where I was neither seen nor heard, where I was nothing but a scrap of soul carried on a black wind. (acowar)

A scrap of soul on a black wind, she says? That sounds familiar.

But Mor scented nothing, saw nothing. The tendril of power she speared toward the woods revealed only the usual birds and small beasts. A hart drinking from a hole in an iced-over stream. Nothing, except— There, between a snarl of thorns. A patch of darkness. It did not move, did not seem to do anything but linger. And watch. Familiar and yet foreign. Something in her power whispered not to touch it, not to go near it. Even from this distance. Mor obeyed. But she still watched that darkness in the thorns, as if a shadow had fallen asleep amongst them. Not like Azriel’s shadows, twining and whispering. Something different. Something that stared back, watching her in turn. (acofas)

A patch of darkness between a snarl of thorns. Interesting. Familiar and yet foreign, like Silba’s voice. In Oorid, Nesta hears a mysterious voice and a disturbance in the thorns while she is on a mission to retrieve the mask. This voice attempts to warn her of the danger she faces, just like Elain warned Feyre in Hybern.

Run, a small voice whispered. Run and run, and do not look back. The voice was female, gentle. Wise and serene.

Run. Was that voice merely all that remained of her human instincts, or something more? She gazed at her reflection as if it would tell her.

Something rustled in the thorns of the island, and she snapped up her head, heart thundering as she scanned for that familiar male face and wings. But there was no sign of Cassian. And whatever was in that bramble…she should find another island to head for. (acosf)

The thorns remind Nesta of roses when she first arrives, and that patch of darkness on Mor's estate looked as though it had fallen asleep among the thorns...but it was still watchful, like the Eye of the Goddess. A dark bloom resting among the thorns, a scrap of soul on a black wind. This reminds me of Elain’s hidden movement and her mental gates, where the Cauldron made its deepest mark.

The gates to her mind … Solid iron, covered in vines of flowers—or it would have been. The blossoms were all sealed, sleeping buds tucked into tangles of leaves and thorns. (acowar)

Who would know about Nesta's mission in Oorid, and who would act from the shadows to help and protect her? There's a clear answer that takes us back to the the Cauldron's hunt for its stolen power.

Not again. I could not watch this play out again. Standing by, idle, while those I loved suffered. The Cauldron crept along with Nesta, a hound at her side.

A hound at her side, hmm? Now, where have I heard that recently?

...Az would have told him already if he'd wanted to share what had been hounding him enough to exercise at night, rather than in the morning with them. (acosf)

Elain was like a dog, loyal to whatever master kept her fed and in comfort. (acosf)

Feyre senses the Cauldron's surprise when Nesta covers Cassian with her body, just as Elain sensed its anger when power was taken from it. And when hope seems lost, Feyre begs for a divine intervention. And it comes not from the Cauldron, like she expected, but Elain.

Anything, I begged the Cauldron. Anything—

The king’s hand began to drop. And then halted. A choking noise came out of him. For a moment, I thought the Cauldron had answered my pleas. But as a black blade broke through the king’s throat, spraying blood, I realized someone else had. Elain stepped out of a shadow behind him, and rammed Truth-Teller to the hilt through the back of the king’s neck as she snarled in his ear, “Don’t you touch my sister.”

After hunting her down in different forms, the Cauldron creeps along Nesta like a hound at the end. Elain then appears out of shadow in its stead and snarls like a hound, fast as the wind and loyal to the end. I’ve wondered before if Elain’s Sight functions like this living bond. The Suriel comments on seeing her doe eyes from across the world, so I imagine her form may be fluid like the divine trio when she uses her Sight. Her eyes even shift beneath her lids as she hunts like the Cauldron, the blue veins compared to water.

Her eyes shifted beneath her lids, the skin so delicate and colorless that the blue veins beneath were like small streams. “It moves …,” she whispered. “It moves through the world like … like the breath of the western wind.” (acowar)

And when Mor explains the difference between faeries and witches at Nesta's request, the focus moves to Elain as she casually observes the tent. The light dances in her mass of hair as it shifts. All before her appearance is glamoured to help and protect others.

Elain silently surveyed the tent, head tipping back. Her mass of heavy brown-gold hair shifted with the movement, the faelight dancing among the silken strands. […] Elain at last slid into the chair near Mor’s, her dawn-pink dress—finer than the ones she usually wore—crinkling beneath her. “Will—will many of these soldiers die?” (acowar)

This dawn ritual, if it is in fact something similar to what priestesses did in Sangravah, might be enough to keep her grounded in most cases. But I can also imagine a scenario where Elain travels in the embrace of that eternal, ancient beast too long or too deep, and loses sight of her body and her home like the forest witch in the Hind's tale. How else might she find her way back if that happens?

"But one day, a warrior arrived in the forest. He'd heard of the monster so vicious none could kill it and live. She set out to slaughter him, but when the warrior beheld her, he was not afraid. He stared at her, and she at him, and he wept because he didn't see a thing of nightmares, but a creature of beauty. He saw her, and he was not afraid of her, and he loved her. [...] His love transformed her back into a witch, melting away all that she'd become. They dwelled in peace in the forest for the rest of their immortal lives." (hosab)

The forest witch had a warrior who found her transformation, her monstrous form and power, beautiful. His love for who she became, not who she once was grounded her. So, who is Elain's warrior? I believe it’s going to be someone who won't flee from a patch of darkness, familiar and yet foreign. Someone who acknowledges the beauty in her mighty power, and hears what she cannot say, sees the heavy burden that she bears. Someone whose gentle voice she can follow in the void, singing her home across space and time. Someone who embraces Elain in all her forms, their hand an anchor in the vast tapestry of the universe.

Series: wise woman. seer. witch.

#the last post…for now #witch elain #witchy elain #witchy archeron sisters #acotar witches #tog witches #crescent city witches #maasverse witches #groundings #dawn ritual #prythian priestesses #mother cauldron fate #eye of the goddess #oracles mystics fanatics #elain archeron

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marcussour · 1 year

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Now that Batgirls it’s coming to it’s end, I do have a lot of mixed feelings about it.

Because on one hand the book never quite lived to it’s promise. Actually, I do think it went actually against it and it hurt itself in the process, especially in those first issues where, after spending many time with Cass and Steph like we were supposed to, we kinda got the rug pulled from under our feet when not only we had Babs saving the day, but also that weird interlude where it felt like it was a Nightwing book with Babs as co-protagonist and Cass and Steph were like, cameos in their own book.

I think that’s also part of 3 issues on itself: the creative team taking, maybe, too long to find their voices (which eventually they did, but probably too late to turn the ship around, at least in the sales department); the inconsistency with the art and also the whole problem with Babs, which is part of DC’s intention of having their cake and eat it in regards to having her both as Batgirl and Oracle (which is a topic for another time), which not only hinders her character development, but also becomes a constant “hand on the brake” for both Cass and Steph.

There’s also another issue regarding the characterization, that can be more subjective and also nothing new to big 2 superhero comics. How many times and how many characters have been through the whole “a new creative team took them in a completely different direction/characterization”? Too many to count.

But it did felt weird -whether you agree or liked the characterization or not- and like a regression that 2 characters, that at their peak in the late 90′s and 00′s were supposed to be in their 20′s, to suddenly not only be in ther late teens (wasn’t Steph recently confirmed to be 19?), but in many ways, act like teenagers. And look, I’m not saying that you can’t focus the book to attract a younger audience in that way, but in that search for a “voice”, they both -and specially Steph- felt really infantilized for long passages early in the run.

Which also clashed a lot with how both characters were portrayed outside of Batgirls -think on the many other bat-titles, or stuff like Spirit World recently-, where both the art and characterization were aiming towards showing them as older characters.

There’s also the whole “weren’t all the characters supposed to have regained, at least, their complete memories from before the long streak of reboots from the 2010′s?”, which has become like, selective continuity at best, when someone actually remembers to bring that back, if at all.

But like I said before, I do feel like that the book actually got it’s footing, and not only gave us an all time great Cass comic with the silent issue, but overall improved a lot: it remembered that Steph and Cass were supposed to be the leads and Babs was a mentor and a support character; it remembered that they should have fun with their lead characters; it regained visual consistency; lot of good things going on in the later half of the run, but the improvement and the reaction to it was probably either not enough, or not to the point that the editors or the bigger heads wanted. NGL, I had the highest expectations when the book came out, the first arcs left me dissapointed (even though there was some good stuff there, like the musical cadence of the first arc, the punk rock/riot grrrl aesthetics and vibe -that I do feel the book kinda betrayed- which went hand in hand with Jorge Corona’s art while he was still the main artist), but the book improved so much that I was again actually looking forward to it month after month (and not just wanting to see the covers, which along with the silent issue, were probably the best thing to come out from that book -I have the Amano cover framed, and it’s the wallpaper for both my laptop and my cellphone-).

I do think that the more concerning thing right now it’s the uncertainty regarding what’s gonna happen with both Cass and Steph’s future. Because even though they both finally regained the Batgirl mantle (with all the meaning that it brings, both in and outside the pages), we know that there’s still people at DC that see Barbara as the one true Batgirl, and wouldn’t hesitate to take the mantle away from Cass and Steph. I don’t want that to happen, but NGL, seeing Babs as Batgirl in the recent Dawn of DC poster didn’t do much to appease my fears.

I do think that there are great writers that have done promising work with Cass (like Alyssa Wong or Mariko Tamaki) and both they and the character deserves a new book and a continuing presence like she once had.

It does suck that the book it’s getting canceled. Yes, I had my gripes with it, specially in it’s earlier issues, but it did improve so much that losing it right now, with all the uncertainty that it brings for both characters, well, at the very least it sends worrysome signs.

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mischiefandspirits · 2 years

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Bat on a Tower

In a world where Bruce’s acquisition of his kids isn’t as legal, but is just as well-meaning, the Watchtower gets an unexpected visitor.

This takes place a little under two years after the events of Impish Interlude

Click here for more of this AU

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“So next week we’ll need to -”

“Get back,” Captain Marvel called suddenly and the gathered League members jumped up from their seats.

Suddenly a bright flash went off above the table and a dark figure slammed down on the meeting table.

The heroes braced for a fight, then froze when they realized the figure was none other than Batman.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Dick was already sitting at the Batcomputer, waiting for Barbara to send him some lab results, so he answered the call when it came in. He smiled at Martian Manhunter when he appeared onscreen. “Hey, J’onn. Is this a social call or…?”

“A warning. The meeting the League was having to discuss the arusians’ appearance at the edge of the galaxy was just interrupted by a spacial disturbance of magical nature. This interruption resulted in a person being dropped onto the table. They were unconscious and have yet to wake, but their appearance is that of Batman’s.”

Dick’s eyes widened and he turned to where Stephanie and Tim had paused in their sparring to stare back at him in shock.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Bruce didn’t make a sound or move as he awoke somewhere bright. His room was always very dark, the only light ever coming from one of the kids sneaking in to curl up with him on their phones. The cave’s lights were always low and colored for the bats’ sake. The room was too cold for the sunroom, but too warm for the family and movie rooms. It was very rare for him to fall asleep at one of the kid’s places, but they usually kept their rooms and guestrooms dark too.

Which meant he was probably captured.

Who was it this time?

There weren’t any sounds and the air smelled chemical, like a hospital. Pyg, maybe? No, he’d been taken in by Hood and Batgirl the week before. He couldn’t have gotten out so soon.

He tried to remember where he’d be before waking up, but it was too hazy. He’d been… in London, maybe? And there was a woman he’d been upset with. Sad? Mad? Both? It wasn’t Selina. They’d argued. After that… He couldn’t remember.

He stretched out his senses for more information and his breath metaphorically caught as he realized he wasn’t wearing his suit. A hospital environment and Bruce Wayne were a bad combination. He had too many scars, too many past injuries. They all hadn’t been covered up by Brucie’s random interests as some couldn’t be waved off as simply the results of an ill-advised stunt.

His injuries could make people look too close. If they looked too close, they could figure out he was Batman and put his children in danger. The Gordon’s and Kelley’s weren’t connected to Brucie, but Dick, Jay, and Terry were.

They had contingency plans. Selina and Terry would go to ground with her fellow Sirens while Dick, Bea, and Jay get out of the city with help from Helena, Artemis, and M’gann. His boys were clever, they’d be okay.

Unless someone got to them before they realized he’d been compromised.

He needed to get free and contact Oracle. She’d get the message out to the others, guide them to safety, then ensure they didn’t do something stupid on his behalf.

He knew his children would try to come for him, however much he wished they wouldn’t, but years before, Batgirl promised him that she would make sure Nightwing’s safety came before his. She had renewed that promise with every new addition to the team and with her change from Batgirl to Oracle.

When his children came, it would be because Oracle was absolutely sure they all knew what trap they’d be walking into and how to circumvent it.

For that time to come, though, he needed to ensure his children made it out.

He shifted, careful to make it seem like he was just moving in his sleep in case someone was watching. Everything moved fine so any drugs they might have given him had worn off. There didn’t seem to be anything keeping him on the bed, which meant they either hadn’t figured out who he was yet or they trusted whatever room he was in to keep him contained.

He was considering his next move when he heard a door open.

There was a moment, then, “We know you’re awake, Batman.”

Of course he did. There was no point trying to play it off. They’d have recognized a good handful of his scars, either because he’d gotten them at their side or because they’d given them to him.

Supergirl stood over him for a moment before a navy streak rammed into her. Dawn Bat, faceplate already sealed closed, hit the release on his gauntlet to expose the blue kryptonite hidden within to the air. She tried to keep her distance, but a feint to the side had her close enough for the kryptonite to render her powerless. He plucked her from the air and brought her to the ground to restrain her.

With her out of the fight, Batman turned to the rest of the fight.

Nightwing was still evading all of Rayner’s attempts to box him in as he worked his way closer and closer so he could tag the Lantern with a small dose of fear toxin that would shake him just long enough to contain his ring.

Red Hood was covering the Bats’ backs and shooting Red Arrow’s and Arsenal’s arrows out of the air.

Catwoman had just managed to snag Flash’s ankle in her whip and was getting ready to toss the webbing pellets that would keep him down.

Zatanna was raising her hands…

Bruce shook off the fragmented memory and sat up. “Superman.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

So I wasn't lying about Stephanie's part being next (I am working on it), but I ended up needing to get this out of my head so I figured I'd just go ahead and post it. Just wanted to make it clear this isn't part of Steph's intro, if it wasn’t obvious. She's coming, though.

#bruce wayne #batman #batfamily #clark kent #dick grayson #batnapping au #witness protection: vigilante style #fanfiction

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cak31ssuperi04 · 1 year

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so in HC2 the reason Felix is distancing himself from Charlotte is stated to be that he saw what really happened to her when she merged with the oracle (turned into a mass of gore); and he was pushing her away in a mix of worry and fear over what she was turning into. HC3 kind of implies this might have to do with the fact that all Felixes discover that they're really clones of Huxley and as such they don't have long to live, and both of the felixes you meet in 3 show similar behavior when they're close to dying, as they start to push people away (this is extra noticeable in the interludes in Heaven's Gate where the same happens to him as he's getting closer to Bennett). Remember that HC1/2 Charlotte's perception of the house's tenants is based on her experiences as Scarlett in Episode 3; and the last thing she remembers about Felix is that he warmed up to her and then disappeared completely, so there's also a parallel there.

THANK YOU Anon Godbless

#Yeah that makes sense. The Scarlet reveal is interesting in how it recontextualizes some of Charlotte's experiences #Also still haven't started Heav*n's gate but it's good to know my boys are in it #Ty to everyone else who responded to the tags as well. All very valid and much appreciated #pieceofcake.txt

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dhwty-writes · 2 years

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1, 15, 37(this isn't at all me trying to get more info about the oracles 😉)

I answered 1 and 15 already here.

As for 37...

37. Talk about your current wips.

You wanna hear about the oracles? I can tell you about the oracles! For those of you who don't know: this is about 4 tertiary characters at best from my Pathfinder campaign, where about 200 years ago four oracles started dreaming about each other and received the Prophecies of Doom, stating that if the Veya Peninsula wasn't unified as a new nation, a great terror would befall the world. A revolution ensued, a war was fought, a new age dawned.

A while ago a thought popped into my head and I started writing a silly little one shot. That escalated and suddenly I had about five one shots on my hands and went... maybe i should write this for real. So now we're looking at a 20 chapter novella with a target audience of exactly four people that absolutely consumed my life for the past two weeks or so.

It follows the oracles, in the order that they found each other: four chapters for four oracles and four interludes that yet have to be revealed. The story is how they found and learned to love each other with snippets of the wars and battles they fought, ending (most likely) with the founding of the Veya Tetrarchy. (I am also banking on the fact that I upload one chapter every two weeks so that hopefully by the time we reach the last chapters some secrets will already have been revealed and I can drop them in the novella as well).

Anyways, am I completely crazy for writing a thing that long that almost no-one will read? Most likely, yes, but I am writing again and I am having fun and that's the most important thing.

Ask me things from the fic writer meme!

#my writing #about my writing #bacreia #fabi plays ttrpgs #look i've got an ask #flowercrown-bard

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your-local-gothamite · 5 months

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oracle interlude: uh hey y’all, sorry if i’m not active for a bit. not only are finals next week but my immune system has also decided to betray me and i am in fact sick. but we will be back to our (semi) regular posting schedule when finals are all over and winter break starts!

#only in gotham #only in gotham rp #gothamite #your local gothamite #gotham rp #gotham #out of character #oracle interlude

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bccksmarts · 9 months

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❧ 𝐈𝐓 𝐈𝐒 𝐀 𝐓𝐑𝐔𝐓𝐇 𝐔𝐍𝐈𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐘 𝐀𝐂𝐊𝐍𝐎𝐖𝐋𝐄𝐃𝐆𝐄𝐃 ☙

➤ @oracle-venus asked: ‘ I still cannot believe what he said about you. ’ (( from Harry ))

It wasn't what he said that bothered Hermione. No, it was how he said it. He not being Harry, however. No, Ronald dismissed her, yet again, thinking that he knew he was correct. They'd had another little spat, and Ron decided to use some nasty words against her; and then using Lavender Brown as some sort of weapon against her, arguing that she was better looking, more feminine and just overall not her. He didn't mean it—she knew that. He tended to use the first words that popped into his head when it came to heated arguments, he never really meant them... but it didn't mean it didn't hurt.

Because it did. Every word stung. And poor Harry, he had to witness all of it.

❝It's a good job I stopped fancying him then, isn't it?❞ Her words came out harshly, but not directed toward the wizard beside her. The girl sighed, a hand wiping down her to attempt to relieve some tension. ❝I'm sorry, Harry. That you had to be caught in that.❞ Another one, rather.

#✦ 𝐀𝐂𝐂𝐈𝐎 ➜ ｢ In Character ｣#✦ 𝐄𝐗𝐏𝐄𝐂𝐓𝐎 𝐏𝐀𝐓𝐑𝐎𝐍𝐔𝐌 ➜ ｢ Answered ｣#✦ 𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐄 𝟎4 ➜ ｢ Interlude First Year to Sixth Year ｣#﴾ oracle-venus ﴿ ⇢ Harry Potter #⦗✦| plops this here bc poor Harry getting caught in their quarrels 😩 |✦⦘

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fillinforlater · 1 year

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Series Masterlist

The is the part of my Masterlist with every series and it's chapters/parts/adventures. It starts off with my biggest series', further down you find my CYOAs and Quickie series'. I hope you enjoy!

All fics that are not part of a series are either in my One-Shot Masterlist or in my IZ*ONE Masterlist!

ONE-SHOT MASTERLIST HERE

IZ*ONE MASTERLIST HERE

Stats: 13 Series with 73 fics, 6 Active Series'

Original Series: Spaceship: Horizon

Season 1

Prologue - Welcome aboard, human (setup, no smut)

Part 1 - Unexpected (ft. Hitomi of IZ*ONE)

Part 2 - Cumming Home (ft. Mina of TWICE)

Part 3 - Lawless (ft. SinB and Eunha of GFRIEND)

Interlude - Lucid Dream I (ft. Giselle of aespa)

Part 4 - Healing ft. (JiU of Dreamcatcher)

Part 5 - Lazy but Laid (ft. Luda of WJSN)

Season Finale - The Star in Space (ft. Sakura of IZ*ONE)

Season 2

Prologue - Ominous Oracle (no smut)

Part 6 - The Smart Duck (ft. Yena of IZ*ONE)

Part 7 - Not-So-Cute (ft. Jiheon of fromis_9)

Part 8 - Plank (ft. Heejin of LOONA)

Interlude - Lucid Dream II (ft. futa!Karina of aespa)

Part 9 - Critical Clamps (ft. Yeri of Red Velvet)

Part 10 - A Train to Drain (ft. 7 Idols of 7 groups)

Season Finale - How did we get here? (ft. Sakura and Yena)

indefinite hiatus

Eleven to One-Universe (with @sooyadelicacies)

Yujin - Impossible Taming (Smut Timeline 1)

Yujin - Mandatory Lesson (Smut Timeline 2)

Yujin - Torrential Takeover (ft. Hyewon) (Smut Timeline 3)

Yujin - Easily Tempted (ft. Minju) (Smut Timeline 4)

Yujin - Into the Next (ft. Eunbi) (Smut Timeline 5)

Yujin - Costly Consequences (Smut Timeline 6)

Minju - Punitive Punishment (ft. Yujin) (Smut Timeline 7)

Hyewon - Boundless Breeding (Smut Timeline 8)

Yujin - Award Show Vibrations (ft. Minju) (Smut Timeline 9)

Minju - Fine Feet (Smut Timeline 10)

Eunbi - Fulfilling Filling (ft. Hyewon) (Smut Timeline 11)

Yujin - Needy Bold Confession (Smut Timeline 12)

Chaewon - Hate You Lots (ft. Yujin, Minju) (Smut Timeline 13)

Chaewon - What's to Hate? (ft. Minju, Yujin) (Smut Timeline 14)

Yujin - Scandalous Shooting (Smut Timeline 15)

Yena - Pet Play (Smut Timeline 16)

Chaewon - Smart Submission (ft. Minju) (Smut Timeline 17)

Yujin - Hotel Roommating (ft. Yena, Minju, Chaewon) (Smut Timeline 18)

to be continued

Original Series: T[w]o find each other (Idol x Idol)

Part 1 - [The one] who won[?] (ft.Gaeul, futa!Chaehyun, futa!Dayeon)

Part 2 - [These] two [won] too (ft. IVE and Kep1er, futa!)

Part 3 - T[w]o find love, [never three] (ft. Gaeul, futa!Chaehyun)

finished

Original Series: Classmating

Minju - Classmating (Part 1)

Minju - Cumforting (Part 2)

--Minju - Cumpany (Part 3) (in planning)

Original Series: L4

Part 1 - Loathing Love: Lucky Loser (ft. Hyewon & Eunbi)

Part 2 - Loathing Love: Liable Lady (ft. Eunbi & Hyewon)

Part 3 - Loathing Love: Lusty Loop (ft. Hyewon & Yuri)

Part 4 - Loathing Love: Lavish Lies (ft. Eunbi, Hyewon & Yuri)

finished

Original Series: Blonde (Female Reader)

Gaeul - Chapter I

Gaeul - Chapter II

Gaeul - Chapter III

indefinite hiatus

Original Series: On her (with @sooyadelicacies)

Part 1 - On her knees (ft. Xiaoting of Kep1er, Monday of Weeekly)

Part 2 - On her bottom Part 1 (ft. Miyeon of (G)I-DLE)

Part 3 - On her bottom Part 2 (ft. Kazuha of LE SSERAFIM)

Part 4 - On her stage (ft. Jennie of BLACKPINK) (Quickie)

Part 5 - On her paws (ft. Hyunjin of LOONA) (Quickie)

Part 6 - On her back (ft. Irene of Red Velvet)

Part 7 - On her jeans (Part 1 of 3) (ft. Minji of NewJeans)

Part 8 - On her jeans (Part 2 of 3) (ft. Minji & Hanni of NewJeans)

Part 9 - On her jeans (Part 3 of 3) (ft. ???)

Original Series: My Kinky Wife & Her Crazy Bandmates

Part 1 - ----FRAGILE (ft. Chaewon)

Part 2 - FEAR---- (ft. Yunjin)

indefinite hiatus

Original Series: HCHQ (futa!idols)

Part 1 - Double Team (ft. Yunjin, Kazuha)

Part 2 - tripleD (ft. Yunjin, Kazuha, Gaeul)

--Part 3 - ??? (in planning)

Original Series: Possession of the Queen (Female Reader)

Doyeon - Chapter I

Doyeon - Chapter II

--Doyeon - Chapter III (in planning, finale)

Quickie Series: A member for the members (Idol x Idol) (with focus on futa!Sohyun)

Prelude - An unexpected D-Day (ft. Mashiro of Kep1er)

Part 1 - Expect the Unexpected (ft. Nien of tripleS)

--Part 2 - Expectations were Met (ft. Yooyeon of tripleS)

--Part 3 - Unexpected, but welcome (ft. xxx of tripleS)

--Finale - An expected D-Day (ft. xxx of tripleS)

Quickie Series: Phone

Part 1 - Snake Invasion (ft. Sana of TWICE)

Part 2 - Bunny Upside Down (ft. Nayeon of TWICE)

Part 3 - Angel of Infinity +0 (ft. Minju of IZ*ONE)

Part 4 - Angel of Infinity +1 (ft. Minju and Tzuyu)

Part 5 - Angel of Infinity +2 (ft. Minju, Yiren and Tzuyu)

Part 6 - Energy Restored (ft. Jeongyeon of TWICE)

Part 7 - No Manners (ft. Lia of ITZY)

Part 8 - Return of the Angel +1 (ft. Minju and Shuhua)

Part 9 - Return of the Angel +2 (ft. Minju, Bomi and Shuhua)

Part 10 - Return of the Angel +3 (ft. Minju, Shuhua, Eunha and SinB)

indefinite hiatus

Quickie: 1st Chose-Your-Own-Adventure (CYOA)

Start - Double Stacked (ft. Rei of IVE & Chaehyun of Kep1er)

Option 1 - Double Stacked - One More (ft. Chaehyun)

Option 2 - Double Stacked - I’m spent (ft. futa!Rei)

finished

#Masterlist #smut #kpop smut #girl group smut #female idol smut #male reader insert #male reader smut #female reader insert #female reader smut #izone smut #ive smut #eleven to one universe #spaceship horizon #twice smut #kpop fanfic #idol x idol smut #idol x reader smut

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gotham-its-seven-in-the-morning · 5 months

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Interlude

Delenn abruptly cut off her communication with Jason and glared at the door. Her kidnapper chuckled,

"Last time we met, you forced me to leave. I watched and I saw that you are important to Hecate. You're my bargaining chip."

"Fuck you," Delenn spat lunging at the girl before the chains halted her movements.

"Ah ah ah," the girl said, " I'd behave if I were you . If you don't, I'll steal one of your kids, and you'll never see them again."

Delenn glared and said nothing, simply growling as she left. Delenn quietly used her magic to send up the flare for Oracle to find her.

#only in gotham #only in gotham rp #gothamite #gotham #gotham rp

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agonistesesthelos · 1 year

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yeah I wrote it!

My fancy and fanciful history final exam! Thoughts are carried out to the point where I'm even satisfied with it -- for the short lapse of time that we call now.

Some jokes and twists may look natural, even effortless, but they are the fruits of deliberations long and bitter. I'd like to pull up a quote by F Poulenc but I can't (this dude's music sounds effortless). There are a ton of grammar mistakes. I know (sad face).

Here it goes.

-----------------------------------------------------------------

We sailed past the pillars of Heracles and were suddenly taken by a violent storm. After the weather cleared we spotted a man riding on a dolphin. We took the stranger on board and found him to be Herodotus of Halicarnassus, who sailed off Elysium to greet his old Egyptian friend, shipwrecked, and was saved by Greek-speaking dolphins drawn to his ship to hear the conflicts between Hellenes and barbarians.

Before he could write down his inquiry on geography beneath the surface, and how that shaped dolphin customs, we cut him off with questions, citing the advice from Pythia before we disembark: “They who ride in the air should be inspected after a storm.” Herodotus’ protest that the oracle referred to inspecting sails was completely ignored.

I asked him why did he stumbled upon the Arion interlude in the middle of the war between the Milesians and the Lydian king. He said that we all know what happened after. If he didn’t discredit the poets early enough as the boastful dolphin-riding sort, people would listen to Simonides’ Palatea and Aeschylus’ Salamis instead — but instead the Corinthians were cowards and hardly anything changed in Susa. Until today, he believed Arion must have bribed the sailors for mercy, and hitchhiked on a faster ship. If Europa didn’t ride a bull but a ship, how could Arion ride a dolphin? However, his contemporary Athenians loved stories about wicked Corinthians, so he left the dolphin-riding undisputed. I was about to say that his Cambyses dream-god was no more credible. Reminded that he had Artabazus demoting that to the King’s daytime anxieties and nighttime insomnia, I kept silent.

Besides, Herodotus continued, he was impatient to set the stage, which was to be the entire Hellas and beyond. The first few sections already encompassed mainland Greece, Phoenicia, Asia Minor, Egypt, and the Euxine Sea — but his scope was beyond that. He’d better put Italy on his map soon: his friends in Thurii were already mad at him. I admitted that just reading the opening, a map unfurled before my eyes, within which the rest of the deeds could be located. Except for the field of meat in Ethiopia.

I then asked why he turned to Cyrus, Egyptians, and other barbarians, after finishing whatever he had to say about Croesus. He could simply jump to the Ionian revolt, following the sequence of Helleno-barbarian conflicts.

Herodotus was very much startled. “How was Croesus finished? He appears as Cambyses’ advisor much later in the book. Not even at his death can you say ‘That’s all that can be said about him’. Who can say at some point an episode truly ends or truly begins? Who can say he knows all the causes and all the ramifications? The Great King descending upon Hellas may well be his ancestor Cyrus’ fault, or the result of what he eats, wears and worships. Moreover, I wonder if there is ever a conflict not Helleno-barbarian, at least god-wise. Might not it be Zeus, much appeased by our sacrificial oxen, help Cyrus defeat the Medes? Have we not seen enough Persia meddling in our affairs?”

I agreed that human historia can never fully reveal the workings of the world, including but not limited to the fact that we were now heading to what looked like the Styx. A mighty fleet was ferrying people across, for there had been a plague earlier this year. On the bank, we found Lysander and Conon, both lately deceased, elected co-navarchs to regulate the traffic.

Herodotus was moved by the suffering of plague victims. But Lysander and Conon said such misery was nothing compared to theirs. Hence we were made judges over whose life was worse.

Lysander said he was a relativist. Honor, virtue, justice, nomos, institutions were all social constructs. Born a Heraclid in poverty, he said descent didn’t make a difference. It was the justification of the privileged. Man must earn what he has — Lysander was a self-made man; Callicrates must beg for Persian alms himself. The Agiad and Eurypontid monopoly on kingship was just historical detritus. One should be given leadership solely based on his excellence, for as long as contingency requires — law forbade Lysander from serving admiral twice; Lysander served more than twice. Power by excellence doesn’t mean democracy was the best regime — the people couldn’t judge competence after all — look at that disaster called Athens. Neither could people judge good advice — the Spartan king restoring democracy to Athens, deaf to Lysander’s opposition, was a bad move. People’s opinion doesn’t matter. Posthumous reputation doesn’t matter. Lysander the Good, Lysander the Cruel, Lysander the Magnificent — doesn’t matter. What matters is hedone. To pursue pleasure is to help your friends and hurt your enemies — that’s the most pleasant justice. To pursue pleasure is to exceed all limits, to slaughter, to spare, to be worshiped, to be reviled, to dominate Hellas with sovereignty, to obey one man with obsequiousness. Because life and death didn’t matter, and gods were social constructs.

Tragically, nothing mattered to him in the end. Not even happiness. Well, love used to matter to him. That was before Cyrus died too young, and Agesilaus dumped Lysander. From then on friends and enemies mattered no more, and he often gave in to melancholy. He held nothing dear, not even his own life, and his life became hollow.

We applauded the sweeping rhetoric of Lysander and said he must have studied under the Sophists. Lysander said he was denied such an opportunity, being a Spartan, and thus Conon led a better life. The latter disagreed, and hence he spoke:

“From youth I’ve always hated the Sophists and loved the poets. But most of all I love Athens — I am Athenaios before I am Conon. And this unqualified love brought me much pain. Often I deemed her orders unwise, yet I obeyed them. Growing up in the war and educated in the Theater of Dionysus, I knew well that Panhellenic unity is the best course for all. I witnessed the chorus turning shoddier every year due to Athens’ destitution. But the only option to procure more funds was more war. Serving her as navarch, I missed many a Dionysia and Lenaea. Out at sea, I had my sailors sing Euripides, on the way to create the misery Euripides condemned. I only left my post after the defeat at Aigospotamoi, when I had no chance of survival had I returned to Athens. Warmly welcomed I was at Evogoras’ court, I nonetheless witnessed her surrender and bloodshed from afar.

When I was offered to lead the King’s army, again I was torn in two.

Bear in mind that such are the penalties for deeds like these, and hold Athens and Hellas in your memory.

I took command for the sake of Athens, well aware that this is a failed course from the start. The King would never allow her to be restored to her former glory, and enlisting Persians would only ruin all Greeks alike. My only consolation was the thought that it was the first time (correct me if I’m wrong, Herodotus) a Hellene ruled barbarians.” — “Remember Artemisia.” — “Right. Then I should’ve been more miserable than I was. Hoping to win renown for Athens in the distant lands, I fought with vigor and despair, and the favor of the gods. I restored the Long Walls and gave on this occasion a public entertainment to all the Athenians. But I could not restore the Theater to its former splendor — neither the lofty spirit nor the personal invectives. Τhe love for freedom shared by those on the Delphi tripod, even if they were but a fraction of the Hellenes, had been exchanged for Persian money. Day and night I wait on the bank of Styx, but there is no Dionysus to fetch Aeschylus home.”

We discussed among ourselves. Meanwhile, Herodotus, well-informed of events after his death, was talking to a dead sailor who had been to Thule. Finally, we judged Conon’s life more miserable, for

α. he had an audience with the King — all the gold and glitter must have hurt his eyes, while Lysander didn’t bother to look at actual money

β. Lysander doesn’t care about other’s opinions anyway.

Lysander laughed, and allowed Herodotus to appropriate a ship for himself to look for the Hyperboreans. He then ran into an argument with Conon on if walls were necessary for freedom. Before Herodotus departed, I asked him why he ended his history with a flashback to Cyrus. He said someone challenged him that there were no Persians as a people, only the intersection of those who ruled among the barbarians, obeyed the King, and hated the Hellenes. Herodotus answered that the Persians all came from a certain land, though now they are all over the place. And it would not be bad for the Hellenes to learn the differences between Persians, Medians, Scythians and so on, rather than indulge in their self-image — and anti-image of “barbarian” as everything base and non-Greek. He then bade us farewell.

That didn’t sound like an answer to me. I speculated is that men, who moved and turned soft, served as a summary of his book, since Persians and Hellenes both settled in soft lands. Or, moving and turning soft was the universal behavior of all peoples? Was he against expansionism? Was he against ethnocentrism, as the Persians presupposed slavery to be yoke under another people, not under a despot? Was he against salted fish, since Artayktes said someone as dead and salted as the fish could exert great power, and so could Cyrus? Protesilaus moved to the Chersonese, but once his shrine settled long enough, moving it constituted sacrilege…

My thoughts were turning towards Zeno of Elea, when they were cut off by the sight of a mountain on the horizon. We pulled in, and found a man in kingly Persian attire with his entourage. He revealed himself to be Cyrus the Great (!), who finally discovered the whereabouts of Darius — up on the mountain peak, a hermit devoting his life to Ahuramazda — and he was here to revenge his grandson. Verily, people as dead as salted fish were powerful still.

Cyrus vehemently denounced all of his successors: for their bad royal education, their ignoble deaths by poison or assassination, their periodical succession crises, their inability to give anyone audience without leveling him to the floor. Standing upright, we were nonetheless afraid of the unassuming world conqueror. I wanted to ask who his parents were, but in the end, merely approved his opinions. Then we bade each other safe travels.

Back at sea, we had nothing to do but talk. Risking Medism, we agreed that there’s a strange charm around Cyrus and that Xenophon finally got his subject matter right. Personally, if for afterlife I could only choose between the lives of Great Kings, I would choose that of Cyrus, because I have always romanticized the life of the shepherd. Besides goat-herding, I would rather be loyal to friends and lenient to enemies, than kill the Apis bull or become another Lysander. At least, become a master propagandist than average propagandist, a religious pragmatist than heresy-intolerant. It’s much more exciting to establish how a king should rule than be ruled by my father's institutions. The excitement also holds for exploring Asia as an uncharted land, rather than as family possessions in a well-known inventory, posted everywhere from statue bases to midair epitaphs. Cyrus was hubristic and expansionist, but a life on the move was better than one confined to the harem.

“When Cyrus put on Median dresses and cosmetics, it required true leadership to quell Persian dissent. I can’t imagine any Hellene would endure a Greek tyrant in Persian dress.” I would hold onto this opinion, until we visited another island and met a Macedonian youth. In the next book I shall detail this encounter.

#ta eis heauton

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