#rolling mill consultant

[tsic-tata]

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[badgirl411]

Intoxicating: (Modern!Aemond Targaryen x Reader AU) 18+ WARNING

Pairings: Modern!Aemond Targaryen x f!Reader

Warnings: toxic relationship, possessiveness, strong language, SMUT, mentions of tattooing needles, sexual themes

Authors Note: Hello lovely people, I decided to write this Modern!Aemond AU as I have been imagining him covered in tattoos recently and I need the thought out of my head lol! This will be the first part of what will be a mini series. So please enjoy a slightly toxic tattoo artist Aemond, WARNING THIS DOES CONTAIN SEXUAL THEMES THROUGHOUT. MINORS DNI!

The quiet buzz of chatter and jazz fills the small space of the corner café you find yourself in, the weather outside is dull and it seems the heavens have opened themselves up as the rain pelts off the pavement outside the quaint café. There’s a chill in the air today as Autumn seems to be in full swing with the vibrant orange and yellow leaves falling from the trees to find their home on the ground, the latte clasped in your small palms provides a small semblance of warmth as you wait for your best friend Helaena.

Lost in idle thought you are startled slightly by the sudden arrival of your best friend; however, a look of genuine surprise is etched across your features as Helaena’s brother Aegon accompanies her. You rise from your stool pulling the siblings into a gentle embrace a smile working its way across your face. You never had any siblings, so the pair are the closest thing to family you have.

Aegon and Helaena are both tattoo artists possessing an incredibly popular joint a few streets over from where you are currently situated. Due to the popularity of the shop you rarely get to spend much time with them, making today even more special.

You have several tattoos yourself but have never had any done by the siblings, as well as a catch up today was also a consultation deciding after much milling you wanted the two most important people in your life to help create something beautiful that would remain with you for long after.

After chatting for what feels like hours you relay to them some of the ideas you have for the piece you want to get on your thigh. Both sketch small pieces of the design continually looking at each other then to you. Aegon’s eyes are drawn to the watch that is situated on his wrist the thick leather strap concealing part of the tattoo inked on his wrist.

“Shit!” Aegon startles you with his sudden outburst, Helaena seeming to understand the reason for the alarm.

“I am so sorry (Y/N) but we have to go, Aemond is watching the shop and we have clients lined up back to back for the rest of the day!” You roll your eyes unintentionally at the mention of their brother.

“Play nice (Y/N)” Helaena fake scolds you at your reaction to Aemond’s name being mentioned.

You see Aemond Targaryen was Aegon and Helaena’s brother and joint partner in the studio, he also happens to be your ex-boyfriend. Let’s just say things did not end very well between you both and have yet to see each other properly since besides seeing him through the back of the shop or skulking about in the background of a facetime call.

“Anyway, sunshine we will be in contact in the next few days Helaena will text you once the design is finalised to get your ok then we can lockdown a date.” Aegon kisses you on the cheek bidding you farewell with Helaena following close behind.

It’s three days later when Helaena texts you informing you the design is complete to your shock, before you can text back replying your phone buzzes indicating an incoming call. It’s Helaena.

“My darling Helaena hello, everything ok?” you greet her over the phone.

“All good babe, are you busy just now?” Her tone rising in question.

“No darling I am free, what’s up?” wondering why she is asking.

“Can you pop over to the studio, I am here thought you could come take a look at the design and see what you think. I can nip next door and get coffee if that’s any incentive!” you can hear her chuckle on the other end of the phone. As if you needed any incentive to go and see your best friend.

Throwing your hair up in a loose bun before pulling out a few loose strands you grab your shacket from the hanger next to the door and slip on your boots, grabbing your keys and making your way to the shop.

It’s about 20 minutes later when you arrive at the shop looking slightly wind swept, the smalls of your cheeks-tinged pink with the temperature outside. Pushing the door open you can see Helaena sketching away on her notepad, Aegon is nowhere to be seen.

After greeting each other Helaena invites you through the back of the shop leading you to the coffee like a dog to a bone, sensing your desperation for something warm to calm the chill settling over your body.

Little does she know the chill isn’t from the weather outside but at the mere thought of running into her brother, praying your ex is not in the studio and instead skulking about somewhere else. You are not prepared to interact with Aemond today, if only you can just get to the design, you can leave and hopefully avoid any interaction or mention of him altogether.

Sensing your unease as you look over your shoulder eyeing the door Helaena leans in closer and whispers.

“You can calm down (Y/N) he is mid-session with a client, I doubt you will see him.” Her hand rests atop your shoulder.

This does little to settle the swirling sickness in your stomach.

Sitting nursing the latte in your hand you look over the design Aegon and Helaena came up with and your eyes begin to well, the piece is special its beautiful. You embrace your friend who hushes you trying to settle the rising emotion in you.

Something catches your eye on the other side of the office, on the swivel chair sits a jacket. A leather jacket. You recognise it immediately as the jacket you bought Aemond for his Christmas 2 years ago, you had it custom made for him hoping to tailor it to his frame and personality.

You can’t believe he still has it, the way the both of you left things you expected him to have thrown it away or burned it in some cathartic outburst. A chill runs up your spine as you pick up on a smell that makes your hair stand on end and your mouth water. You remember it well, it’s Aemond, his aftershave. When you were together it drove you crazy, the smell almost intoxicating.

You are torn from your daydream when behind you the office door opens, the way Helaena’s eyes widen and the chill up your spine increases tells you all you need to know about who exactly it is that is at the door.

“Do I not even get a hello?” Aemond grunts from his spot against the door frame, entering the room to find what it is he originally entered the room for.

Your lack of response gives him all the answers he needs about how you feel about his presence in the room, a dry laugh escapes your mouth.

“Figures Princess” he sneers as he opens his desk drawer to grab a packet of cigarettes and a lighter.

“Kiss my ass Aemond” you don’t acknowledge him instead raising your middle finger behind you.

What you didn’t expect was for him to make his way across the room to lean down next to you, Helaena’s features register a look of utter panic.

“Have done before Princess.” His mouth is at the small of you ear, the statement sends a violent shudder through your body as he uses this opportunity to exit the room.

The rest of the day is uneventful and thankfully there are no further interactions with your ex-boyfriend. The design needed no further changes and so you and Helaena settle on a date for the following week to get the piece done.

The Following Week…

Grabbing your keys, you lock the front door to your apartment making your way to the studio. Today is the day you are getting your thigh piece done, the piece is a combination of various flowers and vines that will wrap around your inner thigh and down your knee.

Grabbing coffee and a family sized bag of sour patch kids you arrive at the studio excited to start your session.

When you enter however you are greeted by an apprehensive Aegon who approaches you with hands raised in defence.

“(Y/N) don’t panic, Helaena is ill she’s had to go home for the day.” His look tells you this is not the worst part of this encounter.

“I am in the middle of a session with a client, or I would do it.” He continues trailing off slightly with nervousness.

“Aegon please tell me you have just moved my appointment and you aren’t going to tell me what I think you are going to tell me.” Gods be good please do not get stuck with Aemond.

He emerges from the back of the shop leaning against the door frame behind the front desk, arms crossed over one another. A shit eating grin plastered over his annoyingly gorgeous face.

“Fuck no!” you exclaim attempting to make a dash for the door before you are caught by Aegon who carries you through to the studio despite your attempts to squirm away.

Finally, you accept defeat deciding it’s better to get it done and just not interact with him, settling into the wrapped chair sliding off your trainers not wanting to dirty the chair.

“Looks like your stuck with me Princess” he deadpans setting up his equipment.

You can’t help the pitted feeling that grows in your stomach looking at the man who was the love of your life, his hair is tied back in a loose bun with a few strands loose framing his sharp jaw and fierce cheekbones.  Your eyes rake over his firm tattooed body, the black of the ink covering his body accentuated by the stark white of the sleeveless top he dons. His lower half clothed in ripped black jeans, the clink of the metal chain attached ringing in your ears.

Your mouth is salivating, he’s wearing that fragrance. You shake yourself from your unprompted horny daydream willing yourself to maintain some semblance of composure.

The first hour passes quickly and no words are exchanged, Aemond has the outline of the top piece done. He glances up from his hunched position as he eyes you reaching for the bag of sour patch kids.

“You know you are predictable right?” his voice is low as he continues to tattoo over the stencil on your thigh.

“How so Aemond, please enlighten me.” You reply lifting a handful of sweets into your palm, you are about to pick up the green one when Aemond interrupts.

“You’re going to eat the green one first, followed by the red and after all that you’ll out the purple one in a pile to the side because you hate the purple ones.” You huff in annoyance because of course he is right, you are a creature of habit and you do hate the purple ones. So instead, you decide to lift the purple one between your fingers, coughing to ger his attention you gesture for him to take the sweet between his teeth instead.

He lets out a quiet hum of approval at the tanginess of the sweet which sends a jolt straight to your core, you missed the delightful noises he used to make when you fucked him. The way he would throw his head back when you took his cock in your mouth, lapping at the head before taking him down your throat.

“Open your legs” his tone is dangerously low as he pushes up the fabric of your skirt; you are taken aback at his suggestion.

“I-Im sorry w-what, are you mental!” you want to shrink up the chair but would most definitely fuck up the tattoo if you were to do so.

He looks up before smirking, “So I can do the linkwork of the stencil on your inner thigh…” you sigh in relief whilst also cursing yourself for wearing a skirt why didn’t you just wear shorts. “Good to know that’s where your mind went, still as horny and eager as ever.” He pats your inner thigh before getting to work on the stencil.

Your mind drifted back to all the times you spent between the sheets with Aemond, the sight of his head between your thighs always a favourite.

You and Aemond broke up about 5 months ago after one major blowout argument. You had been out with Aegon, Helaena and a few friends at a bar on the other side of town when Aemond decided to lay into a friend of a friend who you were conversing with. Aemond you see is jealous, possessive and hard to read, after months of constant arguments and accusations of cheating being thrown around this one evening was your final straw deciding to break your own heart and end it.

Aemond didn’t take the breakup well, for weeks after he would bombard you with calls begging you for another chance and promising endlessly, he could change. When you stopped replying to the texts and blocked his number you thought that was the end of it until he showed up at your workplace and caused a scene. After that you kept your distance and avoided any contact with him fearing it would only make things worse.

Until last week that is when he entered the office and today where it seems the cycle has come full circle with him between your legs again, albeit for different reasons.

“I can hear your mind going a million miles an hour Princess, also your thigh is trembling so whatever thought it is that you have right now pack it up or I will end up fucking this up.” He doesn’t look up from his position, but you can feel his breath on the delicate skin on your inner thigh. Combined with the sensation, the smell of his cologne and the image of his head between your parted legs you are utterly fucked. You are sure your thong is utterly soaked; you curse the seven for the situation you find yourself in. You continue to pass sweets to Aemond as he works on the tattoo and a memory flash before your eyes of the night, he fucked you in here, it was after a particularly bad argument when you found yourself against the wall with Aemond. His cock pounding your cunt relentlessly, the anger from the argument fuelling the two of you fucking.

The memory has your cunt utterly soaked and you swallow loudly trying to conceal your heaving breaths from the man infront of you.

His knuckles are void of any colour he is gripping the gun so firmly, his teeth chewing the inside of his lip and his nostrils flared.

“(Y/N) …” he pulls your attention to him as you hum in response.

“I can smell your soaked cunt from here Princess, do you have any idea how much self-control I am demonstrating right now.” He sets the gun down on the table and sit up still between your legs to face you.

“Do you have any idea how hard I am right now; how hard it’s been to be inbetween your gorgeous thighs and see you lost in your horny little thoughts. To have to sit here for hours smelling your deliciously wet cunt and know you are soaked and not have my cock buried deep in that fucking cunt. Do you know how badly I want you right now.” He is growing more agitated as he continues with his rant and your eyes drift down to his crotch to see his jeans impossibly strained from his throbbing cock.

It’s all a blur but before you know it you are on him, hands fisting in his hair furiously and lips pulled into a searing kiss.

You utterly breathlessly “Fuck me, please fuck me Daddy!”

And with that both of your clothes are discarded furiously and the door locked as you prepare for your ex boyfriend to absolutely fucking ruin you once again.

#modern!aemond #hotd #hotd aemond #hotd smut #aemond kinslayer #prince aemond #aemond targaryen #aemond one eye #aemond x reader #aemond targaryen smut #aemond targaryen x reader smut #aemond targaryen imagine #modern!aemond targaryen #modern!aemond targaryen x reader

[smolvenger]

Twenty-Seven Wounds (Coriolanus x fem! Reader)

Summary: In ancient times, in a place that calls itself Rome, you find yourself married to the general Caius Martius or Coriolanus. He has fought so many battles he has twenty-seven scars on his body. Scars that he has not shown you yet...

Word Count: 3K

Warnings: Mentions of sex but no actual smut, discussions of war, violence. Drunkenness and brief harassment but the asshole is put in his place. Grumpy and Sunshine trope. I do my best to write Caius accurately. But at the end of the day, it's MY indulgent fic and here he's a big tough warmonger who becomes a simp that kisses the ground his cinnamon roll wife walks on. References to the play and to ancient Roman customs and words. A fake kidnapping.

Word Count: 3K

Taglist: @evelyn-kingsley @jennyggggrrr @five-miles-over @fictive-sl0th @ladycamillewrites @villainousshakespeare @holdmytesseract @eleniblue @twhxhck @lokisgoodgirl @lovelysizzlingbluebird @raqnarokr @holymultiplefandomsbatman @michelleleewise @wolfsmom1 @cheekyscamp @mochie85 @muddyorbsblr

A03//My Ko-Fi//My Etsy Shop//Masterlist//Wattpad

“General Martius has asked me for your hand in marriage and I consented,” your father announced.

Your vision went dizzy. You had to sit down. You knew many things about General Caius Martius, otherwise known as Coriolanus since his great victory in the land of Corioles. 

As you sat back down to process the news, you recounted every instance of interaction. You met him in the chariot races. Menenius introduced you to each other- the senator's bald head shining like a crown and his chest as puffed as a peacock's.

"This is the great General Martius! And General- this is the lady Y/N-isn't she one of our city's great beauties, hm?"

"Sir! Uh-I-thank you!" you replied, very flustered and surprised he would say that.

General Martius made no reply. Only a polite greeting.

You talked with him at dinners. The odd banquet or party. Saw him in the audience of the Gladiator fights, plays, or chariot races.

But Caius was no run-of-the-mill man. He was a renowned general in the army and known as the fiercest warrior Rome could wish for. Notoriously ferocious on a battlefield. A man who breathed war. He was also notorious for his arrogance and stubbornness and sometimes his anger. You knew he was sensitive to smells- his nose would often crinkle as he walked by the streets.  You knew his mother, Volumina. You knew he enjoyed the Gladiator fights. Though you sometimes turned away when it got too gruesome. If it was too much, he would escort you out. When you came to chariot races, he would be there.

He was still an incredibly attractive man- dark reddish-blonde hair. Beautiful blue eyes. Tall, broad, and striking. When the betrothal was confirmed, he visited where you stayed. Your father joined your hands together. He held them with a delicacy. He then brought them up and kissed them.

“Y/N…I promise you-I will be an honorable husband. You will be protected. You will want for nothing. And they will revere you as they do for me.”

He brought you a little closer so that your hands became entwined. You were not scared of marrying him. No- what scared you was that you were not scared. What scared you was how badly you wanted to marry him. You should have been frustrated that your father agreed to the match without consulting you. All fathers had complete and total say over their children’s marriages…but you were not angry in the least.

“You will be…gentle to me, Caius?” you asked quietly.

“Yes. Yes, I will,” he replied. He placed another hand over yours.

“Ah! What a pretty picture! Come- let us make an offering to the household gods! Let us pray for a blessing for our Y/N and her warrior groom!” your father announced, rubbing his hands together. 

Your wedding happened not too long after. It seemed your family was in a rush to have a connection to the wealthy and famous general.

After the ceremony at the temple of Hera, all of you sat down at your house to a feast. Caius- no, no longer “General Martius” or “General Coriolanus” but just Caius!- sat down next to you. He leaned back and kept an arm around you, his hand rubbing against the side of your arm.

One guest with more wine in his body than decency spittled something that made your stomach curl in offense. He staggered before your seat and pointed a finger at you. 

“Ah! Where can I get a twin of this pretty nymph like Martius’s? Hm? Her breasts will look even better without her wedding gown over them!”

Before you could say a word, Caius lept to his feet. He ran before the drunkard and yanked him by the collar to his face. 

“You will speak with respect to the wife of a general or you will remain quiet!” he barked at the rude guest. 

The room went quiet. You knew if the impulse struck him, Caius would get out his sword and have the bastard sliced in half. The man began to tremble and utter apologies as a friend of his took him away.

“Everyone…let’s have some music now! Before we close the feast-I think it would soothe everyone!” you announced.

Glancing at the musicians frozen with their lyres, they began to play again. You returned to your seat as did your new husband.

“Would you have be different than I am, Y/N?” he whispered to you.

“You were only protecting me…how could I be angry at you or want you different?” you asked.

You gave him a peck on the cheek. He blinked rapidly. You saw him turn bright red and his frown melted into a tiny smile. 

Right as the feast started to wind down, your heart began to drum in your chest. There was the staged kidnapping- for all of Rome knew that the best bride was a maiden who was unwillingly taken from home. So every consenting bride had to pretend as a ceremony for the end of the celebrations. Put on a show good enough to fool the gods for luck.

Getting up from the table, Caius went to the other end of the room to exit through the door. Your mother put her arms around you. He then stormed in on cue like in a Euripedian tragedy.

“This house has something I want! Give me Y/N or I will kill every being who keeps me from her!” he announced in pretense. 

 You could feel yourself trying not to laugh. Your own mother was trying a forced frown.

“Please- mother- don’t let the General take me!” you wailed dutifully.

He went up with his sword out so others stepped back. Then he sheathed it and looked at you, licking his lips.

“I am here! I claim this woman- she is mine now- for my house and my bed!” he declared. 

He took you easily from your mother’s arms and then slung you over his shoulders. You let out a brief squeal- trying to make your laughter sound like tears.

“Mother! Mother! Help!” you cried out in pretend. Glad no one could see your smile as he carried you out. And especially glad you could still ogle his pert behind from where you were dangling for the rest of the “kidnapping.”

He carried you down the streets over his shoulder. Then when you arrived at his place, he transferred you so that he carried you with an arm over your back and the other supporting your legs. For it was bad luck for a young bride to trip. And he kept you in his arms as he ignored his mother and the slaves greeting him and took you straight to his bedroom without a word. Everyone gave each other a look and then went on with their business. 

Caius’s restraint left him as soon as he entered that room. He set you on your feet and then grabbed you. He kissed you so much you could already feel his tongue inside.

“Gods, you are mine now…” he whispered.

He held you so close. You could feel his heat, his desperation, his need to have you. He kept a hand on your back and kept you close. You were getting wet with each touch of his.

He went down to the belt that held your dress. It was tied in a special knot for today- The knot of chastity. And symbolically, one only your husband was allowed to undo. Your heart raced as he began to touch it, a thumb going over the long threads. 

“Caius…I want you…yes-it’s our wedding night, please…” you heard yourself voice. 

 He pulled and fought at the knot almost so much, that he swore that it wasn’t coming off fast enough.  That he would need a knife. Then he used his thumb to edge it out so it would loosen. With several swift tugs and a grunt of his, he yanked the knot undone and the cloth belt came off. He eagerly found the edges of your clothes.

“Yes…my wife…”

You wrapped your arms around him and kissed him again. He then removed the lower parts of his clothes.

There were slaves playing music in the other room. He preferred some quiet music in the evenings. And tonight was no exception. They were to keep playing. To hear him take his wife- no, you. To hear Your cries of pleasure among the soft strings. They were playing when he led you to his lectus and your marriage was passionately consummated. 

You adjusted to married life surprisingly well. And in private, Caius was not the fearsome dragon some heralded him to be. Yes- he was arrogant and stubborn at his worst. But he could be…persuaded, you discovered. 

“And the peasants were crying that they wanted more grain! Grain from our storages!” he reported to you one day over dinner.

“Well…couldn’t we spare just a little bit, dear husband?” you asked.

A Slave brought you a bowl of dates and then left to refill your wine glasses. 

“For the rabble? No-let them hang!” he dismissed.

He tore a bite of meat from its leg and chewed on it like a bear with prey. But you kept your eyes soft and gave him a smile.

“They’re only hungry. Even I become cross when I am hungry! And we have so much food here. Really, it’s more than I can eat! And there are always so many leftovers…surely….just a little grain could be spared, Caius? It would warm my heart to see so many hungry people be fed…they do not complain without reason…perhaps then they won’t complain about you anymore. Just a little bit of grain, Caius? Please?”

You saw his shoulders start to sag. With a deep sigh, he gestured to one of his slaves

“Tell them that five percent of the grain stored will be gathered and distributed to the protesters,” he said. 

You smiled as you looked down.

He was content to sit quietly beside you in some evenings. You could weave your loom and the man who craved battles would merely go over parchments beside you. His desire was like that of an animal though. It only took a look or a smile from you before he was on you, kissing you, and pulling at your clothes to have them come off. The nights when you both did not make love, he still wanted to touch you. He would pull you onto him to rest your head against his chest. You would permit him to rub your back with his hand and wrap his arms protectively around you. As if not even Zeus himself could get past Caius Martius to the treasure that lay in his arms. He often would touch you gently. Even as you walked past him, he would softly just touch a cloth of your skirt, feeling the fabric slip through his fingers longingly as you had to leave. 

There was one dinner where your mother, Volumina, decided to put you to the test. You knew it. As you sat down on the floor enjoying your food, she turned to you and declared something most people would find offensive.

“Ah! I hope in the next battle that my son will receive another scar! Don’t you, Y/N?”

On one hand, you did not want your husband to suffer. But this was Volumina. Her whole life’s purpose was to create a soldier of her boy. To serve the wars in her own way through what she could do behind the scenes. To see him either victorious or dead was her life’s work. Glory in battle meant glory for her and the Martius family. 

Carefully, you added a reply with a dutiful nod of your head.

“Yes- should the scars not be fatal, I see them as badges of honor. And if they were-I am proud to have a husband willing to give his life for the safety of Rome’s people. And if I must sacrifice him for all our sakes, I will make it,” you replied.

“Ah! What a sweet woman you have for your wife, Caius!” Volumina praised, her stained lips curved into a smile. 

There, the middle ground. It wasn’t that bad. But as she slid aside her plate, her talk turned. She looked at you, dressed in her dark clothes with her dark hair done up. Her smile was still big on her creamy face. 

“Did you know, Y/N, that my son bears a total of twenty-seven scars from battle!?” she asked.

“No-he never told me it was that many,” you said with a quick glance at him.

“Yes! And may Ares bring him twenty-seven more!” Volumina said. 

But you had never seen such scars. 

After a few months, you realized something- you had never seen him bare. That was odd. Most women would tell you of how the first time they saw Octavius Cato’s or so-and-so’s willy they burst into laughter. But even the hundreds of times you made love, Caius kept his shirt on. He preferred to bathe alone, never going into the bathhouses. The times he did bathe, sometimes you heard him groan in pain outside the room. As if the scars were still fresh. He always went behind a screen to dress. In bed, he only wore a toge that had short sleeves. You saw a cut over his shoulder peep out. It looked almost like the crack of an earthquake on the soil. But whenever you tried to nudge it in bed, he would move your hand away, asking you to stop. 

You were still unequal. He had kissed every inch of your bare skin. But you had not even seen it. As frightening as that scratch looked, you had to see more. 

That is, until one night. It was uncomfortably warm. You sweated on your shared lectus, tossing and turning in discomfort.  You turned over to see Caius was still awake. He then rolled over of you confirming to the other that you were not asleep. You slept in your underclothes and he still had that toge. And he was sweating. 

“I think you should undress,” you said. 

He turned around, though you could smell his sweat dripping down.

“It’d be better if I didn’t,” he huffed. 

You touched his shoulder, turning him to face you. 

“Caius…why do you show no one your scars?” you asked.

He swallowed.

“They’re….they’re only when Rome needs to see them. When they lose sight. When they lose respect.” he said. r.

“Am I not part of Rome, too?” you asked.

He paused.

“Yes…yes you are…” he answered.

“You’ve never…bared yourself to me like I have to you,” you commented.

“They’re gruesome. It would…it would have scared you, I thought. You wouldn’t want to sleep beside them…too gruesome…” 

He sat up.

“I’ll sleep somewhere else tonight-you don’t want to look at them,” he announced.

But you stopped his hand and kept him still. 

“Caius…may I see them, please?” you asked.

You gingerly touched his chest, right over the toga he wore to bed. You only saw the scratches around his collarbones.

“Are you afraid?” he asked. 

“No. They’re a part of you…I want to see them…” you urged.

His eyes softened. Then you both sat up in bed.

“Then…then remove it for yourself and see.” he permitted. 

You went to the corner edges of his own robe. He helped you as you lifted it over his head. You then got a candle to see it better.

You knew he was a strong man, but there were so many scratches, lashes, and cuts you could not make out the muscles clearly. There were so many cuts and lashes-they looked so dark across his skin. All over his torso. Then there were the newer ones from the battle at Corioles-they still looked red. You set the candle back down on the table near the bed.

“I understand if you wish not to lie with me anymore…I will make arrangements where-”

“No, you don’t have to!” you interrupted.

For once in his life, Caius Martius Coriolanus closed his mouth and he listened.

“Twenty-seven of them. Twenty-seven times you have been wounded. Twenty-seven times you could have died…and didn’t,” you said.  “Can I touch them?”

“Yes,Y/N, you can…”

You lightly took your hand and felt the bumps and edges. He flinched only slightly, then relaxed into it. You could feel the warmth of the sweltering night on him. 

“Caius…may I kiss them?” you asked.

“Yes…”

You gently kissed the back of your three fingers and pressed them over the lower scars. You knew putting your mouth lower would stir something in him. Now was not the moment…and it seemed he would agree. His breathing was deep as your kissed fingers touched the lower ones. Such chaste, light kisses like a butterfly's wing.

As they moved up to his chest, you peppered one kiss across one. Then another. You paused, your mouth over his skin, his steady pulse shaking from your touch.  

“Each one…you survived. You defeated your enemies…you protected your allies…and you protected me…and you survived, Caius,” you whispered.

He put a hand to touch your cheek and you leaned into it.

“Dulcissima…my sweetest…thank you…”

“Do they hurt right now?” you asked.

His voice smoothed and spoke with such tenderness as you had never heard before. He put an arm around you as you kept kissing them. 

“No…they never felt more relieved…my wife, her kisses have their own little medicine…”

You moved up to his shoulder from the first fresh one from Corioles, sweetly kissing them. His soft voice spoke on and you could feel yourself burst from his words.

“Dearest of my heart…my gift from Hera and Aphrodite themselves…”

You kissed the gash on his upper left arm. Then you lifted up to meet him, his eyes brimming with tears. 

“There…twenty-seven kisses for each scar…”

Then he relaxed, your hand tracing his chest. You blew the candle out to the dark. The room suddenly became cooler. Then you nuzzled into him, settling into him. How warm he felt-so close and so real. His chest moving and falling.

“Caius…why did you want to marry me?” you asked.

“I thought…you would do well, being married to me. You…you’re good to me. You…you smiled when you saw me. You weren’t afraid…” he confessed.

“I was nervous every time you noticed me!” you recalled.

You felt the smile in his voice. His other hand found yours and wrapped itself over your palm. He went on.

“So was I! I hate banquets and parties…but I went to them in case you were there. I watched you squirm at the gladiator fights and look away and wish I could…just take you in my arms and take you away from them. But…then there was the time I was with your father’s…. You said something, and it made me laugh…I laughed! That was…when I knew…when I knew I had to be your husband.”

You looked up at him. His eyes were shiny. But you did not see tears. He swallowed, perhaps looking away made him more honest. You nestled back into him and clung to him. He kept talking.

 “I kept…thinking of you. Of what you would say. I kept going to the market. Every day. Just to see you. Even just a glimpse of you passing by. Just one glimpse-not much. To see you walk up to the bathhouses….”

“And you never went in to see me in there…because of your scars?” you asked.

“I knew you frequented them. I confess- I am a man. As much as I would have loved to see you naked and wet, it meant scaring the others away when I removed my clothes, it would have scared you away…”

You went back to look at him. This time you touched his face, looking directly into his blue eyes. 

You pressed a forehead to his.

“They don’t scare me…not anymore, and you don’t scare me…” you whispered. “Caius…Caius, I love you…”

“Y/N…I…I love you too…”

That evening, as the night settled over a place that called itself Rome, you relaxed into bed with your husband. You wrapped your arms to embrace him and he did not put on his toge to hide his scars. He only held you tight. His scars only barely brushed against you. Badges of war. Badges of honor. Badges of protection. He kissed the top of your head as you both settled into sleep. 

#coriolanus #caius martius coriolanus #Coriolanus x reader #corilanus x fem! reader #caius martius x reader #caius martius x you #tom hiddleston #hiddlesverse #tom hiddleston characters #national theatre #coriolanus x you #ancient rome #tom hiddleston fluff #tom hiddleston imagine #tom hiddleston angst #tom hiddleston hurt/comfort #carrie writes #tumblr fanfic #tumblr fic #fic #Coriolanus fanfiction

[mydemonsdrivealimo]

Halloween (chapter 1)

Book: Open Heart

Chapter: 1/7

Pairing: Multi (Bryce Lahela x Jensen Valentine (MC), Jensen Valentine x Original Characters)

Characters: Jensen Valentine, Bryce Lahela, Aliyah (OC), Aurora Emery

Rating: Teen

Words: 1266

Summary: A collection of moments throughout Jensen's life, focused on his struggles and accomplishments because of and, more importantly, despite the one relationship he can't seem to let go of. Inspired by Halloween by Noah Kahan.

A/N: This is the most future-based part of the fic, and it actually addresses some hcs I haven't mentioned publicly yet. As I post more chapters, they will go in reverse chronological order, and the relationship in reference will become more clear

Lyrics:

But the wreckage of you, I no longer reside in

And the bridges have long since been burnt

The ash of the home that I started the fire in

It starts to return to the Earth.

The snow pummeled into the ground, large clusters of snowflakes settling on his shoulders and hair. Jensen tucked one of his gloved hands into his pocket as he hurried inside. 

He caught the door with his elbow, greeted by the familiar smell of alcohol disinfectant and lemon cleaner. Patients and doctors milled about the lobby as he headed for the elevators. After a few floors, the doors slid open, the floor relatively empty save for a few nurses chatting around the small station just off from the elevators. 

“Aw, Valentine, d’you get us something?” one of them—Samara—asked with a grin. He glanced down to the takeout bag in his hand she was referencing. 

Continuing down the hall, he replied, “Nope, sorry. Just Bryce and I today.”

“Wow, favoritism, I see how it is,” she said with a sarcastic eye roll, Jensen giving her a quick smile before continuing towards the diagnostics office. 

The lights flickered on to a steady, fluorescent glow, Jensen dropping his pile of things onto the center table. The others had coats, bags, and charts spread out here and there, most with patients or out for lunch themselves.

Checking his watch proved that Bryce was five minutes late. He gave him until he pulled their food out of the bag, spreading the takeout boxes across two adjacent seats before pulling his phone out of his pocket. In the time it took him to type out something and press send, the door gently creaked behind him. 

“Hey, sorry,” Bryce said, giving his waist a quick squeeze before unceremoniously flopping into one of the chairs, the force sending it back enough that Jensen had to pull him closer.

“You’re lucky I didn’t lock you out and eat it for you,” Jensen said with a quick wave to the food in front of him, taking a seat in his own chair. “M’fucking starving.” He was already shoveling crab rangoon into his mouth, ignoring the steam coming off of it.

“I can tell,” Bryce offered with an exaggeratedly judgemental look. Jensen kicked his chair, sending him rolling away once again. Laughing, Bryce scooted himself back to the table.

He got a grand total of three bites in before he was telling Jensen about his surgery from that morning. Jensen was happy to see him excited about it, especially knowing how slow it had been with mostly post-op check-ins and consults for the last couple days. 

By the time they were both nearly done, Jensen had his feet propped on Bryce’s lap, head resting on his arm over the back of the chair as he listened to Bryce talk about his schedule for the next couple weeks. He happily nodded and offered input where necessary, but, as per usual, he was content just listening to Bryce talk, turning off his brain for the first time all day.

The only thing that stopped Bryce was his pager going off, Jensen giving him a sigh and a look as if it was his fault. Bryce smiled and started to clean up just as the door opened again.

“I think my face is still frozen,” Des said as they approached, wrapped up in winter gear from head to toe. 

“Not quite Florida, is it?” Jensen asked, receiving a glare in return. Des had only moved up a few months ago, but they were settling into the team just fine. Maybe not the weather, but definitely the team.

“Okay, I’m not saying this on record, by the way,” Bryce said, stopping at the large glass wall of windows, “But honestly it is pretty with the snow.”

Jensen shook his head as he walked over next to him, tossing the empty containers in the trash. “Wow, really? It’s almost like I’ve been telling you that since we were in Boston,” he replied, entirely deadpan.

Bryce gave him a mocking expression, Jensen smiling as he followed his gaze out to the icy Lake Michigan, snow piled up along the edge of the water. Chicago winter could keep even the most dedicated runners inside, a notable lack of movement outside. The trees and ground were white, but the walkway along the water was twinkling with festive lights, entirely lit when night fell.

Bryce gave him a quick smile before scooting past, giving Des a wave before heading off.

“Oh, Tara told me to invite you guys to the Tavern tonight, by the way. We’re going pretty late, but if you get time you should stop over for a drink,” Des said as they arranged their things at their seat.

“We’ve got plans tonight, thanks though.”

“Shit, you literally said you had dinner plans, right? I forgot.”

Jensen nodded and waved it off before grabbing a few charts from the desk, thumbing past a few pages. He collected the necessary things before heading off to grab some results for their most recent case.

The midwestern-based diagnostics division had been his most dedicated project for the past four years. Doing split time for the first two was hell, so many flights and so many nights away from home, one he nor Bryce really enjoyed. But, now, he was content. They were content. Him, Bryce, Barry, and Corn all comfortably settled into a downtown apartment, able to enjoy the bustling city nightlife, events, and opportunities.

Jensen met Bryce at home later that night, Aliyah already comfortably settled in the kitchen awaiting his arrival. Corn didn’t even bother to greet him, too worried about the potential of a chip falling off the counter from the bowl Liyah and Bryce were both picking at.

Bryce greeted him with a smile and a quick kiss to the cheek, Jensen giving Corn a look. “At least someone missed me,” he said. 

“She just likes me more,” Liyah said with a smile, Jensen rolling his eyes and shedding his many winter layers on the way to the bedroom. 

On his way back, he scooped Barry out from under the bed, holding him up in the air as he meowed in protest. Bryce was happy to give Barry shit for nothing in particular with him, Jensen finally dropping him into his arms, carrying him like a baby towards the living room.

Their couch was dark green, adjacent to their tête-à-tête sofa. The room was doused in cool yet natural colors, light boxes keeping it bright despite the early winter darkness. Their Christmas tree in the corner brought some warmth to the room with yellow lights and a messy mix of ornament types. Out the main windows was the familiar sight of a glittering Chicago night, lights scattered throughout the surrounding apartment buildings and shimmering against the falling snow. 

Jensen set Barry onto the cat tower overlooking the street, watching him settle in before returning to the kitchen.

The door opened before he could get there, Aurora and her partner, Z, both entering with dishes of food. Jensen was quick to help them, setting out the food along the dining room table with the dish Aliyah had brought, as well as the filler he and Bryce covered.

It was part of their monthly routine, one dinner where they get together and all make something different. The rest of the night was spent talking and drinking and lounging around in the living room after dessert. And they could do it comfortably. With nice furniture, and with plenty of space for everyone, and no worry of cost or rent or food or just fucking surviving. He was comfortable, with the people he cared the most about, and doing what he loved. And that was all that mattered.

tagging: @jerzwriter @cariantha @kyra75 @gutsfics @inlocusmads @choicesficwriterscreations

#jensen valentine #bryce lahela × jensen valentine #bryce lahela #open heart #open heart mc #open heart choices #open heart fic #open heart fanfiction #choices fanfic #choices pixelberry

[fruitcoops]

First Burn

Fic O'Ween Day 4: Bonfire! This is part of a firefighter/ EMT AU that I said I would write about a year ago (oops), and it fit this prompt too well to pass up. Character credit goes to @lumosinlove!

TW implied sexual content, mentioned injury (not to any main characters), intense flirting

“This feels a little heavy on the irony,” Remus mused.

Next to him, Sirius took a long drink of his beer with a wry half-smile. “What, having a bonfire party for a bunch of people who run into burning buildings on the reg? Just a bit.”

“I don’t run into burning buildings,” Remus corrected. Something hotter than the embers warming his legs flared in his stomach when Sirius finished his drink and crushed the can easily beneath his thick-soled boot. God, I wish that were me.

“Best to leave that one to the professional whackjobs, eh?”

“Exactly.”

Sirius grinned at him, impish and altogether too attractive for someone Remus was absolutely not supposed to be into. Straight teeth, a crooked nose, one picture-perfect dimple just by his red lips—it was like Sirius had been manufactured just to drive him out of his mind. It didn’t help that Remus could see the flex of his broad shoulders even under a thick jacket to chase off the cold. He wanted to grip those shoulders. He wanted to lick them. He wanted to watch Sirius come apart.

Fuck, he really shouldn’t have let Leo talk him into a third beer.

Remus scrubbed a hand over the back of his neck and turned back to the fire, which hissed and popped in perfect ambience to the voices of his coworkers as they milled about. It was just Sirius and him by the fire, now; he caught a faint glimpse of Leo in the lanternlight, chatting up a lanky firefighter in a denim jacket. He was wearing what Remus had affectionately dubbed his ‘slut shirt’: a medium-sized tee with the EMT logo on it that looked more like an extra-small when stretched over Leo’s chest and arms. If he was looking to pull tonight, he definitely could.

And if Leo was doing it…

Remus snuck a glance at Sirius out of the corner of his eye. He was clearly relaxed, legs kicked out in front of him while he leaned back against the makeshift bench with hooded eyes. His cheeks and neck were pink from alcohol; his fucking massive hands toyed with one of the patches near the hem of his jacket. The firelight flickered off his cheekbones like it was made for it.

Don’t fuck your coworkers. An unspoken (and oft-broken) rule. Drama amongst hookups was the last thing they needed when saving lives. But it didn’t really count if it was Sirius, did it? After all, Remus wasn’t a firefighter. It would be a different story if he was thirsting for another EMT, and he took his job too seriously to risk that.

But here he was, thirsting hopelessly. He couldn’t even blame it on the beer. Sometimes life really did bite him in the ass.

One of half a dozen logs broke and sent up a cloud of sparks; they both jumped, Remus reaching instinctively to pull Sirius back from the edge of the bonfire. “Shit—”

“Easy, Lupin,” Sirius laughed. Remus felt something in his chest go ka-chunk and wondered briefly if he should consult Leo about that.

“I—your feet,” he managed lamely. “They were too close.”

Sirius held his gaze while he bent his long legs, still casual, still laid-back in a way Remus so rarely saw in their daily lives. “Better?” he asked, low and sweet.

Dry mouth. Caused by medications, radiation, frequent tobacco or alcohol use, or nerve damage. Remus swallowed. “Much.”

“You can let go if you want,” Sirius continued. That ridiculous grin curled at the corner of his mouth again. “I promise not to fall in.”

Remus looked between them and felt heat rise to his neck when he saw his hand twisted up in the sleeve of Sirius’ jacket. “Stop, drop, and roll if you do.”

“Thanks for the fire safety lesson, doctor.”

“Any time.” Was it just his imagination, or was Sirius sitting closer than he had been five minutes ago? Remus tilted his head toward the bonfire. “Figured you could use a refresher.”

“Not enough arsonists lately,” Sirius agreed. “And people are getting too good at remembering to turn their ovens off.”

Remus licked his lips and watched silver eyes track the movement. “There’s always room for ambulance drivers.”

“Can’t be too different than an engine.” It definitely wasn’t just Remus’ imagination anymore. One lean from either of them and their noses would be touching. In his periphery, he saw Leo wandering away from the picnic table with his redheaded catch in tow.

“Different enough.” Am I doing this? I’m doing this. Oh, god, I’m doing this. “Engines don’t usually have screaming people in them.”

There was the goddamn dimple again as Sirius held back a laugh. “Is that how you reel in all the boys, Lupin? Stories about screaming people in ambulances?”

“Only the ones I like.” It was a good thing Sirius was CPR-certified, because Remus could hear his heart pounding in his ears and it was not calming down.

“Sounds like you might have to show me how to drive, then.” Their shoulders brushed and Remus’ breath rushed out in the span of a second. Sirius ducked his head slightly. “If it’s that much different than an engine.”

He smelled good, like the smoke from the bonfire and whatever cologne always made Remus want to bash his face into the break room cupboards. You have reattached someone’s arm without throwing up. You can flirt with a hot boy. He hooked his finger in the leather band of Sirius’ bracelet and heard his breathing stutter. “Name your time.”

Dimple. Infuriating grin. Arch of one dark brow. “Tonight?”

Remus leaned close enough that his mouth brushed the lobe of Sirius’ ear. He felt him shiver. “You better not be on-call tomorrow morning, ‘cause you’re making me breakfast.”

“Deal,” Sirius breathed, and then he was gone, pulling Remus up with him in one quick motion before they were sprinting for his hatchback like the hounds of hell were at their heels. Remus was breathless with it, burning hotter than the fire they were leaving in the dust. Don’t fuck your coworkers*.

*Exceptions may occur.

#remus lupin #sirius black #leo knut #finn ohara #coops #lumosinlove #my fic #fanfic #bonfire #noot fest #fic o'ween 2022 #firefighter/ emt au

[charlottegeorgesheart]

Young Queen Charlotte, played by India Amarteifio, keeps to innocent pastels in her early scenes, but her colors grow bolder as her power does too.  (Liam Daniel/Netflix)

BY VALLI HERMAN

In the first minutes of the “Bridgerton” prequel “Queen Charlotte,” the namesake character complains heartily how her elaborate gown and its restrictive corset made of brittle and sharp whalebone means that if she moves too much, “I might be sliced and stabbed to death by my undergarments.”

Oh, dearest gentle reader, young Queen Charlotte hasn’t suffered in vain. Her every ensemble, and those of the show’s sizable cast, are crafted with such sumptuous detail, that surely all who view them would gladly have them suffer even more.

Even though period costumes are notoriously cumbersome, Emmy-winning costume designer Lyn Elizabeth Paolo and co-costume designer Laura Frecon dispel notions that the actors suffered much (thanks to light, modern fabrics and stretchy panels in their corsets). Still, the yearlong shoot in grand estates across the United Kingdom overlapped the pandemic lockdown and required worldwide sourcing. It seems that their brand of elegant finery was a tonic for distress, and a cause for celebration. The work, helped by a 220-person costume crew, has earned them a 2023 Emmy nomination for period costumes.

Replica undergarments were crafted from light, modern fabrics and stretchy panels to be slightly more comfortable than the actual period clothing. (Liam Daniel/Netflix)

“This [shoot] was challenging, but also joyful. Every time a piece of a costume would come back, it was, ‘Oh, my God! It looks better than we thought it would.’ There was a lot of joy there,” says Paolo, the longtime designer for other Shonda Rhimes productions, such as “Inventing Anna” and “Scandal.”

The six-episode costume drama on Netflix explores the early days of the difficult marriage of Queen Charlotte (India Amarteifio) and King George III (Corey Mylchreest). The fictionalized story of the actual royals takes place in two time periods — the Georgian era of the 1760s and the later Regency era in which “Bridgerton” is set — and includes key characters from the original show. There are several grand balls, a royal wedding and a coronation to wardrobe. No biggie.

Or so Paolo was led to believe.

“I remember Sara Fischer, who is head of production at Shondaland, called me and said, ‘Shonda has this idea for a small, intimate show. She really wants you to do it.’ And, what are you going to say?” recalls Paolo, who was a consultant on Season 2 of “Bridgerton.”

She invented a time-twisting concept inspired by Monet and Matisse paintings and modern fashion designers who themselves referenced historical costume such as John Galliano, Alexander McQueen, Moschino, Zuhair Murad and Christian Dior in his New Look era. Yet Paolo kept the silhouette appropriately Georgian.

“The pitch was, we kind of want it to look like a Met Ball … but to be slightly more on point with the period. We still wanted to have our own stylistic elements that would make sure that the modern eye understood the costumes,” Paolo says.

Corey Mylchreest as King George and India Amarteifio as Queen Charlotte all but sparkle in their lustrous clothing. (Nick Wall/Netflix)

“For the men, we had images of rock ‘n’ roll icons from the ‘70s and ‘80s. So a lot of images of Prince, the New Romantics and Adam Ant. All those people back then who had that pirate chic going on.”

That vision required a mostly custom-made wardrobe that sourced from London, Los Angeles, New York, Budapest and Spain. Jewelers Joseff of Hollywood, Manhattan’s Larkspur & Hawk and Italy’s Pikkio custom made the period jewelry and other adornments. British manufacturer James Hare supplied traditional fabrics as did a mill hours from London that wove custom fabrics. Smaller artisan shops focused on hand embroidery or a particular character.

“It was sort of a small army,” says Paolo, who relied on the organizational skills of Frecon. A giant calendar and flow chart helped them track the flow of work, particularly of the embroidered pieces, which were outsourced to UK specialists Twan Lentjes Creations, Beth Parry and Hattie McGill, whose Instagram accounts illustrate their handiwork.

Other members of the court stand out in patterned fabrics (on Tunji Kasim as Adolphus) and brightly colored gowns with hats (Arsema Thomas as Agatha Danbury).

“It’s so complicated,” Paolo says, describing a process of sample making, initial embroidery, further tailoring and additional hand embellishing before a pattern piece is ever fitted into a garment. Even fabric-covered buttons were embroidered.

The women’s gowns are especially intensive. The earlier dresses, from 1760 onward, required 13 to 20 yards of fabric and at least four weeks of construction; five if they’re heavily embellished. Each ensemble requires petticoats that can add five to 10 more yards each, plus a corset, a pannier (a cage-like underpinning), a padded bum roll, shoes, stockings and garters. The jewelry sets were matched to each costume and included rings, earrings, necklaces, bracelets and tiara-like hair jewelry that was fitted into fantastical wigs by hair and makeup designer Nic Collins.

With two sets of characters to dress in two different eras, the costume designers were careful to build visual continuity, typically with color. Young Queen Charlotte, for example, keeps to innocent pastels in her early scenes, but her colors grow bolder as her power does too. The designers cannot precisely count the number of costume changes, or quantify the number of pieces they used, only to say “in the thousands.” Paolo says Jeff Jur, director of photography, was on board to capture the spectacle and regularly texted her and Frecon to say, “‘I’m doing a full head-to-toe shot of this one.”

Still, it’s tricky to absorb all of the detail, even though it’s there on the hand-embroidered initials on a man’s handkerchief, or the restored antique jet beading and lace on Queen Charlotte’s mourning gown, or the Easter eggs, as Paolo calls the references she wove into many costumes, particularly those in the final episode, which features an astronomy-themed ball, hosted by the king and queen.

King George loves astronomy, so stars and moons are embroidered and beaded into their clothes. The ball was shot outdoors at night, which usually obscures costume details. Jur expertly lit the scene to illuminate the clothes that were so laden with sparkly bits that they twinkle.

Though the final episode was picked to submit for Emmy consideration, the choice was “brutal,” Paolo said. “It’s a huge group of amazingly talented people who all deserve recognition. If we are lucky enough to win, I would want 220 miniature ones to hand out to everyone.”

#queen charlotte: a bridgerton story #india amarteifio #corey mylchreest #queen charlotte #king george iii #charlotte x george #charlottegeorge #tunji kasim #arsema thomas #prince adolphus #lady danbury #netflix #!

[desperatelyseekingcannibals]

Pollinated (Marlana+Freddie) - short fic

Explicit // F/F, F/F/F // Freddie Lounds/Alana Bloom, Margot Verger/Alana Bloom, Freddie Lounds/Margot Verger/Alana Bloom // Tags: Canon, Season 3,  crime scene investigation, sex pollen, accidental/non-con infidelity, vaginal fingering, finger fucking, finger sucking, masturbation, nipple play, nipple sucking, thigh riding, voyeurism, squirting, tribbing, the morning after. Patreon Prompt Fill!

Things get interesting when some sex pollen turns up at a crime scene.

Latest installment on my @hannibalbingo card: Ménage à trois

Pollinated (3k words):

It had been years since Alana had been to a crime scene. Usually she was a strictly office based consultant. But this crime called for an in-situ evaluation, and she was only too aware that she was inevitably going to become Jack’s go to person now that Will had moved away and Hannibal was under her guard at BSHCI.

If anything, her experiences over the last couple of years had made her all the more attractive to the BAU. Unparalleled experiences and insight, Jack had said. He wasn’t wrong, but that didn’t make her any happier about it.

Alana grabbed her cane and stepped out of her car, walking carefully across the rough gravel of the parking lot, towards the activity at the treeline of the woods the lot edged onto.

“Jack?” She asked as she got closer and he stepped away from the crime scene team and towards her.

“Thanks for coming,” he said, to which she gave a curt nod.

“I’m meeting Margot for lunch,” she immediately curbed any further conversation and he nodded his understanding.

Jack turned and led the way into the trees, thankfully it wasn’t far and he was mindful of her having to make it through with a cane and on unsteady legs.

The crime scene itself wasn’t that notable. Nothing like those of the Ripper and any number of flamboyant killers that never quite reached his aesthetic heights. But Jack had been right to call her, there was a strangeness to it that wasn’t run of the mill.

“This one isn’t quite like the other five. Those were escalating. Each one laid out the same as this. This sort of ritualistic looking display,” he indicated the prostrate body in front of a small makeshift altar gathered from the trees around them. “We’ve found residue at each site, but not as much as there is at this one, tests have been inconclusive but we think it’s some sort of aphrodisiac.

“I’ve seen the photos,” Alana confirmed of the previous crime scenes that Jack had sent her after he called her. She could see the differences here. “The others look different, sacrificial but not in the same way as this.”

Jack was nodding, and just then the photographer moved back and the removal team came in to start carefully extricating the body from the ritualistic crime scene.

It was when they rolled the body over that it became clear. Attached to the front of the body was a bag, and instantly it fell open and several items fell out, including powder filled pouches. Quickly collected by the gloved hands of the team, but not before some of the residue puffed out and both Alana and Jack took a step back. She sighed heavily when some landed on the toe of her shoe.

“This is the killer, Jack.” Alana told him as she raised her hand up over her mouth and nose though the residue seemed to quickly dissipate a little above the ground. “The others were building to this, he was the final sacrifice.”

Jack nodded, and then signalled to one of the team. “Get him back to the lab, and check him for ID. Let’s trace next of kin and see whether they can shine any light on this.”

Continue reading on AO3

#Hannibal #Hannibal Bingo #marlana #margot verger #alana bloom #freddie lounds #murder wives #myfic

[bloodlessbhaalbabe]

Never Will Be, Always Was

Co-Authored by: @lotsofthinkythoughts and me

Beta'd by: @tatterings (Thank you, my dear)

Summary:

In the known tale of the Illithid invasion of Baldur's Gate, a valiant leader assembled a party designed to thwart the Netherbrain's threat. But, tales grow in the telling, and the truth can be stranger than fiction.

Enter Tav Atar, an ordinary elf with unpredictable magic surges who worked as an apothecary's apprentice in Baldur's Gate. All was well, until a Mindflayer's ship disrupted her simple existence.

Despite having no adventuring experience, Tav becomes the accidental leader of a ragtag group of misfits. With newfound friends and enhanced powers, she grapples with the responsibility of safeguarding their lives, and along the way finds that the most unique thing about her might not be her role in the crisis or the tadpole in her head.

Rating: Explicit (Eventually)

Words: 9,163

Relationship: Eventual Tav/Astarion, Tav/Halsin, Halsin/Astarion, and Tav/Astarion/Halsin (This is a polycule fic).

Art/Gif by me!

Read on AO3 and/or below:

Prologue

Early evening lamplight spilled across the cobbles of Baldur’s Gate, the deepening gloam kept at bay by the lamplighters running the streets to stay ahead of the dark. Beneath one of the freshly illuminated lamps a figure leaned, shoulders curled down as she consulted a ragged bit of parchment, mumbling softly to herself as she did.

“Why am I doing this again?” Tav muttered once her tally of herbs was complete, fingers clasped tight around the lightly enchanted vellum. She’d checked the list twice before heading back through the gates; this was the third time. She knew as certain as the setting sun, she had all that was requested and a few extras besides.

And yet, she was just as certain that once she entered the shop she’d recount the list a last time before speaking to her mentor.

With a sigh, she slipped the list of ingredients back into her hip-bag, where the ingredients themselves were stored neatly in bundles within impervious pouches of their own, and pushed away from the stone arch. The shop was near the bottom of the Markets, hidden in a little niche between a cooper and a cobbler. Pennyweather’s Potions and Allsorts had been there as long as Tav could recall. The thump when her father's head collided with the low hanging sign was a memory that lingered still.

She rubbed her arm through her linen sleeve as the memory faded. The cobbled streets turned uneven beneath her feet from years of market traffic as she passed into the Markets. The bustle of the city seemed louder tonight, a sign that perhaps she’d needed the quiet of the surrounding countryside more than she’d realized.

Then the timbre of the noise changed; a distant shout rolled closer, accompanied by a wave of footsteps. It was then that she noticed the evening crowd wasn’t milling about as one would expect on an early evening within Baldur’s Gate. The crowd seemed to be moving with purpose, swarming in her direction. She stretched up on her toes to catch a glimpse of what had caused the panic but in the rapidly deepening dark of evening, someone slammed into her shoulder. She tumbled to the ground in the center of the street with a hard crack against the cobblestones.

She blinked twice to gather herself against the sudden pain and rise to a standing position amidst the crush of people. She pulled her arms to her chest after a foot trampled one hand; she shifted to rise, only to be sent sprawling again. She curled into herself, not unlike a hedgehog trying to defend itself, her nose settling against her knees. Despite desperate attempts to see through the dust and blurred vision, all she accomplished were dry eyes and a deeper, dull thudding at the base of her skull. She couldn’t say how long she lay there, curled up, as feet knocked into her sides and panicked shouts rolled overhead. 

With nothing but pain pressing in on her, it felt like time passed like watching a cauldron boil, a stretch that lingered overlong and snapped just when it seemed  endless. And snap it did with the sudden realization that it all had stopped. One moment was heat and pain and noise, and in the next, the crowd had melted away as an otherworldly tentacle descended from the sky. Her vision cleared as it stretched out and touched her. A sick, unpleasant feeling swept over her; she sensed magic, but not her magic. This was something strange and other , pulling her unwillingly from one realm and slamming her, full force, into another. Her heart raced, rabbit-fast, as she peered about; something chitinous surrounded her, heavy, and dark, and strong. With all her strength, she slammed her fists into the glass in front of her and screamed. 

Nothing happened. The glass didn’t even shiver with movement. Though space was limited, she pulled back her hand to try again, but stilled at a sudden clicking sound. In the dim light of the pod, her elvish eyes struggled to see a dingy yellow smoke curling from the slats of a grate at her feet. She stretched up, pushing against the top of the tiny pod to claw free, to find a gasp of fresh air. But her vision clouded as she felt her arms falling limp at her sides.

There was only the dark, the soft hissing of the gas.

Then nothing at all.

*

Her head jostled as the pressure within the pod released. The glass door hissed open, an acrid, acid scent wafting heavily in the damp air in the room. She blinked, eyes heavy and pained from dust and the acid in the air. She noticed a bowl in the center of the room, filled with a yellow liquid and something that moved . She stared at the large bowl, until there was movement on the far side of the room. A scuffling sound followed, then a voice, but the tall figure between her and whoever spoke didn’t move. 

“No, no… please. Not again,” the voice called out, sounding scared and small, then desperate. “No! Don’t touch me. Get that thing off–” 

A wet, squelching noise echoed across the dim room, causing her to wince as it was interrupted by a reverberating scream. 

She tried to focus on the noise’s origin, squinting at the entity moving along the row of pods, but it stopped only a few feet from where it began. She could see something white being dragged across the floor, just out of her line of sight. She heard scratching and a rough grunt - whoever it was was trying to fight back, to escape. A stark moment of silence stretched after the voice let out another angry plea of “Let me go, damn you”. A distinct, ugly snap echoed to her left, bringing on the same wails as before. She knew that sound: the sound of crunched bones under strong force. She winced and bit the inside of her lip, her head slumped forward, mouth full of a taste of copper, pulling at the straps that bound her arms and legs tight as she attempted to fight the sluggishness of her body. 

The bonds held; she didn’t have the leverage or strength to break them. Not when she felt so very tired. What was in that gas? There were plenty of plants with soporific or weakening effects if prepared correctly and in the right combinations. But even if she had an answer, it would make no difference. Her limbs were bound so tightly that her fingers and toes felt the pinprick pains of lack of blood.

Another squelch, another scream- closer.. 

A great four-fingered claw pushed her back into her pod, its grip on her head forcing to face forward. In front of her, a tall creature loomed, a robe of black and silver covering its long body. Its head was a mass of slithering tentacles, trailing from a sharp-toothed maw nearly hidden within them. Orange eyes bored into her with a malice she could hardly comprehend. The creature’s brain pulsed visibly beneath thin purple skin. She had never seen one up close, but she’d heard the stories, read the novels: this was a Mind Flayer. 

It turned away from her for a moment before its empty, malicious gaze returned, and that same long hand rose above her. A writhing worm-like beast shifted in its hand. With a flare of hot nausea, she understood what had happened to the others. 

The tadpole landed on her cheek, slick and wet, and smelling so strongly of the acid it was all she could do to keep herself from vomiting as she attempted to shake it off her skin. The creature crawled slowly up her face and paused directly in front of her eye, rearing up. The mouth of this tadpole opened up wide, hundreds of sharp tiny teeth appearing as it squealed and lunged at her eye socket, slithering and burrowing until it found a home deep within her brain. 

Nausea ran through her again. Her jaw clenched through the unbearable pressure in her skull, and against the way the tadpole’s screech echoed in her ears still. The glass door closed once again, leaving her alone in the growing darkness. As her consciousness softened under the whispering hiss of the gas, she wondered if the screaming was her own. 

*

She was abruptly ejected from the pod. Her body hit the warm keratinous floor and slid into the basin that held the parasites with a solid thump . Tav groaned, rubbing at her back where it collided with the solid base. She blinked a few times before sitting up. 

Pink fleshy tendrils swung from the walls and ceilings, strangely organic for a structure of this size. Fire erupted from a loose section of flooring to one side of her. She flinched away as the grinding of warped, overheated material shook the foundations of the room. The other wall had been ripped away, wind whipping through the gap with a whistling shriek. She stood, shaking her head to clear it as the flames burned strong around the room and the ominous creaking grew louder. Along one wall, several pods lay empty, all identical save for the various states of damage. A spark of hope pierced through her like a lance of light through darkness. Perhaps there could be other survivors. 

To her right, a body of a mind flayer lay, long dead from blunt trauma. She knelt down to pat down the pockets of the creature’s dark robes, and after a long moment, pulled away with a potion (a quick sniff that had a salty, gamey smell all but shouted ‘Speed Potion’ at her) and a strange orb that she couldn’t identify. A sudden fear seized her brain until her fingers wrapped around the bag of holding still at her hip. Inside were her ingredients, only a day old, and yet it seemed years ago. She reached into the leather pouch, up to her elbow, to tuck away the potion and, after a moment of consideration, let the strange orb lay alongside it for now. Sighing and stretching her back, feeling the bruise that was surely growing there, she pushed herself to her feet.

She stepped toward the great hole, toward the only natural light she’d seen since her abduction. As she drew nearer, she realized the light was the glow of miles of hellfire raging below.

They must be in Avernus somehow, but how and why? The thought crossed her mind but was ripped from it quickly as the whole ship jolted beneath her. She threw a hand out as she stepped back to regain her footing, and it landed on the edge of the basin. Under the barest pressure, the basin crumbled, flooding the floor with amniotic fluid. She shuffled back to avoid the yellow liquid. It splashed against her shoes, but despite the acidic smell, it didn’t burn against the leather. 

Her hand reached up to wipe at her cheek where the tadpole had crawled up earlier. The skin was undamaged and dry. Dozens of little parasites lay motionless in the puddle. A flare of anger shot through her and before she’d given it much thought, her booted foot came down, stomping the tadpoles into viscous liquid. Over and over again, she slammed her feet down, until none of the parasites were more than a swipe of white flattened against the floor. None of them would get the opportunity to inhabit a host. 

She tried not to think about the one wedged behind her own eye. 

She peered out of the gaping wall, grabbing the cracked spaces where they seemed least likely to cut her palms to ribbons. There was nothing beneath the nautiloid, nothing but leagues of distance between this ship and hellfire. Even over the raging of the wind whipping against her ears, she heard a roar.

She turned back, crossing the sticky floor again, towards the only part of the wall that didn’t look half-crumbled or licked by flames. It was a large round door, made up of fleshy panels that made her stomach squirm unpleasantly. But, it was her only option, outside of jumping off a moving ship from who knows how high up into the hells. She squared her shoulders, heading toward the opening and hopefully, deeper into the ship.  The muscular door contracted and widened itself to be large enough for her to pass through without touching it, the smallest of favors in this infernal day. 

Through the passageway, she found a similar round room; the walls were covered in shiny pulsating brains, nerves stretching out through every structure. Several green jars filled with brains of various sizes were scattered all over the room. A goblin laid upon a surgical table, to one side of the room, and she rifled through its pockets though the search only turned up a few gold pieces. Still, it would be better than nothing if she could just manage to get off the ship alive. 

At the center of this room stood a platform with an odd control panel, a glowing red button wreathed in fronds like an anemone. She looked around, searching for any explanation of what it was and where it might go, but without any helpful manuals on the operation and construction of Mind Flayer ships, the only real option was to simply approach it and press the button. When she did, her palm came away covered in a sticky residue.

“Cursed to put my hands on everything,” she muttered under her breath, wiping her palm on her opposite sleeve as the platform lurched into motion and rose up to the terrace above. 

The first thing she saw was blood. Whatever this terrace was for, it hadn’t been kind. Behind a pillar to the left, she could see a greying and blood-caked hand beneath a foot in a similar state. Corpses. A stack of them. 

She noticed a pale body strapped to a chair made of the same material as the walls and floor on the other side of the terrace. His head, topped with curls as pale as his skin with pointed ears peeking out, leaned forward. All four of his limbs were strapped down by tendrils covered in chitinous plates. It was a strange and grim apparatus, much like the rest of the ship.  

She approached the man, gently tilting his head back with shaking hands. He’d not gone grey like the bodies behind the pillar. Her fingers trembled as they found purchase on his neck, pressing and feeling for a pulse. She couldn’t feel anything, but the memories of the few basic lessons she’d had with the healer who set her patients to Master Jarkles slipped away.

Please, please don’t be dead. She thought, pressing her fingers against his neck again, the pad of one finger catching on a raised scar there. She frowned, and though she knew it was unlikely to tell her anything her inability to find a pulse hadn’t, she pressed her lips against his forehead, icy cold under her skin. For a split second, nothing happened. Then the man suddenly thrashed to the side, making her fall back onto her rear. 

“Don’t touch me!” He shouted at her wild eyed and angry, before pausing and looking at her, still sitting on the floor. His eyes, color indiscernible in the dim light, narrowed at her. “Did… did you just kiss my forehead?”

“Oh! Thank the gods. You are alive! I thought I kissed a dead body.” She felt a flush creep up her cheeks, cast her gaze at the floor, before inhaling and settling her shoulders. “It’s to check your temperature. You get a more accurate reading…I think. I don’t know, I’m afraid my healing experience is limited.” 

“Why didn’t you check my pulse? Or try just saying ‘hello’ for starters?” 

She shifted toward his feet as she spoke, the ache in her back reasserting itself. “I was checking your pulse! I couldn’t - oh, I don’t know, alright. Today’s just been really stressful and I’m not thinking straight.” She sighed, rubbing the heels of her palms against her eyes before catching the trapped man’s gaze. 

Something lurched inside Tav’s brain, a squirm and writhe before connecting to something in his mind - followed by a rushing sensation like a river breaking its banks. Her head ached with an unfamiliar pressure, then suddenly, she wasn’t on the ship. Instead, she was surrounded by darkness, wrapped in shadows like a cloak with a sharp lance of something coursing through her. Before she could place it, a series of images swept her up, accompanying a torrent of sensations she could make little sense of: a glint of moonlight on a knife blade and the heft of a coin purse hitting her palm, the sound of voices on dimly lit cobblestone streets, the feeling of glass beneath her fingertip as she ran it along the rim of a half full glass of wine in a secluded tavern corner. And beneath it all, a heavy twist of fear. 

Just as abruptly as the connection happened, it pulled back, wrenching her into her own mind once more. She leaned back heavily, using her hands to support herself against the release of the phantom pressure. Blinking twice, she shook her head against the tingling aftershock of the unintentionally psionic connection. 

“What in the hells was that?” He asked, head snapping to the side, breaking their eye contact.

“I don’t know. I think it has something to do with the tadpoles they… implanted.” She winced at her own wording, and suppressed a shudder before exhaling heavily as she steadied herself. 

He turned back to her, looking at her sharply. Tav looked up at him from her position on the floor, feeling pinned beneath his gaze. A moment later he sighed. 

“Of course,” he said, voice threaded with resignation. The ship shuddered, and his expression changed, and he spoke again, tone as sharp as his gaze had been before. “Well, don’t just sit there!”

Tav blinked twice before shifting toward his feet. “Right, right. Sorry.” The tendrils wrapped around his limbs were unlike anything she’d ever seen before. She searched for anything that might serve as a latch. She glanced up at him. “This might take a moment to make sense of… this. Besides, you told me not to touch you.”

He let out a huff of exasperation. 

“By the gods… Obviously, I didn’t know if you were one of those tentacle freaks with your mouth attached to my forehead. Get me out of here!” 

“Alright, alright. It would be much simpler if these were just ropes - I’d have some idea what to do with those.” 

“Have experience with that sort of thing, do you?” The elf smirked. She raised an eyebrow at the comment before returning to searching the tendril for a weakness. 

“I’m not nearly drunk enough for that conversation, especially given we haven’t exchanged names yet.” At the base of the tendril, she spotted a fleshy spot slightly wider than her thumb. Tav shoved her thumb against it, wrinkling her nose at the sticky feeling, but as she pulled back, the tendril recoiled. With a triumphant grin, she repeated the motion on the other side before moving up to deal with his arms. 

“I’m Tav, by the way,” she said, as she pressed against the last weak spot. 

“I’m Aahhh–” He yelped. “Watch it! Those bastards broke my arm when dragging me away.”

“I’m sorry. I don’t know any other way to get rid of these… whatever they are.” She pulled her hands back, into a stance of surrender as he stood, cradling his arm against his chest. 

“Yes, well-” He shifted his good shoulder in a careless shrug. “I’m Astarion.”

She frowned at the sight of him protecting his injury and looked around, grimacing at the thought of having to sift through the bodies behind her. 

“What are you doing?” Astarion asked, stepping closer to her. 

“Looking for something I can use to splint your arm. Though I’ll have to find a knife before I’ll have any cloth to bind it.”

“You can’t find a pulse, but you can splint an arm? Forgive me if I don’t trust your healing knowledge.”

On instinct, her hand went to her hip as she turned to glare at him. “Do you have a better plan?”

“Getting off this godsdamned ship as soon as possible and finding a real healer.”

“A lovely thought, but one step at a time,” She said, tilting her head at the lift she’d used to reach the landing, before crossing to it and pressing the mechanism to lower them back down to the main floor. The red glow of the button glinted off the pommel of the dagger at Astarion’s side, and she pulled it from its sheath with one quick motion. 

“Hey!” He reached out to grab for the dagger with his bad arm as she walked away toward the dead goblin on the table near the entrance of the room. He groaned, and she could hear the whisper of fabric rubbing against itself as he supported it with his good arm again. “You could ask, you know?” 

Ignoring the note of resignation in his voice, she cut into the goblin’s clothing, using the knife to rip the rough seams of the leather jerkin. She pulled the thin leather panel from the corpse, examining it to make sure it was long enough, before  tying it up into a sling. “It’s no splint, but Master Jarkles would appreciate the quick thinking.” 

“That smells like death.” He grimaced as she put it over his head, sliding his arm neatly into the fold. “Now can we find a way out of here?” 

Tav frowned distastefully. “Wow, thank you , Tav. It’s so nice of you, a stranger , to not only release me from captivity, but find a temporary solution for my injured arm. You’re so nice and pretty, Tav .” She said in an obviously mocking tone, coupled with an exaggerated head wobble and hand gestures.

She slid his dagger back into its sheath, moving around him before he could respond, and glazing around the room one last time. With a sigh, she approached the opposite side of the chamber. Her long, braided hair flowed behind her as gusts of hot wind poured through the shattered walls. The sides of the ship had peeled away from impact. The aortic valves and ligaments of the living ship quivered in the exposed heat of hellfire. Shreds of webbed muscle fibers and arterial mesh decorated the remaining chitinous ledge, and in the distance below, she could see, the ship’s tenticular appendages snap and writhe, guiding the vessel forward like oars.

A bellowed screech floated overhead as a red dragon swooped into view. Its hot, fiery breath pelted the shell of the ship, as Tav ducked behind a fallen piece of wall to stay out of sight. The unprotected flesh curls into itself, sizzling and snapping as if placed on a griddle. Neither dragon nor rider noticed Tav or Astarion crouched in the wreckage of the ship as they passed, clearly set on another target. Peering around the fallen wall, she could see the fire was matched a moment later with beams of purple, psionic energy, bombarding the hardened skin of the dragon. A slow moment passed, one heartbeat then two, but the dragon made no sign of doubling back. Tav exhaled heavily and took a few cautious steps forward onto the ledge. The yawning fiery expanse of Avernus stretched beneath them. She turned to glance behind her, checking that her new ally was still following. He stood two paces behind her, but his gaze wasn’t on the path ahead, but instead on the ledge above them. 

Her gaze shifted up, catching sight of a figure just as it leapt into motion, lunging off the ledge with catlike grace, somersaulted overhead to land in front of her. Before Tav managed to even take a breath, the figure pressed the point of a blade against her neck. Her hand curls outward on instinct, a spell flickering energy across her fingertips, ready to defend herself.

Swallowing nervously, she found herself staring into yellow eyes. Beneath them was a smear of black warpaint, a dramatic sweep against green skin. Her ears swept up into tall dramatic points, and the outer curves were marked by a serrated texture like the lacinia of some leaves. She’d never seen a gith in person before, but before she could think any farther something shifted. The moment of eye contact had been enough to trigger the tadpole once again; that same blinding pressure and sensation of writhing before connection rushed through her quickly enough to make Tav stagger back a step. The feeling tingled like pins and needles as the visions swept over her. 

Flashes of another world flicked by: floating in the spatial abyss atop a dead god, the beat of dragon’s wings, the sight and sound of battle, silver swords clashing, blood spraying, then her own face, lit by the dim orange glow of hellfire below as her eyes widened and her hands went to her temples, singing one side with a brush of magical discharge. Then the connection pulled back, and the gith woman met her gaze once more. 

“What was that?” The woman hissed, her sword lowering as she regained her balance. “I saw– I saw your mind. Memories that did not belong to me. You are no thrall.” 

“No, not a thrall. But I saw your mind as well. I believe we may have connected through the tadpoles somehow.” 

“Regardless, Vlaakith blesses me this day! I have seen the power you bury within yourself. She has granted me a formidable ally. Together we might survive.”

“I’m Tav.” She held out her hand in greeting. The Githyanki glared at her extended palm. Tav lowered it sheepishly, twisting her fingers against her traveling clothes.

“ Tsk’va , I do not have time for pleasantries. We must get to the helm and take control of this ship. It is the only way we might make it out of here.” She paused and took a moment to eye Astarion over, her gaze settling on the makeshift sling with disdain. “However, I would leave the infirm one behind, he is useless in battle, and will only slow us down.” 

“Infirm?!  Excuse me, I am injured, not useless!” Astarion retorted, his free hand dramatically shifted to his hip, fingers near the pommel of his dagger. 

“ Chk , a real warrior would not coddle something as trivial as a broken bone. But if it is as you say, you will get the chance to prove yourself. We must exterminate the imps ahead. They are blocking the only way forward.” 

Tav nodded and led the group toward the imps in the next corridor. She crouched low, though there wasn’t much cover to hide behind. However, it seemed that it was unnecessary. Only three of them remained after the attack on the mindflayers and their thralls. The devilish heads buried in the bodies of the fallen, gnawing the flesh down to the bone, painted a gruesome picture of the attack. Tav watched them for a moment, hearing the crunch of bone and wet sound of muscles tearing as the imps feasted. She looked at the gith and Astarion, fingers clenching around the center of her quarterstaff, watching as they drew their blades. They both watched her closely. The gith shifted her weight forward with barely restrained momentum, and it was then that she realized they were waiting for her word. Nerves bloomed in the pit of her stomach, a sick twisting feeling at the realization, but she nodded and motioned at the imps.

Their new, green, bloodthirsty friend charged in, unleashing her fury onto an imp in the center, her longsword cutting a wide swathe around her and nearly cleaving the creature in half. Droplets of blood sprayed outward in an arc, as she swung. Astarion ducked  swifty beneath her blade as another imp screeched and lunged toward him. With his free hand, he turned and stabbed it in the back as he slipped past. Tav shifted forward to the gith’s other side, both hands tight around her quarterstaff as she lifted it up and brought it down on the center of the imp’s head, crushing its skull. It fell to the ground with a thump.

With the imps out of the way, Astarion wiped his dagger clean of the imp’s blood on the shirt of one of the dead thralls. “See? I don’t need two hands to spill blood,” He said, with a flourish and a little flip of the blade before catching it with the same hand. 

The warrior didn’t reply, merely glaring and putting away her blade, but Astarion didn’t seem bothered. Tav said nothing, opting instead to check the pockets of the bodies left behind, placing all the valuables, and a spare knife or two, inside her bag. 

“Seems like we have a little thief among us,” Astarion teased as he leaned over her, tucking away his dagger.

“I‘m just trying to be prepared. I think we’re in Avernus. Who knows what will happen if we get out of this plane and off this ship. I’m not going to be left without anything to at least barter with.” Tav retorted, dropping a few health potions in with the rest of it. “Besides, I’m not sure it counts as thieving if they’re dead.”

“We have no time for idle prattle. We must reach the helm.” The gith said, 

Tav pushed herself up, closing her bag. “Alright, alright. Hopefully we don’t encounter anything else before we get there.”

Around the corner of the corridor, the hallway opened up into a fully intact, suspended platform. 

An ominous pulsating chamber glowed in the center of the room, rising from the level below.The light was a hellish red giving the whole chamber a grim cast. Five beds were evenly distributed around it, attached by ligamental sinews, strange and fleshy, but glowing with the same light of the central chamber. And in the space directly in front of them, was a console, chitinous and unpleasant, with three large buttons with a gelatinous sheen, and large placards with a script she couldn’t parse above them. It hummed with an unpleasant energy, psionic and prickling. Tav approached the console, her companions at her back. From the corner of her eye, she could see Astarion reach his hand out to the gelatinous structure, and on instinct she reached out and smacked it away. He pulled his hand back to his chest, glaring. 

“Don’t press any buttons unless you know for sure what they do.” She scolded him and he sighed, rolling his eyes. 

“You’re no fun.” 

Unable to make any sense of the console, she moved closer to the first of two thralls who lay unconscious on the beds. As Tav approached them, it was clear they were beyond help. Dark sunken shadows stood out surrounding their eyes, but the unnatural chill of their skin verified it. 

She opened her mouth to comment, to say something to assuage the grim despair building within her. It felt hopeless, though she wasn’t ready to give up. Her thoughts were interrupted by  soft thuds and muffled screaming coming from the side of the room. Tav whirled around, all put running toward the sound, seeing a pod tucked behind a pillar with a woman trapped inside. 

“Get me out of here! Please!” The woman begged. Tav inspected the pod, searching for a latch or button, for any sort of weakness in the shell of it. She could find nothing that looked vaguely familiar, and luck wasn’t in her favor as it had been before. 

“We don’t have time for stragglers,” The Githyanki hissed, “We must escape. Leave her!” 

Tav whipped around to face the impatient warrior, her braid flying wildly enough that Astarion had to lean back so as not to be caught by it. "Fine.” She said, gesturing toward the doors on the other sides of the room. “Go right ahead on your own, but I'm not leaving anyone behind without at least trying to help." 

Tav rested her palm upon the console next to the pod, feeling the prickle of psionic energy once more. She pushed forward, a singular thought, willing it with all her might: Open.

The device didn’t respond, feeling strangely empty and disconnected. 

“Oh, I’m not allowed to touch anything, but you can just poke and prod at anything you want.” Astarion sneered dramatically. 

Tav sighed, feeling stretched and thin by fighting and the day and now the snappish responses from her companions. Her magic already was welling in her fingertips from where she’d tried to connect to the console. She turned, dragging her fingers across the console, feeling the bite of the uneven texture against them. 

“Astarion, not now. I think I can open this. I just need a… connection of some sort.” Tav paused when her fingers hit an empty spot within the console and turned to see it was a rectangular slot. She shifted so he could see it. “Look for something that might fit into this, please? I’ll try to see if I can magic her out of this.” 

Astarion groaned, and wandered away while Tav reached out with her magic properly, trying to navigate and override the system. The console took hold, much like the tadpole connections had, but there were no images or feelings, only a feeling deep in her mind, like pulling tendrils of her soul apart like petals from a flower. With a shout, she let go of the connection, reeling two steps back, before the machine could take more than what she was willing to give. 

"What are you doing? Get this open!" The woman shouted, desperation clear in her voice as she continued endlessly beating her fists against the glass.

"Listen, I'm trying not to kill you, so I suggest letting me focus!" Tav growled, as she squared her shoulders and approached the console again. Tav inhaled, hands raising as she prepared to cast, but was interrupted as Astarion returned. He looked even paler than before, his eyes taking on a quality Tav could only call haunted, but in his palm, he held a key and a rectangular rune. 

“That might work.” She said, reaching for the rune.

He didn’t respond, gaze set firmly on the pod and console. 

“What did you find?” She asked softly, fingers curling about the stone in her hand as she suppressed the urge to ask what was wrong. 

“Don’t press any of the buttons if you don’t know what they do,” He repeated to her, finally looking her in the eye. Tav crossed her arms, waiting for a more thorough explanation. “I saw it. I saw what happens to us if we don’t get these tadpoles out of our heads. It’s… awful.” 

Tav frowned, It wasn’t a surprise really, that whatever the tadpoles would do would be bad, but the last thing they needed was more stress. She sighed and turned back to console. “Then we better get a move on. We only have so much time.” 

She slotted the rune into the console, and it lit up, the weak thread of psionic energy that she’d been connecting to before growing in intensity as the console hummed. Tav laid her hand upon the glowing orb and reached out with her thoughts again. The tadpole writhed at the connection, burrowing itself deeper into her mind. It was a biting feeling, but it carried with it a strange feeling of contentment followed immediately by a gut wrenching sense of unease. But all of that paled in comparison to the sense of utter uninfringed authority that flowed over Tav. She clung to the feeling as she made her way back through the psionic pathways of the system, willing the pod to open, until a click resonated through her thoughts, proving the pod was now open. She opened her eyes, to see the pod’s shell open with a hiss, and the woman fell to the floor. Tav pulled back her hand, severing the already waning connection, a residual tickle of psionic energy shivering down her spine. She shook her head to ground herself, and reached out to help the stranger up from the ground. 

“Thank you, I thought that pod was going to be my coffin-” The woman said, as their tadpoles connected, flitting through a strong feeling of gratefulness, but above all else the overwhelming desire to survive. The connection ended nearly as soon as it started, almost as though the woman was capable of pushing it out of her mind. Tav looked at her curiously, she had a cut running across her brow, and her hands were bruised from beating against the sealed pod. 

The woman didn’t seem to notice Tav’s inspection. She patted herself down and looked around her, before peering into the pod, and pulling out a conch-like ball and sliding it into her pack. 

“What’s with the spiky ball?” Tav asked, eyebrows raised. 

“Listen, I appreciate you saving my life, but I suggest minding your own business.” The woman said sharply, before pausing and sighing. “I’m sorry. Today has been long and overwhelming to say the least. I’m Shadowheart.” 

“Tav. This is Astarion and… Well, I don’t know her name actually? She’s not one for formalities.” 

“ Chk .” the Githyanki spat, already edging away from the group. Shadowheart nodded in their direction and cast healing word onto herself, her cuts healing over in the wash of soft blue light.

A cleric of some kind then. Certainly useful, since right now they had all of a handful of health potions to their name and whatever she could manage to make once they were out of the hells and off the ship. Assuming she’d be alive to do so at any rate. 

"Would you mind sharing some of that with Astarion? He had his arm broken." Tav suggested pointing at Astarion’s limp arm in the sling. 

“I’m not sure I trust your judgment in finding me a proper healer.” Astarion turned and cast a downward glance at Shadowheart. 

Tav clenched her jaw and took a deep breath, opening her mouth to say something, but closed it instead, walking away to disperse the rising heat that was flowing through her. She’d thought the feeling was because of where they were before, but now she knew better. She walked away, taking a half circle of the room around the glowing pillar, unaware of the trail of steaming, mossy foot prints she left behind. 

From the corner of her eye, she could see Astarion and Shadowheart both glance at the ground before looking at each other, and then the gith, who had not moved, her arms still firmly crossed as she stood still as a statue.  

“I could always just leave you to suffer if you’d like?” Shadowheart chirped after a moment of silence, and Astarion begrudgingly stretched his broken arm out toward her. She grabbed his forearm and flipped it up, pulling a yelp out from Astarion before her healing energy set into his aching bones. “Oops, did that hurt? I’ll be more gentle next time.” 

Tav rubbed at her temples, wondering if it was this day that was cursed or perhaps just her. She exhaled deeply, before watching her new companions again. Now was not the time to dwell on curses. She watched as Astarion smirked a little, clearly pleased as he massaged his forearm. Shadowheart checked her shoulder into his when she walked away, settling next to Tav.

“Finally!” The gith exclaimed. “You all act like petulant children. No self-preservation in sight. Now let’s go.” 

*

After a moment to check the pockets of the dead prisoners, and to unlock a chest with the other key Astarion had found, they were off, traveling down the strange fleshy corridors. They were more intact than any they’d encountered before, which could only be taken as a good sign. Or at least, Tav hoped so. The farther they wandered through the halls of the ship, the more the ship creaked and listed to the side. They were running out of time. 

Finally they came to a large empty room, clearly an antechamber of some sort, with only one other door. They’d reached the last change to gather themselves before the helm. 

The gith seemed to notice that too, stopping and issuing a command not unlike a general on a field of battle. “Once we are inside the helm, do as I say.”

Shadowheart scoffed at the order. “Who put you in charge? I’ll trust my own judgment.” 

“Unless you have experience fighting ghaik it would behoove you to listen to my superior knowledge.”

“Superior- !” Shadowheart reeled back, face contorted into a dark sneer.

The ship shook violently again, as Astarion cut in. “As delightfully catty and entertaining as this is, I don’t think we have the time.”

Neither of the women said anything, still glaring at one another, but they turned toward the door to the helm. 

“Wait!” Tav cried out, flipping open the bag of holding and shoving her arm into it. She thought first of the items she’d added to it as they’d traversed the ship, and withdrew her hand as a dagger materialized within. “Here,” she said, transferring it to her other hand and holding it out for Astarion to take, “You have two good hands now; two knives seems better than one.” 

Even as she spoke she was reaching into the bag, thinking very clearly of one of the sealed containers of ingredients from before this whole nightmarish sojourn. A heavy glass container weighed down her hand as she attempted to maneuver it free. As soon as Astarion took the dagger from her other hand, she used it to support the container, flipping the hinged lid back, and pulling out two bundles of dried weavemoss. Holding them between her fingers, she closed the container and slipped it back into the bag.

“We do not have time for plants!” The gith warrior said, almost petulant in her desire to get to the helm.

Tav could hardly blame her impatience. Their chances of escape would crumble around their ears, unless they took control soon. 

“If you want us to be useful in any sort of fight,” Tav said to her, gesturing at Shadowheart and herself. “I suppose I shouldn’t speak for her, but today has been the worst sort of day and using magic is tiring. This will help.”

She proffered one of the bundles to Shadowheart, who took it with a skeptical look. “What is it?”

“Weavemoss. It helps with arcane focus and casting. It works best if distilled into a vitriol and combined with a sublimate, but we don’t have the time for that. Chewing it as is will help more than nothing.” 

All three of the others stared at Tav, and she felt herself start to blush under the scrutiny. So as to avoid thinking about it, she popped her own bunch of purple moss into her mouth and began to chew. It was crumbly and bitter, with a strange zing to it that could not be quantified as anything but the flavor of magic. The magical heat that had banked a little as they’d journeyed through the corridors of the ship flared again, not pressing, simply present. 

Shadowheart wrinkled her nose as she watched her chew, but nodded eventually. “Alright, I suppose we can use every advantage we can get.” 

With a grimace, the dark haired woman popped the moss in her mouth and chewed. After a moment she shook her head. 

“That’s absolutely vile.”

Tav shrugged. “Most potions and their ingredients are.” 

“Are you finished now?” The gith’s stare all but pinned Tav to the floor. 

“I don’t have anything else useful in the bag of tricks, no.” 

“To battle then.”

“I certainly won’t say no to some revenge,” Astarion added, now with a dagger in each hand. 

And with that, they headed through the door. 

On the other side a battle raged, two mindflayers locked in combat with two cambions, hell boars, and imps. Directly in front of them, the first of the mindflayers swooped backwards, out of range of the cambion’s flaming blade. Farther into the room, the other mindflayer loomed behind a cambion, suddenly lunging forward and wrapping its tentacles around its horns and jaw. The tentacles pulled the creature’s head back sharply as the mindflayer set its mouth to the trapped skull with a wet squelch. It let out a pulsating sound, one that made Tav’s jaw clench, as it pulled back. But immediately, it was swarmed by a group of imps, slashing at its purple skin with hellish claws. 

It fell in a crumpled heap and the imps scattered, slipping around the battle at the center of the room. The remaining mindflayer let free a bright purple blast of psionic magic. The cambion was shoved backward, arms spread wide as he slid across the floor. 

The mindflayer turned to the group, orange eyes glowing as it spoke, voice reverberating in Tav’s skull as the tadpole writhed again. ”Thrall. Connect the nerves of the transponder. We must escape. Now!” 

It gestured at a console on the far side of the room, bluish tendrils extending from both the ceiling and the console on the ground. The tendrils were capped by wide flat ends with thorned edges that curled up. Behind the disconnected tendrils, the light of Avernus flooded in through broken windows.

“We should do as he says and deal with him once we are out of battle,” the gith shouted over the roar of the ship’s engine and the wind rushing through the shattered helm windows.  

After a glance at the others, giving them each a nod, Tav inhaled sharply, her heart hammering as she began to move, flinging a flame bolt at an imp as it dropped toward her from the ceiling. It let out a screech as the flames licked through the skin of its wings, dropping to the ground like a stone.  A squealing was all the warning any of them received as a hell boar charged toward the group, its eyes and tusks glowing like embers. 

“Watch out!” she shouted, instinct kicking in as she leapt just in time to avoid the tusk goring her calf, staggering as she landed, and turning to check on the rest of the group. 

To one side, a silvery dagger flew through the air and landed firmly in the neck of an imp, stopping its chittering laugh. A gurgle of blood emptied from the wound as Astarion pulled the blade from the creature’s neck. Without breaking his stride, he turned and ran full tilt in her direction. 

A bellowing cry shifted Tav’s attention to the gith warrior as she buried her sword deep into the spine of the hell’s boar. So far, in fact, that it burst out the other side of the creature and wedged  itself into the chitin floor. She yanked, but to no avail, another imp rushed down toward her, the crackle of flame sparking in its claws.

“Incandus!”

The shout stopped the imp before it could strike, engulfing the creature in a radiant golden flame from Shadowheart’s outstretched hand. The creature made no sound as it disintegrated, leaving behind nothing but a flutter of ash in the hot wind coursing through the helm.

“Change of plans!” Tav said, as Shadowheart ran up beside her with the gith on her heels. “Can you make him drop his sword?” she said, tilting her head at the cambion.

Shadowheart’s eyes narrowed, but she nodded. “Yes.”

“Do it.” 

She turned to their disarmed warrior. “When it falls, you should take it. Then we break for the transponder.” 

Yellow eyes stared at her grimly for a long moment, interrupted only by the sound of the battle between the cambion and mindflayer. “Very well.”

Tav bounced on her toes, gripping her quarterstaff in both hands. “Are you sure now is the time to be indulging your penchant for loot?” Astarion hissed in her ear. “I think giving the strongest among us a blade is the right idea, yes.” 

She looked to Shadowheart and nodded. The dark-haired cleric stretched her hand out, calling out an incantation over the howling of the wind. With a clatter, the flaming blade fell to the floor at the cambion’s feet, just as the mindflayer unleashed another wave of psionic energy. 

“Time to move!” Tav shouted. The gith sprinted forward, her hand wrapping around the hilt of the sword, hefting it up as she sprinted toward the transponder, falling in with the rest of them. They made it up the stairs to the landing where the console sat, only to see a dragon swoop by, its roar only muffled by the sound of the wind. 

More hellish creatures charged in from the shadows. The imps and the hellboar were easily dispatched as they ran, but it was too late - the cambion had called for allies. With three cambions and a mindflayer on their heels, there was little any of them could do but throw spells as they ran. It barely slowed them down, and they had to scatter to the sides until Tav was alone in the center, enemies advancing on her. 

Tav could feel the tingling of electric heat in her fingers again, and knew it wouldn’t abate. She squeezed her eyes shut and reached out, her hand making contact with the console of the transponder. The energy inside her grew, roiling near the surface now, the magic that was so deeply a part of her that she couldn’t access or control. 

She inhaled raggedly, attempting to hold off just a moment longer as her hands reached behind her to pull two of the tendrils together. She stared down the enemies bare feet from her. Tiny sparks crackled from the tips of her fingers.

“What are you doing! Connect the damned things and get us out of here!” Astarion shouted, and she turned in the direction of his voice. Her eyes widened in panic as her vision clouded. An inky phthalo green cast over her irises, shadowing and pulling at the color of the previously silver pools. Blackness seeped from the edges of deep green and enveloped the whites of her corneas. Her pupils dilated as her magic surged within her irradiating and glowing.

Astarion took a step back, his brows furrowed in surprise, watching as Tav became enveloped in clouds of radiant neon energy, bleeding from every pore.

Her vision faded away entirely as the tendrils connected, and a floating feeling swept over her pulling her loose braid apart. A strong pulse of fire and lightning crackled through her, more insistent now. 

“Hold on to something!” she shouted, but in her own ears the voice sounds foreign, deeper and more resonant. 

A whoosh of air swept down toward her behind her. Without looking, she grabbed at the wrist of her attacker with her free hand. The texture of the skin beneath her fingers was slightly damp and slimy, and she knew this must be the mindflayer. 

She turned to look over her shoulder, "You should really be more mindful of the types of people you pick up." 

The power vibrated within her, like a million thorns pricking the underside of her skin, the magic in her blood trying to push its way through. She shoved the offending hand away with gritted teeth, inhaling a breath and smelling the sky after a storm. The air crackled like a live charge, a growing buzzing filling the air, the sound of the ship’s engines and wind gone, in place of a deadly stillness. Silence swept over the room. 

Please be a good one, She thought.

Then she screamed as the magic escaped her. An almost deafening crack thundered from the sheer force of the magic radiating off of her. A beam of light burst from her in waves as enemies that surrounded her disintegrated into dust. The beam tore through the ship around them. It shoved her backward, over the console, her only tether was the hand still wrapped around the transponder’s nerves. Her eyes blinked open, vision blurred like upon first waking. The ship crumbled around them, bits of the flooring falling past her as the ship hurtled toward its final destination. For an instant, she felt weightless before gravity reasserted itself with a heavy pull.

Opening her mouth to call out, she glanced around, looking for the others. But there was too much debris; crumbled pillars and floors and a thick sheet of dust along with it fell toward her, sending her into a round of coughing as she clung to whatever she could to stay stable. Just as she opened her eyes again, a large section of a pillar fell toward her, her eyes widening as she flung her body to the side with what little control she had as they plummeted downward.

But even that did nothing, as a moment later a smaller, dreadfully heavy chunk of something fell onto her chest. Her fingers released on instinct and she was sent careening away from anything she could find purchase on. Her fingers slipped over the strange fleshy remnants of walls as she fell through the debris. 

Then she made contact with something solid. A body. Cold fingers wrapped around her, grasping and clinging. She used every ounce of strength she had to wrap herself around the body, a head of white hair slipping into her field of vision as she tucked her head down closer. She locked her arms around Astarion’s back, her own hands icy in the wind. She felt him go limp as soon as they latched around him, his weight pushing against her, knocking the breath out of her once more.

She inhaled, the cold wind like knives in her lungs as she closed her eyes. The ship, and its fire and smoke, didn’t matter now. All that mattered now was this feeling, the endless feeling of falling. The sharp and high whistle of the wind as they cut through it. 

She tried to call up her magic, but she felt drained, as if the magic were at the bottom of a deep well. She tried again, and once more, before giving up the attempt. 

Her mind wandered as she fell, trailing back over a century. The cold gripping her limbs, pulling at them until she could fight it no more. Her eyes fell closed, listening to the wind whistle past, her head falling back. Her limbs feel heavy, unable to fight the exhaustion and pressure and cold that pulled at her from every direction. 

It was so easy to just give in. 

As she let go, she wondered if perhaps death brought peace. 

#halsin #astarion #halstarion #bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 astarion #oakdaddy #fan fic #astarion fanfiction #astarion x halsin #halsin x astarion #halsin/astarion #astarion/halsin #fan fiction #my work #baldurs gate 3 #baldurs gate #baldurs gate tav #tav/halsin/astarion #tav/halsin #tav/astarion #Tav

[iampikachuhearmeroar]

ugh just remembered when I was in that useless fucking social services job hunting workshop.... and the presenter, when she called me for my resume consult basically told me I was liar when I had the usual complaint that "oh just about EVERY entry level job where I am is DEMANDING that I have anywhere between 2 to 5 years experience already before applying"... and instead of confirming that is the problem with the job market today, she instead condescended to me saying "oh no honey that's bc they're HIGH LEVEL admin jobs demanding that and NOT ENTRY LEVEL. learn to read."

actually, no, sandra (not her real name). they're NOT high-level jobs. they're run of the mill front desk reception or call centre jobs, which are also basic data entry jobs.... that only 20 years ago (probably) would've been a walk-in off the street and be employed tomorrow thing, or NO experience needed, we'll train you!" type shit if you applied online.

now these positions are DEMANDING 2 to 5 years experience AND sometimes a combined traineeship for 1-2 years in business admin, pr that you ALREADY have the tafe cert III in business admin, bc they don't want you wasting time studying or waste their time training you. that's why I keep applying for traineeships bc half of these positions already come with one, or "the chance to take on a traineeship" which means, "we'll make you do it anyway and not reduce your workload to accommodate study time". if the job is advertised as a full-time position without the traineeship attached in the title (like a junior admin officer job or something that i've applied for at a local lawyer before).

just. I hated how dismissive this woman was all around. I know I should probs complain tk social services about her, but idk if anything would actually happen. and plus she'd be all like "oh everyone else in that class loved me, why don't you? just keep vibrating at 70htz in loathing and resentment and GET NO OPPORTUNITIES EVER bc of that. why did my teaching not get the IMPORTANCE of vibrating at 500htz ie. LOVE AND PEACE AND ACCEPTANCE is the ONLY thing that'll give you abundance and opportunities, through to you????"

uh maybe bc I see job hunting as a practical thing and not all the batshit reiki shit that I like in asmr for entertainment.... and the vision board mumbo jumbo of self-help internet is great coming from youtubers like Anna akana.... but NOT in a jobhunting working shop.... where you're guilting people about this mumbo jumbo is exactly why they'll never employed ever again. and esp since my old workplace tried to fire me for "ruining the positive family vibe of this workplave bc you rolled your eyes at me twice and are sarcastic from time to time 😥" during my performance meeting in November 2022. so obvs, I'll refuse to take that side of it seriously.

anyway my point was originally that im pissed of that this woman insisted that entry level jobs that are advertising 2 to 5 years experience aren't "entry level jobs, they're high level." when she was posed as an "employment expert" for this course.

no. they're NOT high-level jobs the bulk of the time. they're fucking run of the mill data entry which really only requires minimum skills in microsoft office and admin etc and a professional phone manner etc.... but instead they're asking for 2-5 years experience and intermediate to advanced microsoft office skills (or google suite etc) bc they want the applicant to do 25 jobs in place of 7 different people. which is shit I should be able to do with an arts degree. you're the one who really knows nothing.

but instead they want to drag me through another whole ass certificate 3 course and ANOTHER traineeship bc apparently an arts degree and a years worth of actual solid office experience isn't enough to man phones, do data entry, do front office reception and whatever dumbass shit "done with minimal supervision superhero" tasks they write in the job description on seek et al

#life #about me #shut up ilona #ilona's jobhunting thoughts and woes lol #ilona's work thoughts #ilona's work dilemmas #also posting this here bc i was supposed to comment kn something similar on linkedin #but then i accidentally refreshed my feed and lost the comment.... and i also thought better of it tbh

[texasobserver]

From “The New Children’s Crusade: Recruiting for America’s Culture War” by Texas Observer McHam Investigative Fellow Josephine Lee, in the March/April 2023 issue of our magazine:

Wearing a blue America First cap, 19-year-old Max White stood among a dozen protesters, softly mouthing the Hail Mary prayers over and over: “Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners now and at the hour of our death.” 

Around White flew the flags of right-wing extremist groups, including the American Nationalist Initiative and the New Columbia Movement, carried by men who looked to be in their 20s, strapped with rosaries or assault rifles or both. On a cloudless January day in Dallas, they faced off against a group of nearly 100 community members who showed up to support the drag show performance that White and his peers were protesting. 

“I started going to these events last year, starting with the Pride event in Oak Lawn. … I was like, ‘If these people are going to go and protest this kind of stuff, just perverse sexual stuff for kids, I’m going,’” he said. 

Since he was 16, White has been following young white-supremacist agitator Nick Fuentes and groups like Protect Texas Kids, which has been targeting drag shows in North Texas, including the one that day in Dallas. The organization was founded and is directed by recent college graduate Kelly Neidert, who achieved notoriety by calling for transgender people to be criminalized and Pride event participants to be “rounded up” while she was the chapter chair of the Young Conservatives of Texas (YCT) at the University of North Texas in Denton. Now she is using the activism skills she learned from YCT to lead other young conservatives like White, a freshman political science major who hopes to become a lawyer one day.

“You have all these groups that are weaponizing young people in ways that we really haven’t seen before,” conservative political consultant Micah Bock told a group of teenagers and younger children to thunderous applause at last fall’s Texas Youth Summit. As he spoke, young girls at the front of the crowd took notes with their pom-pom pens bobbing. 

It’s all part of a nationwide effort by multiple well-funded groups, many of which originated or are based in Texas, to mobilize young people, mainly Christian youth, to engage in right-wing politics. These groups and their leaders are part of a roll-call of Christian nationalist power players who defend the January 6 riots, promote hate speech, and aim to build their economic and political power by instilling Christian and constitutional “originalism” in the public sphere. To achieve their goals, they are increasingly defending the use of violence, particularly anti-LGBTQ+ violence, which has shot up in frequency since the start of 2022. 

What’s more, the leaders of the movement are set on convincing young people, starting even before high school, that they are the underdogs in this fight—the under-funded rebels fighting a rich, powerful leftist establishment–and that what they’re engaged in is a holy war for America’s soul. 

The movement is meeting opposition from more progressive Christian leaders. 

“What I think they really are concerned about is their loss of a privileged place in terms of influence and power. I think Christian nationalism is being used as a tool to maintain and to galvanize that power,” said Fort Worth Pastor Michael Mills, an outspoken critic of that movement. 

“It feels a little bit like a form of indoctrination [in which] these poisonous ideas are passed from one generation to the next,” he said. “If there are no checks on that, it’s almost like, [as] each generation gets older, they get more and more dangerous, in a sense. And that’s the scary part.”

Read more on the Texas Observer.

(📸 Drag protest photos by Shelby Tauber / Buttons photographed by Josephine Lee)

#far right extremism #political extremism #transphobes #conservatism #extremism #radicalisation #drag show #lgbtq #dallas #Texas

[askthewhiterocket]

With the bombardment of questions ceased, Kyo was finally able to stop dillydallying about.

Taking out her keycard, she tapped it against a censor, unlocking the door into the secure parts of the facility. "Light, my agenda, if you will," she said.

"Rotototo!" A Rotom Phone flew out of her pocket and floated alongside Kyo as they proceeded at a quick pace down the long hallway. "You have several items on your agenda, including a new item marked as urgent at the request of Major Sird. What shall I read first?"

"Major Sird," Kyo hummed the name as she glanced at Meowstic on her shoulder, "typical. Read the item. I'll determine if it's actually urgent or not."

"Understood, Zzt. New item: question trespasser to WHT RCKT Tohjo Base."

Kyo paused for a moment and quirked up an eyebrow. Interrogating trespassers wasn't terribly uncommon. They were rarely threats but stray hikers did sometimes wind up in the base on occasion and they needed to be assessed before they could be released. Still, it was odd that such an assignment was being given to Kyo. This normally was outside her purview. Kyo sighed and rolled her eyes. But, if it was directly from Major Sird, she couldn't exactly duck orders.

"Understood. Notify the guards that I'm on my way and I expect the trespasser to be in interrogation room one when I get there," she said.

"Zzt zzt! Roger!" Light chirped.

With the message on its way, Kyo resumed her quick pace through the secure hallways of the facility, marching towards the prison sector. The area was mostly just for show, the result of some combination of security and investment theater to convince both politicians and civilians alike that if Johto were to ever directly invade, the White Rockets would be ready for them. In reality, the prison cells were largely empty and rather underutilized. Kyo regarded it as a blessing, as empty cells meant another day without an active war.

Kyo nodded in acknowledgement as she made her way past some other soldiers milling about the prison sector before reaching her destination. "Is the suspect ready?" Kyo asked the guard standing at the door. He nodded in response. "Good, give me the details then."

"Trainer was found wandering around in the woods adjacent to the base and tried to flee when confronted. We searched her and took her ID. All the information about her is on this clipboard. However, she's already asked for a lawyer and refuses to speak until their arrival."

Kyo frowned and furrowed her eyebrows a bit. "Why am I questioning her further then? If she's asked for a lawyer, then we can't press her further."

The guard gave a weak shrug. "Major Sird's orders. He wants as much out of her as possible before a lawyer comes into play."

Kyo's frowned deepened. "Right..." she didn't like this. Something was off. Major Sird was known to be cryptic, but to skirt the rules like this was toeing the line in way Kyo was not exactly comfortable with. Especially considering, as the one doing the interrogation, Kyo herself would likely get the majority of the blowback if this became an issue.

"You gonna go in or should I report you so Major Sird can get someone else here to do it?" The guard's dry words snapped Kyo out of her thoughts.

"No," she said with a click of her tongue, "but speak to me like that again and we'll see which of us ends up reporting whom." Kyo snatched the clipboard of information on Meghan from the guard's hands and entered the bleak interrogation room.

The young woman on the other side of the room looked up quickly as Kyo entered. Disappointment and annoyance quickly settled on her face once she realized Kyo was not, in fact, the lawyer she had been hoping for. "I already told you, I'm not speaking to you without consulting my attorney first," she said curtly.

"Yes, yes, I've been informed. Unfortunately, I've also been ordered to interrogate you regardless," Kyo said bluntly. "So here's what we're going to do. I'm going to ask you these questions. You will not answer them, so as to not waive your right to silence. I will write down that you did not waive those rights. And you can continue to sit here until the whole lawyer situation gets sorted out. How's that sound?"

Meg scanned Kyo up and down her green eyes focusing on Meowstic for a moment before returning to Kyo's face. Kyo's directness had caught Meg somewhat off-guard, but if the other woman was to be believed, then she was just doing her job. And from the sounds of it, she didn't agree with this interrogation anymore than Meg did. "Fine. Get on with it then."

"Thank you," Kyo said as she took a seat. She tapped the clipboard a little as she began to read from it. "My name is Second Lieutenant Kyo Writer and this is my partner Meowstic. Pleasure to meet you... Meghan Startus, correct? Age 29, Kalosian citizen?" Kyo looked up. "That's a long ways from Kanto. What brings you here?" She paused for a moment, but was met with only silence. Kyo gave an approving nod. "Good. Moving on, you had a team of six Pokémon on you at the time of your arrest. Are they all registered to you?"

Meg started to open her mouth to respond but stopped when Kyo shook her head. She pressed her lips together in a hard line and once again remained silent.

"You don't appear to have any hiking gear on you," Kyo read from the clipboard, "rather underdressed for someone gallivanting in the forests around Tohjo Falls. What exactly were you doing out there?"

"Tohjo Falls?" Meg repeated with a tone of surprise.

Kyo paused and looked up, giving another quick shake of her head to indicate Meg should remain silent. "Yes, Tohjo Falls. Now, if you could answer the question-"

"But, I wasn't arrested near Tohjo Falls!" Meg interjected.

Kyo internally winced. Even if this wasn't necessarily incriminating, if she pressed much further it was entirely likely that Meg would say something of that nature without a lawyer present. She had to cut this short and stall until such time.

"You're obviously disoriented from the experience. It's natural. Perhaps we should put a pin in this discussion for now and-"

"N-No wait, please!" Meg said hastily, "you're sure we're in Kanto? That wasn't just an interrogation trick?"

"... yes." Kyo set down the clipboard and folded her hands together. "I haven't lied once since I stepped into this room."

Meg sat back in her chair. "Something's wrong... I'm... I'm not supposed to be here. I should be in Kalos. How did I...?"

#poke ask blog #pokemon ask blog #team rocket #written ask blog #askthewhiterocket #wr: kyo #wr: meg #wr: light #chrono #this post was originally going to be longer #but I've decided to split it in two #so have this for now

[star-shard]

Ever wants to see Elvis fanfiction written by a psychopath made into an 80s family movie?

Heartbreak Hotel (1988)

Lemme just say this one is bad folks, not in a 'so bad it's good' way but, just, yeah just bad. Due to the stranglehold EP media has on me I checked it out, but I hope I'm the last one to do so.

From gaslighting Elvis into believing the reincarnation of his mother has come back to him, to kidnapping him into what I can only assume is eventual stockholm syndrome. Ya kno, fun for the whole family...

There is both some kind of 'love' and hate for the king in this one, let's talk

Okay, this movie is something... the premise being that a high school boy kidnaps Elvis Presley for the purpose of dating his lonely mom. Right off hijinks must ensue.

Let me give mild praise where it's due, (and I do mean mild.) The soundtrack is good, you got some of EP's best songs. The hotel in which the movies takes place in is named 'Flaming Star', nice nod. Seeing the fight scene from Loving You recreated in an 80s/50s style diner is directed pretty corny but theres something like admiration there.

And that's it, thats the only good words I'll give this one.

So. The main kid's plan to kidnap Elvis, is to use a local pizza maker to look like the man's dead mother, giving her a black wig and 50s styled dress, addressing EP with a letter from 'Satnin', and hint throughout his concert that his mother is reincarnated and come back to see him. Which. Sick. Come on now, that's sick. And then our lead proceeds to drug and kidnap him. It's briefly addressed for half a second by the other characters but then quickly forgotten/forgiven/never addressed again.

Dude some trashy writing is one thing. But this was just bad and weird. Come on, now...

From there 'Elvis' only fights back briefly at being kidnapped and then gets guilted to staying a while, all the while his 1970s persona is viciously mocked for being 'uncool'.

If it went full on insanity maybe it could at least be seen as that, but then it devolves into just a run of the mill family flick, just EP going full domestic with his kidnappers. Teaching a little girl not to be afraid of the dark, rocking out in a talent show with the teenaged boy that kidnapped him. Which is 'cute' here and there but considering the context, that devalues those scenes a smidge.

Naturally he has some friction with the teen boy who thinks Elvis is lame, EP throws out all of the stuff in the hotel to make it look like Graceland. Cause... yeah, that makes sense.

I wish I could say it was laughably bad. But the movie is convinced it's a heartfelt family romp, which just makes it a bit of a mess.

The movie keeps referencing the dad that left the main family and you think a more weighted moment might come to tie that plot point up with a bow but no, at the end Elvis tells everyone goodbye, gets on a plane, he bounces and the credits roll.

I get that a lot of people look down on his 70s run, it's only recent that people look on it with admiration or empathy. But jeeeeeez, this one is uncomfortable.

As for the Elvis performance, yeah lackluster as the rest of the flick. The actor isn't awful, but it's your run of the mill impersination.

It's nuts because Jerry Schilling was a consultant on this.

Idk, a ball was dropped by someone.

Skip it.

#Elvis #Movie review #Heartbreak Hotel (1988)

[spookysaladchaos]

Global Top 3 Companies Accounted for 80% of total Tailored Blank market (QYResearch, 2021

Tailored blanks are semi-finished parts, which are typically made from sheets with different alloys, thicknesses, coatings or material properties. After joining, these will be subjected to deep drawing or stamping. Tailored blanks were developed by ThyssenKrupp to make sheets that were wider than those made on available rolling mills of the time. These days, tailored blanks are used to make items such as door panels which are thick near the hinges and thin near the lock to withstand different types of loads or corrosion attacks. They are lighter and often cheaper than conventional sheets. Tailored Blanks are typically made from steel. Aluminium and dissimilar material tailored blanks are also available but less common.

Source: Secondary Sources, Expert Interviews and QYResearch, 2021

According to the new market research report “Global Tailored Blank Market Report 2023-2029”, published by QYResearch, the global Tailored Blank market size is projected to reach USD 7.48 billion by 2029, at a CAGR of 7.5% during the forecast period.

Figure.   Global Tailored Blank Market Size (US$ Million), 2018-2029

Based on or includes research from QYResearch: Global Tailored Blank Market Report 2023-2029.

Figure.   Global Tailored Blank Top 3 Players Ranking and Market Share（Based on data of 2021, Continually updated）

Based on or includes research from QYResearch: 2021 data information of Global Tailored Blank Market Report 2023-2029.

The global key manufacturers of Tailored Blank include Baosteel, Arcelormittal, etc. In 2021, the global top three players had a share approximately 80.0% in terms of revenue.

About QYResearch

QYResearch founded in California, USA in 2007.It is a leading global market research and consulting company. With over 16 years’ experience and professional research team in various cities over the world QY Research focuses on management consulting, database and seminar services, IPO consulting, industry chain research and customized research to help our clients in providing non-linear revenue model and make them successful. We are globally recognized for our expansive portfolio of services, good corporate citizenship, and our strong commitment to sustainability. Up to now, we have cooperated with more than 60,000 clients across five continents. Let’s work closely with you and build a bold and better future.

QYResearch is a world-renowned large-scale consulting company. The industry covers various high-tech industry chain market segments, spanning the semiconductor industry chain (semiconductor equipment and parts, semiconductor materials, ICs, Foundry, packaging and testing, discrete devices, sensors, optoelectronic devices), photovoltaic industry chain (equipment, cells, modules, auxiliary material brackets, inverters, power station terminals), new energy automobile industry chain (batteries and materials, auto parts, batteries, motors, electronic control, automotive semiconductors, etc.), communication industry chain (communication system equipment, terminal equipment, electronic components, RF front-end, optical modules, 4G/5G/6G, broadband, IoT, digital economy, AI), advanced materials industry Chain (metal materials, polymer materials, ceramic materials, nano materials, etc.), machinery manufacturing industry chain (CNC machine tools, construction machinery, electrical machinery, 3C automation, industrial robots, lasers, industrial control, drones), food, beverages and pharmaceuticals, medical equipment, agriculture, etc.

#report

[raunaqsteelsblog]

Exploring the Role of MS Angles Suppliers and HR Sheets Manufacturers in Chennai's Industrial Landscape

Chennai, known as the "Detroit of India" for its thriving automobile industry, stands as a prominent hub for manufacturing and industrial activities. Within this dynamic ecosystem, suppliers of essential materials like MS Angles and manufacturers of HR Sheets play a pivotal role. Let's delve into the significance of these entities in Chennai's industrial landscape, their contributions, and the factors that define their success.

MS Angles Supplier Chennai: Sourcing Crucial Structural Components

Mild Steel (MS) Angles are vital structural components widely used in construction, fabrication, and engineering applications. In Chennai's bustling industrial sector, MS Angles find extensive usage in infrastructure projects, industrial structures, and machinery fabrication. Suppliers of MS Angles in Chennai cater to the diverse needs of industries ranging from construction to automotive, offering a wide range of dimensions and specifications to meet varying requirements.

Role of MS Angles Suppliers:

Supply Chain Management: MS Angles suppliers in Chennai act as crucial links in the supply chain, connecting manufacturers with end-users. They ensure a steady and reliable supply of MS Angles, facilitating seamless operations for construction projects, fabrication shops, and manufacturing units across the region.

Product Variety and Customization: Recognizing the diverse applications of MS Angles, suppliers in Chennai offer a wide range of sizes, thicknesses, and grades to cater to specific project needs. Additionally, many suppliers provide customization services, tailoring MS Angles to precise specifications, thereby enhancing their utility and compatibility with different applications.

Quality Assurance: Quality is paramount in structural components like MS Angles to ensure the integrity and safety of the built environment. Reputable suppliers in Chennai adhere to stringent quality standards, sourcing MS Angles from trusted manufacturers and conducting thorough quality checks to guarantee compliance with industry norms and customer expectations.

Logistics and Timely Delivery: Chennai's MS Angles suppliers understand the importance of timely delivery to support ongoing projects and manufacturing operations. They invest in efficient logistics networks and inventory management systems to ensure prompt delivery of ordered materials, minimizing downtime and delays for their clients.

Technical Support and Expertise: Beyond just supplying materials, MS Angles suppliers in Chennai often provide technical support and expertise to their customers. Whether it's assisting with material selection, offering design recommendations, or providing guidance on fabrication techniques, suppliers play a consultative role in helping clients optimize their projects.

HR Sheets Manufacturers Chennai: Driving Industrial Growth with High-Quality Steel Products

Hot Rolled (HR) Sheets, manufactured through a process of rolling heated steel slabs, find extensive usage in various industrial sectors, including automotive, construction, and manufacturing. In Chennai, a vibrant manufacturing hub, HR Sheets Manufacturers Chennai play a crucial role in supplying these essential raw materials to support diverse industrial applications.

Role of HR Sheets Manufacturers:

Production Capacity and Scale: HR Sheets manufacturers in Chennai operate large-scale production facilities equipped with advanced rolling mills and manufacturing technologies. This enables them to produce HR Sheets in bulk quantities, catering to the substantial demand from industries across Chennai and beyond.

Product Innovation and Development: Keeping pace with evolving market demands and technological advancements, HR Sheets manufacturers in Chennai invest in research and development initiatives to innovate new products and enhance existing ones. They continuously strive to improve material properties, surface finishes, and processing capabilities to meet the evolving needs of diverse industries.

Quality Control and Assurance: Maintaining consistent product quality is paramount for HR Sheets manufacturers in Chennai. They implement stringent quality control measures throughout the manufacturing process, from raw material procurement to final product inspection, ensuring that HR Sheets meet international quality standards and customer specifications.

Customization and Value-Added Services: Recognizing the diverse requirements of industrial customers, HR Sheets manufacturers in Chennai offer customization services and value-added solutions. This may include cutting to size, surface treatment, edge conditioning, and other tailored services to enhance the usability and compatibility of HR Sheets for specific applications.

Environmental Sustainability: With growing emphasis on environmental sustainability, HR Sheets manufacturers in Chennai prioritize eco-friendly production practices and resource conservation. They adopt energy-efficient technologies, recycle scrap materials, and implement waste management strategies to minimize their environmental footprint and contribute to sustainable development.

Synergy and Collaboration: Driving Chennai's Industrial Ecosystem Forward

In Chennai's dynamic industrial landscape, the synergy between MS Angles suppliers and HR Sheets manufacturers is evident. Together, they form an integral part of the supply chain, providing essential materials and support services that fuel the region's economic growth and industrial development. By leveraging their expertise, infrastructure, and commitment to quality, these entities contribute to Chennai's reputation as a thriving manufacturing hub and reinforce its position as a key player in India's industrial landscape.

Conclusion

The roles played by MS Angles suppliers and HR Sheets manufacturers in Chennai extend beyond mere provision of materials; they are essential enablers of industrial progress and development. Through their commitment to quality, innovation, and customer satisfaction, these entities contribute significantly to Chennai's industrial ecosystem, driving growth, and prosperity across diverse sectors. As Chennai continues to evolve as a manufacturing powerhouse, the contributions of MS Angles suppliers and HR Sheets manufacturers remain indispensable, shaping the city's industrial landscape for years to come.

#sheets #manufacturers #chennai

[gtssteel]

About GTS STEEL

Trusted Steel Supplier From Vietnam - GTS STEEL

GTS Steel specialize on supply good quality various kinds of steel products from Vietnam, our steel products are manufacturered from leading steel mills in Vietnam and exported to over 50 countries in the world:

For over 10 years in steel field, GTS Steel have set up deep connections with steel manufacturers/ steel mills in Vietnam and China. We are confident to bring the best price and service to our customers with various types of steel: – Hot Rolled Coils steel – HRC – Cold Rolled Coils – CRC – Coated Steel: Galvanized steel coils, Galvalume steel coils, Prepainted Steel Coils – GI, GL, PPGI, PPGL) – Wire rods, Beams – Stainless steel – Steel pipes… Export market: America (US, Mexico…), Europe, South East Asia (Indonesia, Malaysian, Thailand…), Africa, Australia, ect…

Business type: Manufacturer/ Exporter/ Supplier/ Business Consult Experienced: 14 years Certificate: ASTM, JIS, BS EN, AS, BIS…

Payment term: 100% LC at sight/ UPAS/ USANCE, T/T…

Shipment term: FOB, CFR, CIF… by Container or Bulk cargoes We believe that our sourcing services will help you to find the right manufacturers with qualified quality steel products and best competitive prices. If you are looking for steel coils products from leading steel manufacturers in Vietnam and China, please feel free contact us at: GTS Steel Pacific Ltd 🏢 Address: 2B NTMK, Dakao Ward, District 1, Ho Chi Minh City, Vietnam 📞 Mobile/Whatsapp/Wechat: [phone] 📧 Email: [email protected] 🌏 Website: https://gtssteel.com/

If you are looking for good quality coated steel sheet in coils (GI, GL, PPGI, PPGL) from leading steel manufacturer Vietnam, please feel free to contact us via: Mobile/Whatsapp/Wechat: [phone] Whatsapp: https://wa.me/[phone]

Email: [email protected]

Website: https://gtssteel.com/

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/vietnamsteelmanufacturer

Twitter: https://twitter.com/gtssteelvn

Pinterest: https://www.pinterest.com/gtssteelvn/

Tumblr: https://gtssteel.tumblr.com/

Youtube: https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCldhaMJ1aq9Ryq3KGGmNc2Q

#GTSSTEEL #steelsupplier #steelmanufacturer #steel #vietnamsteel

[judiansteelcastingandrolling]

Tips for Choosing the Right Rolling Iron Machine for Your Manufacturing Needs

A rolling iron machine, also known as a steel rolling mill, is a mechanical device that implements the metal rolling process. It generally refers to the equipment that completes the entire process of rolled product production, including main equipment, auxiliary equipment, lifting and transportation equipment, and auxiliary equipment. According to the number of rollers, the rolling mill can be divided into two rollers, four rollers, six rollers, eight rollers, twelve rollers, eighteen rollers, etc.; according to the arrangement of the rollers, it can be divided into "L" type and "T" type, "F" type, "Z" type and "S" type.

Ordinary rolling mills are mainly composed of rollers, frames, roller distance adjustment devices, roller temperature adjustment devices, transmission devices, lubrication systems, control systems and roll removal devices. In addition to the main components and devices of ordinary rolling mills, precision rolling mills also add devices to ensure rolling accuracy.

The rolling mill is the key equipment to realize the metal rolling process and is widely used in steel, non-ferrous metals and other industries.

Tips for Choosing the Right Rolling Iron Machine

There are many factors to consider when choosing the right rolling mill for your manufacturing needs. Here are some key tips and advice:

Clarify Production Needs

First of all, you must know your production needs, including product type, specifications, output, etc. This will help determine the type, size and number of rolling mills required.

Understand The Types of Rolling Mills

There are many types of rolling mills such as two-high rolling mills, four-high rolling mills, continuous rolling mills, etc. Each type has its characteristics and scope of application. According to production needs, select the most suitable type of rolling mill.

Consider The Rolling Process

Different rolling processes have different requirements for the rolling mill. For example, the types and parameters of rolling mills required for hot rolling and cold rolling are different. Therefore, when selecting a rolling mill, the required rolling process and corresponding technical parameters need to be considered.

Evaluate Equipment Performance

When selecting a rolling mill, evaluate its equipment performance, including rolling force, rolling speed, rolling accuracy, etc. These performance parameters will directly affect product quality and production efficiency.

Consider Equipment Reliability

The rolling iron machine is a key piece of equipment for continuous production, and its reliability is crucial to the stable operation of the production line. Therefore, when selecting a rolling mill, factors such as its brand, manufacturer's reputation and after-sales service should be considered to ensure the reliability and stability of the equipment.

Consider Equipment Costs

When selecting a rolling mill, factors such as equipment purchase costs, operating costs, and maintenance costs should be comprehensively considered. Ensure that the selected rolling mill is economically reasonable feasible and in line with the company's budget and long-term development plan.

Consult Professionals

When choosing a rolling mill, you can seek advice from professionals or equipment manufacturers. They can provide you with professional advice and guidance based on your production needs and actual conditions.

Summary

Choosing a rolling iron machine suitable for manufacturing needs requires comprehensive consideration of multiple factors, including production needs, rolling mill type, rolling process, equipment performance, equipment reliability, equipment cost, etc. Through scientific and reasonable evaluation and selection, it can be ensured that the selected rolling mill can meet production needs, improve product quality and production efficiency, and achieve sustainable development of the enterprise.

#rolling iron machine