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#this only works IF there’s only 14 chapters

taelonsamada · 2 days

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Tidbit Tuesday

I’ve been tagged in so many “Snippets” “Micros” “Tidbits” and “Fragments” that it’s shameful I haven’t posted one in ages. And you all have been so patient. It’s only fair that I give SEVERAL pieces at once 😉 LOL So here’s 4 fics I’m working on atm!!

Leave It All On The Ice - Chapter 6

David tore across the ice, his gaze locked on the puck sent flying down the rink from the fight that had broken out behind the Dires’ net. His heart pounded as he raced to catch up to the puck, determined to sink it in the other team’s net and push their meagar lead ahead another point.

It was the Playoffs, after all. Being ahead by one wasn’t enough, especially not when they were in the last period of the game.

His focus on the puck kept him from noticing the player charging at him, catching David entirely offguard as a shoulder collided into his upper chest hard enough to take him off his feet. David’s back hit the ice and he wheezed, his entire world spinning. Rolling over onto his side, he braced a hand under him and struggled to sit up. Every breath was a stabbing pain, which he knew wasn’t good.

Shaking his glove free, he clawed his helmet off, taking in deep, sharp breaths. The noise around him was muffled as he struggled to focus again. From the way his chest and head throbbed, he was likely hurt enough that they’d bench him.

All thoughts of being benched were forgotten as he finally got his eyes to focus, and found himself staring at Tank. They were knelt over another player with one fist tangled in the front of the other player’s jersey, punching them in the face repeatedly with their free fist. They were also using their hold on the other guy’s jersey to yank him back every time they punched him.

~~~

Untitled David/Darlin Fic

He felt his phone go off yet again, even though he was staring at the pack in front of them and could see they hadn’t moved. Hadn’t stopped sending him that lazy, cocky smirk that drove him crazy, in both the worst way and the best way.

Their gaze hadn’t broken from his, their body (and oh, how well he knew that body by now) had remained entirely still, and yet he just knew in his core as he phone vibrated against his leg in his pocket that it was another message from them.

Containing an image he didn’t dare open while in a pack meeting.

~~~

Shaw Pack Tattoo Fic

Milo looked as if he were about to fall asleep, the bastard, despite getting a large rib tattoo. His already fully inked arm was draped over his eyes, so Tank would have thought for a quick moment that he was trying to hide a grimace, but then he stretched with a yawn, earning a gentle smack from the tattoo artist that earned a laugh and a quick apology.

Asher was talking to his artist the entire time as the poor girl did his thigh. Tank wondered if the artist was evening listening to him, or if she was just letting him ramble to keep himself distracted. They also wondered if he’d been serious about getting Jigglypuff holding a trophy to signify his latest victory.

As their own tattoo gun bit into their leg again, they briefly lamented no longer having Asher’s hand to crush in their grasp, closing their eyes with a slow exhale to keep from kicking their own artist. The feeling of a large hand taking theirs had their eyes snapping open in surprise.

David was standing next to their seat, looking the room over and likely checking on the rest of the pack. With his body angled in a way that hid the fact he was holding onto Tank’s hand.

~~~

Between You, Me & The Fence Post - Chapter 14

It was a massive relief to have the barn finished before the ‘big snow’ showed up, as Asher put it. The makeshift shelters were only going to hold up for so long, and while they didn’t get the same crazy amounts of snow other states did, there was still enough that piled up each year to worry about.

What was an even bigger relief for Asher was when he got to hand a check to David. The confused look on the taller man’s face was good, but what was even greater was the moment his eyes widened, the disbelief that bloomed across his face as he realized the check held the remaining balance for the barn.

David’s head snapped up at him, his mouth working soundlessly as he struggled to find words

“We all chipped in,” Asher said with a shrug and his usual cheeky grin. “We factored in the savings you already had saved up, but there should be enough there that you won’t have to drain them entirely.”

“Wait, what? You—Asher! I am not taking my own employees’ money to pay for—”

“For what?” Asher interrupted. “A freak accident that damaged our home? This place belongs to the Shaw family, but we all live here too, David. We love it, and we want it fixed. It’s not like this is gonna end up with any of us starving or homeless, you’ve seen to that.”

The foreman’s grin turned devilish. “Besides, I have it on good information that a very large portion of that came from a certain runaway who really wants to make sure their newest horse they were just gifted got out of the snow as soon as possible.”

~~~

😁 hopefully that makes up for my silence on here! And hopefully I get at least ONE of these finished soon!! In the meantime, tagging @zozo-01 @dominimoonbeam @glassbearclock @ejunkiet @romirola and @lovelylonerliterature cause I wanna see what you’re working on! And as usual, anyone else who wants to join in!

#redacted asmr #redacted audio #redacted darlin #my writing #redacted david #redacted fanfic #redacted asher #redacted milo #redacted hockey au #redacted ranch au

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amethystfairy1 · 2 days

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You might have asked this before, but what is the hierarchy of blaze born's rods? Like what's the most one can have, because obviously Tango has 3 and he isn't very powerful, the woman in the most recent chapter of beaded beloved has 6, is she considerably more powerful? Also how many blaze rods would a Blaze Born have to have to be considered a dangerous threat, seeing as that woman certainly was but I imagine tango wouldn't be?

I love the story and the whole au by the way, 100/10

- 🌓

I'm so glad you love TTSBC!

I think I might've answered this before? Not sure...

But the lowest to still be considered acceptable to blaze-born society is 6, so the blaze-born woman we saw in 'Beaded Beloved' is actually on the lower end. Somewhere between 8-10 is average, and 12 or even 14 can happen and those people are incredibly powerful.

Even with 6 a blaze-born would still be able to use glamor at a proficiently level and therefore be a serious threat. The threat level goes up with each additional blaze-rod.

Tango only has three, poor guy 😓 So he's barely able to use glamor at a level that lets him function normally in under-city society, which sometimes causes him issues. I dunno if people have noticed this, it's a tiny detail, but most places in the under-city are secured by glamor locks, that is, you pulse a code into them via glamor to unlock the door. And that code can be changed pretty easily to keep things safe. Yet both Doc and Tango use either redstone function doors or actual physical keys more often, because they struggle with glamor. Tango because he's naturally not proficient with it, and Doc because his augmentations have reduced his capability to use glamor effectively.

I really ought to make like a master-post about how glamor works at some point 🤔 maybe I'll get on that...

#fanfic #ao3 fanfic #through the sky blue cracks #ttsbc #ttsbc au #tangotek #docm77 #worldbuilding

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rosanna-writer · 2 days

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we said hello and your eyes look like coming home (20/?)

Summary: A canon-divergent AU where the bond snaps for Rhys on Calanmai, Feyre unwittingly accepts it, and Fire Night magic proves to be more transformative than anyone bargained for. Feyre drags a mate she hardly knows out from Under the Mountain, then puts him back together as war with Hybern approaches. Warnings: dubious consent, canon-typical sexual violence, canon-typical violence Rating: Explicit Chapter Word Count: ~5k

Content warning for canon-typical violence and animal death. Some text in this chapter is taken directly from A Court of Mist and Fury.

Read on AO3 or you can find the twentieth chapter below the readmore.

Mud didn't seep through Illyrian leathers. A small mercy, perhaps, but after sitting in it for a few hours, the cold was infinitely more tolerable when I stayed dry. I couldn't move, not without scaring away the ducks that were finally beginning to forget that I was sitting on the edge of the pond.

And I'd been dispatched to find dinner.

We'd fanned out to cover more ground—someone in Windhaven must have tipped the rogue war-bands off, and they'd retreated deeper into the forest. Rhys, Cassian, and Azriel took turns flying circles overhead, looking for signs of movement.

We'd likely be out here several days, too long to carry enough food to last the whole time. Though I knew it was to put some distance between me and an initial confrontation with hotheaded warriors with a hatred for humans, I didn't mind. The work needed to get done anyway.

I still hated hunting, but being out in the woods alone cleared my head. There was a quiet and stillness that was impossible to find in a city, even one as lovely as Velaris. I let my mind wander, and I considered how to best capture the dappled sunlight on the water if I ever painted this view. Filling a full canvas still felt like a long way off, but…perhaps a landscape would be the way to ease back into it. Maybe I'd paint a mountain before I tackled everything that had happened under one.

But I could only think of painting for so long, and the ducks were still flitting about too nervously for my liking. I sat a bit longer, and my mind drifted to other things.

Rhys never told me if he was proposing or not. I hadn't asked again. In truth, I had no idea what I was supposed to do after recovering the ring—return it to him? I couldn't wear it openly, at least not without inviting questions we weren't ready to answer. But I hadn't seen a faerie wear a wedding band or use a surname or even known someone else with a mate.

And if faerie funerals were so different from mortal ones, then I supposed weddings would be, too. Especially when a High Lord was involved. Gods, the only person I'd talked to about the difference between marriage and mating had been Tamlin—there was no reason to believe anything he'd told me was accurate.

I was out of my depth. But the ducks had finally settled, so I did the one thing I was good for and let an arrow fly. It speared a bird through the neck, killing it instantly.

The rest of the flock alighted—I had to move quickly. Half on instinct, I aimed, accounting for their speed and direction as I shot down three more, one right after the other. Every arrow found its mark, and the unlucky ducks dropped to the ground as the rest soared away.

My hips and knees barked in protest as I stood; crouching in the mud for so long had left me stiff. At least nothing had gone numb this time.

I felt better, though, even with the tedious task of retrieving, cleaning, and cooking the game ahead of me. In the Spring Court, I'd gotten comfortable and let my guard down far too easily. I'd never felt safer or more taken care of in my life than I had in these last two weeks with Rhys in Velaris, but…I'd worried, on some level, that I'd gotten soft or lost my skills because of it. Bagging those ducks proved I hadn't.

Being loved didn't make me any less a wolf.

I gathered the birds and made my way to the place we'd agreed to meet up at sunset. Without wax or even a large pot of water, I'd either have to breast them out—which would waste some of the meat—or pluck the feathers one by one to roast them whole. And we needed to get a fire started.

I was still plucking the first bird when Azriel arrived. There was a smear of blood on his leathers, and that told me enough—whatever had happened resulted in no survivors. Wordlessly, he grabbed a carcass, sat down next to me, and began ripping the feathers off, too.

No one had ever done that for me. Not my sisters or my father, not even when I'd asked for help.

Cassian landed not long after that, grim-faced and slightly bloodied. He nodded a greeting, then crouched and began coaxing a fire to life. "We're lucky to have a professional around," he said, indicating the carcasses with a jerk of his head.

"Did I catch enough?" I said.

"More than enough to ensure we don't have to listen to Cassian's stomach growl all night," Azriel said.

Knowing that none of us would go hungry set me at ease. The duck in my hand felt like even more of a tangible contribution, proof that it hadn't been a mistake to bring me to Illyria. I smiled to myself and kept ripping out feathers.

I hadn't heard him winnow in, but I felt the familiar darkness of Rhys's power reaching for me again. I turned to see him walking towards us through the trees. As he got closer, my eyes drifted to a scratch on his cheek. Then all my attention locked onto it.

Hardly a scrape—whoever had done it hadn't even broken the skin, and his magic was already halfway done healing it. My blood boiled anyway. Someone had gotten close enough to get a talon or a weapon on him.

"Who," I said, though the word was more growl than speech.

"They're dead," Rhys said.

I was on my feet without even realizing it, closing the distance between us in long strides. "Good. Did you—"

"Yes. All by my hand."

The scratch had faded completely, but I reached for the place it had been. Rhys caught my wrist and tugged me to him. The momentum made my greeting more collision than kiss. I nearly knocked us both over, but Rhys was solid and steady as his other arm twined around my waist to crush me against him.

We'd only been apart a few hours, but someone had almost drawn blood from my mate; an utterly irrational wave of guilt that I hadn't been there to stop it and relief that he was fine had swept away my good sense. I was already pawing at him with my free hand.

The pointed clearing of a throat cut through the mating-bond-induced madness. Without looking up from the bird he was still plucking, Azriel said, "I'd like to remind everyone that we agreed no sharing bedrolls on this mission."

I didn't have it in me to feel embarrassed. Perhaps I couldn't feel ashamed of anything when Rhys had an arm around me. I interlaced our fingers and pulled him back towards the fire.

We sat down, and Cassian dug a rag out of his pack and tossed it in our direction. I reached up to catch it, but it snagged on one of Rhys's talons.

Cassian grinned. "That's for Feyre. I can tell she's dying to clean you off."

Rhys narrowed his eyes, flicking a finger towards the rag, and it dissolved into mist. "I'm not an invalid," he grumbled. On my other side, Azriel chuckled.

Cassian took over the rest of the cooking after that, and one knowing look we shared across the fire was enough to tell me he'd made do with unseasoned game and campfires plenty of times before. Roasted whole, the duck wasn't half-bad.

Before long, night fell, and we were divvying up shifts to keep watch. I took the first, then had no trouble falling asleep—not in the open air, underneath the stars. The next day was more of the same as we tracked the rogue war-bands deeper into the forest.

On the third day of hunting, I was crouched up a tree when a glint of something bright green tore my attention away from the forest floor. I'd assumed the shape circling above had been a bird, perhaps a hawk or a vulture, and hadn't thought much about it.

But birds didn't sparkle. That was an emerald-colored siphon.

The path the Illyrian was taking brought him closer, but I didn't think he'd spotted me. I froze. He flew closer, almost in range of my bow.

I didn't dare even breathe too loudly. Keen faerie senses were difficult to hide from, and even if I stayed hidden, his looping flight pattern would send him back in the opposite direction and I'd miss an opportunity.

He came closer. And closer. There was no time to run.

I grabbed an ash arrow and took the shot.

The arrow ripped a hole in one of his wings, and the Illyrian plummeted to the ground like a stone in water. I scrambled down from my perch and barreled through the trees. As I ran, I pulled another ash arrow from my quiver—a fall from that height could have been deadly, but if not, an injured Illyrian warrior could still find a way to bury a dagger in my belly.

I heard him moaning in pain before I stepped into the clearing where he'd fallen. He'd landed on his back, torso twisted and his legs bent at unnatural angles. A shattered pelvis at the least, maybe even a snapped spine. Healing magic was the only thing keeping him alive. The siphon on his chest flickered weakly, like a heart struggling to beat.

At the sound of my footsteps, his head turned. His eyes burned with hate as he reached for a knife strapped to his belt. I nocked the ash arrow, aiming directly for his face as I took a step closer. His hand stilled.

"Tell me where the others are hiding," I said. "Don't bother lying. The High Lord is on his way."

"I won't take orders from Rhysand's human whore," he spat.

"The best outcome you can hope for is a mercy kill before he arrives. Give up their locations, and I'll consider it."

For a long moment, he said nothing. My arm began to ache from keeping the bowstring pulled back, and I prayed my fingers wouldn't start shaking. I said nothing either, just tried to emulate Azriel's deadly, stone-faced resolve.

The Illyrian's hand twitched, but his fingers never closed around the hilt of the knife. Instead, through clenched teeth, he recited the litany of names and locations I was after. I believed him—I doubted he was in a state to lie convincingly.

As I listened, I gave one insistent tug on the bond and dropped my shields so Rhys could hear it all, too. The beast that had once rested in my mind became a furious thing growling and snapping its jaws.

The clearing plunged into darkness. I couldn't see where Rhys was, but I felt his power sliding along my skin all the same.

"Is that all?" I said, my voice so cold I hardly recognized it as my own.

The Illyrian whimpered something that might have been "yes." I loosed the arrow; even under the cover of Rhys's darkness, my aim stayed true. The point landed in the Illyrian's eye, buried deep enough in his skull to render him still and silent forever.

Just like Andras.

Even with the threat gone, the darkness didn't clear. I glanced up, and my vision had adjusted enough to make out Rhys's silhouette, his wings flared and hands shaking.

"You should have called me the moment you spotted him," Rhys said, voice ragged.

"I handled it," I said simply.

Rhys growled. At me. And the fact that I was too human to properly bare my teeth and return the favor—rage bubbled under my skin. If he'd been closer, I would have shoved him.

"Then why bring me here?" I hissed. "Just to humor me?"

I felt like such a fool for not having realized it sooner. Killing a few ducks was hardly a real contribution—they might as well have patted me on the head and told the High Lord's little human mate she'd done such a good job. Shame made my cheeks go hot.

"Don't be stupid, Feyre," Rhys snapped.

The darkness rippled and churned around us, like a storm at sea. The tendrils seemed to lap at me, pressing close then retreating, even as they skittered down my spine. Magic thrummed in the air.

I crossed my arms. "I'm not."

"You could have gotten yourself killed. Even Cassian won't run into a fight without backup if it's available. There were three of us who could have gone with you, but for reasons I can't even begin to fathom, you waited until the very last second."

I'd never seen Rhys this…undone. Not even when I'd first gone Under the Mountain. His breathing was ragged, and there was a note of panic in his voice I'd never heard before.

"I…I didn't think to ask. At least not at first. I called for you as soon as I remembered." As ridiculous as it sounded when I said it aloud, it was true. But the habit of doing everything on my own was a difficult one to break.

Rhys sighed, his shoulders slumping as the fight went out of him. The darkness seemed to lift, but before I could be sure, he'd winnowed closer and pulled me against his chest. I couldn't see much other than his wings cocooning me.

He pressed a kiss to the top of my head. "I love your fearlessness just as much as every other part of you, but please remember that you're not alone anymore. I can't lose you, Feyre."

"I love you too," I said, voice thick. I set my bow down and hugged him back.

Both ends of the bond seemed to settle as we held each other. I savored it—the heat of him against me, the sun shining through his wings, the soft scrape of the scales of his leathers against my cheek.

"You are your own person, and I will not dictate your choices. Ever." Rhys picked a twig out of my hair; it must have gotten lodged in my braid when I'd climbed down from the tree. "If you'd told me what you were doing, I would only have asked you to allow me to come with for my own peace of mind."

I'd never asked why he'd gone alone to that cursed party fifty years ago. Maybe he'd insisted on it; maybe he'd also forgotten to ask for backup, then paid a terrible price. It seemed better not to bring it up.

"You aren't alone either," was all I said.

There was a pulse of something down the bond that I couldn't quite identify, then he stepped back, tucking his wings in tight. His expression was unreadable—a wall had gone back up.

"I've passed all the information on to Azriel, and his shadows are scouting out the locations we were given. Will you be able to keep going? It's alright if you're rattled—you did just kill someone."

There was nothing but a howling void where my guilt should have been. Perhaps I'd lost that piece of myself when I'd killed Andras. If anything, I just felt…numb. "He deserved it."

"I don't disagree."

Rhys let me into his mind as he conferred with the others. I relaxed when Azriel's shadows confirmed that the information I'd gathered was correct—at the very least, I'd saved us time trekking through the woods. I wasn't useless, hadn't been brought here for nothing after all.

Once the first war-band had been hauled back to Windhaven, Rhys wanted me to stay there. I didn't mind. Another set of eyes and ears on the camp was prudent, and I was still technically his emissary.

It was barely even noon when we returned. On Rhys's orders, Devlon's men had set up a line of wooden poles at the center of the camp, the area used for public gatherings. A small crowd had already begun to form. Among them, I spotted Devlon and the warriors who'd been flanking him earlier.

Cassian had wanted those poles burned. And after this, they would be. For the last fifty years, females had been tied to them when their wings had been clipped. The sight of them alone turned my stomach.

Rhys loosened his grip on his power, and from my place next to him, I could feel the magic radiating off him like heat. A gust of night-kissed wind had every member of the rebel war-band silent and tied to the posts.

"There is no tolerance for treason in the Night Court," Rhys said. His voice cut like a knife through the murmuring of the crowd. Pure command—the voice of the High Lord of the Night Court. "And to bow before an invading general who would butcher and enslave humans is particularly heinous. It spits on the graves of the soldiers who died for the mortals' freedom during the War. I'll leave your fate up to the human in our midst, Feyre Cursebreaker."

Every single set of eyes slid to me. The attention had my heart hammering in my chest, but I forced myself to mimic the small, cold smile I'd seen on Amren's face from time to time. When I'd yanked the ash arrow out of the dead warrior's eye, I hadn't bothered to clean it off, just returned it to my quiver.

The gore peeking over my shoulder was message enough.

"I'll make a final decision when the rest are captured. Flaying their skin from their bones seems merciful, but perhaps there's some creature in the Middle that might enjoy hunting them for sport," I said, making myself sound bored and aloof.

The spark of Rhys's approval down the bond bolstered my confidence for what I'd planned to do next. I stepped closer to one of the bound Illyrians and circled my hand around the thin, delicate bone at the edge of his wing, then snapped it in two.

I'd know that cracking sound anywhere. The air reeked of Wyrm shit again, mud clung to my skin, and the slithering behind me was getting closer and closer.

I was running, and—

It's over, Feyre. We got out.

Rhys's voice in my head jolted me out of the memory. I gripped one of his talons and pulled myself back to the present.

I'd survived. And no matter how much of a monster it made me, I'd ensure that no one, not even the most powerful faerie, would hurt me or anyone I loved. Not again.

Before Rhys could fuss, I was breaking the bones in the next Illyrian's wings. I gritted my teeth and ignored their cries of pain until I'd rendered every single one of them incapable of flight.

We locked eyes when it was done, but Rhys's beautiful face was an impenetrable mask I still hadn't learned to see past. "I'll be waiting here for you to bring me the rest," I said. No title or honorific—I'd let them all wonder why he hadn't misted me for speaking to him like that.

Rhys nodded once. He said nothing, but there was a question in the hesitant brush against my shields.

I'm fine. Really. Just bring me the rest so we can finish this quickly.

For a moment, the bond thrummed with wicked delight. Try not to burn down Windhaven while I'm gone.

He took to the sky. Without carrying a passenger, the movement was all perfect, lethal grace, and sometimes I wondered how I could possibly forget that Rhys was anything but an absurdly beautiful predator. I watched until he was out of sight, marveling that he was mine.

The crowd dispersed, and for a moment, I just stood there, unsure what to do with myself. Perhaps I'd spend the rest of the day being ignored by Illyrians. I wouldn't blame them for that—as faeries went about their business, I caught a few wary glances in my direction.

But I supposed I should probably clean off the bloodied arrows in my quiver. And my hands were badly in need of washing.

I made my way to the water pump at the center of the camp. An Illyrian female—around my age, if I had to guess, though it was impossible to be sure with immortals—had just started using using it. Large, brutal scars ran down both of her wings.

"I'll be a while. You can go first," she said, sliding her empty bucket out of the way with her foot. Now that I was closer, I spotted a bruise darkening her cheek, too.

"There's no need. I wouldn't want to waste your time if there are chores to be done," I said.

"You'd be doing me a favor—I'll take any excuse to be out of the house for a little while longer."

I understood—there had been countless days I'd dragged my feet because I hadn't wanted to face Nesta's barbed insults, my father's sad eyes, or Elain's clueless whining. And none of them had even raised a hand to me.

I gave the female a nod, pulled the bloody arrow from my quiver, and rinsed it off under the stream. Silence fell. The female said nothing else, and perhaps it would have been best to let the quiet stay unbroken. The chances were high a trip to gather water was a rare respite for her.

But I could feel her assessing gaze, and I struggled not to squirm under it. "Illyria is very beautiful," I blurted out awkwardly.

"It's a shithole."

"My shithole across the Wall didn't have mountains. It's prettier here, at least," I shook the excess water off the newly-clean arrow and slid it back into the quiver.

She snorted, lips tugging upward at the corners. "I'm Emerie."

"Feyre."

"I know. You're the Cursebreaker." Not awed, just matter-of-fact, which was a bit of a relief.

I scrubbed away the last of the dirt, dried off as best I could, then offered a hand to shake. Emerie took it, and I wasn't surprised that her grip was like iron, not with that straight-backed posture and sharp stare of hers.

I stayed while Emerie filled up her bucket, just talking a bit about Windhaven. She didn't offer up much about herself, and I didn't pry. But by the time she returned home, I'd learned what spices were in the Illyrian dish Cassian had brought to the townhouse the day I'd first trained with Rhys. Emerie had barked a laugh when I told her not to bother with advice on preparing it because I was an utterly hopeless cook.

Maybe I'd made a friend. But I'd also thought Lucien was a friend and he'd turned out to be assisting my kidnapper—I wasn't sure I trusted my judgement on that front anymore.

By the end of the day, Rhys, Cassian, and Azriel, had rounded up the rest of the rogue war-bands, and I'd broken the wings of the survivors. And as much as I wanted to go straight to the Weaver's cottage, I knew it was foolish to go so close to dark. Cassian planned to stay in Illyria, and Devlon was loyal enough not to release the prisoners under his nose in the dead of night or allow anyone else to manage it.

Rhys and I returned to the townhouse in need of a bath, so we took one together. We were both utterly exhausted—his eyes roved over me as I shucked off my leathers, but for once, he was silent.

I'd still snatched the long-handled sponge out of his hands and washed his wings for him. Even drained of energy, I wasn't about to forgo an opportunity to get my hands all over them. I took my time, appreciating the way the powerful muscles in his back rippled with every brush of my fingertips.

And once we were clean, he laid me out on his bed and licked until he'd wrung so much pleasure from me that I drifted into an easy sleep in his arms.

It had been exactly what we both needed. I could guess how he was feeling about a trip to Illyria with still-healing wings, and my mind was unable to keep replaying the sound of bones cracking when Rhys's tongue was sliding inside me.

My dreams were still horrifying—a bone-spear lancing through Rhys's eye, my hands covered in his blood—but I slept through the night and kept my dinner down. I woke alone in Rhys's bed that morning, which meant he'd probably slipped out once I'd drifted off. I suspected he'd had nightmares of his own, too.

I was pulling the belt of knives from my dresser when he winnowed behind me. "Allow me," he purred, right into my ear.

"I can do it myself," I said. After I'd mentioned chucking that knife at Tamlin, Azriel had showed me how to strap it on as part of my training to go Under the Mountain.

"I'm aware. That doesn't mean you have to."

He had a point, so I let him take it from me. I turned, and for a moment, we were chest-to-chest. He inhaled, drinking in my scent, and I lifted a hand to touch him.

But he dropped to his knees before I could. Flashing me a roguish grin, he spread open the web of leather and steel. My toes curled in my boots.

"Remind me of what you've been briefed on," he said as I stepped through the loops.

I did my best to ignore the steady brush of his hands as he set about adjusting and buckling and tightening things. "Knives only—no sword or bow or arrows. Don't touch anything that doesn't belong to me. Take my time to think about loopholes before agreeing on a bargain. Call for help if I need it. And stay alive before everything else," I recited.

"Precisely." He braced those strong, capable hands on my thighs and looked up at me. "You are more valuable than any treasure the Weaver could ever posses. If you need to leave the ring behind to come home to me, then that's what you do."

"I won't let it come to that."

Rhys got to his feet and kissed my cheek. "I believe you."

He winnowed us into a wood that was older, more aware, than any place I’d been.

The gnarled beech trees were tightly woven together, splattered and draped so thoroughly with moss and lichen that it was nearly impossible to see the bark beneath. The trees groaned—though there was no breeze to shift them. No, the air here was tight and stale.

So this was the Middle.

I followed Rhys through the trees, and the only sound was our footsteps. No birdsong or the snapping of twigs, nothing I was used to hearing in a forest. Just unnatural, ancient stillness.

We stopped before a clearing. A small, whitewashed cottage with a thatched roof and half-crumbling chimney sat in the center. Ordinary—almost mortal. There was even a well, its bucket perched on the stone lip, and a wood pile beneath one of the round windows of the cottage. No sound or light within—not even smoke puffed from the chimney.

I could hear faint, pretty humming coming from the cottage. Soothing, almost mesmerizing—it would have set me at ease if I didn't already know it was coming from the monster within. The sort of thing that might lure quarry into a snare.

But I was not prey. No—I was a huntress. A wolf. It took much more than that to fool me.

I started down the mossy earth path that paved the way to the door and didn't look back once. When I reached the threshold, I could hear her voice through the door. The Weaver's voice was sweet, clear, and beautiful.

“There were two sisters, they went playing, To see their father’s ships come sailing… And when they came unto the sea-brim The elder did push the younger in.”

I'd heard the song before, from humans. It was a favorite of the traveling musicians who sometimes passed through our village. And perhaps…she knew that, and the familiarity was intended to lull me, too.

I stayed perfectly still on the threshold for a long moment, the same freeze-watch-listen pattern I fell into as I hunted in the woods. Along with her voice, I could only hear the clatter of some device. So she was alone, then.

“Sometimes she sank, and sometimes she swam, Til her corpse came to the miller’s dam.”

I raised a hand to knock, but the door swung open on silent hinges, as if she'd rolled out a welcome mat just for me. I didn't move, just peered inside. My chest went tight, and I forced myself to keep my breathing even.

A large main room, with a small, shut door in the back. Floor-to-ceiling shelves lined the walls, crammed with bric-a-brac: books, shells, dolls, herbs, pottery, shoes, crystals, more books, jewels…From the ceiling and wood rafters hung all manner of chains, dead birds, dresses, ribbons, gnarled bits of wood, strands of pearls…

A junk shop—of some immortal hoarder.

I waited to feel power calling out to me, but…nothing happened. Perhaps, as part of the bargain, I'd need to ask her to hand the ring to me directly. If she even remembered where it was.

The Weaver of the Wood herself sat with her back to me. In the gloom of the cottage, I could just make out the ancient, cracked spinning wheel I'd heard along with her singing. In the cottage, it was far too dim to make out the thin white thread she was spinning. Was she blind, like the Wyrm….or could she see in the dark?

My eyes drifted to the soft fiber she was feeding into the wheel. It looked like wool, but some deep-seated instinct in the back of my brain told me it was not. The question wasn't what she was spinning, but who.

The shelf above her head was filled with cones upon cones of thread, and large bolts of woven fabric filled up the space next to her. Mother above, she must have made it from entire cities, whole armies or even nations. A handful of rebel Illyrians suddenly seemed like a pitiful offering.

But I still, I had to try. And if there really were some power for me to detect, perhaps I needed to be a bit closer. Out here, nothing was pulling me towards one object in particular.

As silently as I could, I took a step into the cottage. I froze, waited, breathed. Nothing. I took another, and then the door slammed shut.

The Weaver turned her face toward me.

Above her young, supple body, beneath her black, beautiful hair, her skin was gray—wrinkled and sagging and dry. And where eyes should have gleamed instead lay rotting black pits. Her lips had withered to nothing but deep, dark lines around a hole full of jagged stumps of teeth—like she had gnawed on too many bones.

Her nose—perhaps once pert and pretty, now half-caved in—flared as she sniffed in my direction. "Well met, High Lady."

#feysand #feyre archeron #we said hello and your eyes look like coming home

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paimonial-rage · 1 year

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secret identities and whatnot

ship: xiao x reader x venti

synopsis: in which reader finds out xiao is a fellow fan of a certain musician and venti wants to find out who

notes: idol!au; follow up stories will be posted following venti's route and xiao's route

You frowned as a soft melody traveled through the halls of Teyvat Entertainment. Having worked there for months, you knew it didn’t belong to any of the groups or talents. Their songs fell more into the pop category with the occasional ballad, but this was different. It was a delicate piece, beautiful, yet subdued. And as you followed the sound, you couldn’t help but feel you knew this song from somewhere. But where?

When you opened the door to the practice room belonging to 5WIRL, there was Xiao mid-pirouette, and then it sunk in. You did know this song! In fact, how in the world did you not recognize it in the first place!? You used to listen to his songs on continuous repeat when you were younger. But more important was Xiao! After all–

You rushed up to him and took his hands in excitement.

“You know who Barbatos is? Are you a fan??”

There were practically sparkles in your eyes as you gazed up at the soft-spoken man in sheer excitement. With your heart beating so fast, you didn't even realize you didn't give him a chance to respond before you continued.

“This song is ‘Cecilia’ from his first album, ‘Der Frühling,’ right? While he has gotten a bit more traction over the years, most people aren’t even aware of this album!! So obviously you have to be a fan, right? What is your favorite song from the album? Is it this one? Mine is ‘What is a Windblume?’”

Perhaps you did sound a bit fanatical, but could anyone blame you? Barbatos, though a phenomenal composer, was not necessarily well known. While it was said he ghostwrote a lot of songs for groups and movies that immediately topped the lists, his personal works were few and far between. It didn’t help that he opted to remain anonymous. So to find someone that actually knew who he was absolutely astounded and excited you! You finally had someone to gush over Barbatos with!

It was unfortunate that in your excitement, you didn’t notice the rather confused expression on your companion’s face. While you were a regular face in the office and at concerts, you were usually fighting with Venti or assisting the other members of 5WIRL. He always assumed you were intimidated by him, but seeing how you were practically up in his face with sheer giddiness, he concluded that wasn’t the case.

“I’m not that much of a fan…” He mumbled, turning his face away.

You frowned.

“But you have to like at least one of the songs to be listening to this album!!” You pleaded.

He let out an exasperated sigh. And after a few moments of silence, he finally responded.

“‘Floating Lights…’”

Your heart suddenly stopped… before jumpstarting a mile a minute. A wide grin blossomed upon your lips as you squeezed his hands and hopped excitedly.

“You mean the song he was rumored to have made during a trip to Liyue for the Lantern Rite?? That’s not even on this album!!! There’s no way you’re not a fan! Which part is your favorite? The beginning with the lyre? Or is it that floaty part with the flute?”

If you weren’t up in his face, you were definitely there now. Or at least that’s where you would have been had a rather… annoying voice not joined the conversation.

“Oh? What are you both talking about?”

Your lips immediately pulled into a pained grimace. And just as expected, you turned to see the leader of 5WIRL with his green tipped locks and deceptively sweet smile.

It was not a secret among the members and staff of 5WIRL that you didn’t get along with Venti. Where all the members of 5WIRL were calm and sweet (for the most part), Venti was lazy and uncontained. How many times were you called in the middle of the night to pick him up from random taverns? How many times did you find yourself cleaning up after him in the practice studio? You had no doubt your life would be much simpler if he just weren’t around.

Still, as much as you hated to admit it, he wasn’t popular for no reason. The picture he painted of himself to his fans was of an impish fairy. Ethereal in looks, yet mischievous in nature. Sweet-tongued, yet as unpredictable as the winds. If anyone asked you, though, you’d say he was more akin to a demon. But… you supposed he was a great songwriter and lyricist. Not as good as Barbatos, mind you, but still halfway decent.

“We’re talking about our shared love of a very amazing songwriter,” you replied with an upturned nose.

“A songwriter? Which one? Maybe I’ve heard of them!” he replied with curious excitement.

You gave a wry snort of laughter.

“Oh, I highly doubt it. He’s very underground. Certainly not mainstream like you. And his music has a lot of depth, I’m not sure you’d understand…”

“Really? Then I’d love to know who he is! Maybe I can learn a thing or two, hehe!”

Much to your dismay, Venti didn’t become irritated nor upset. Rather, he seemed to be even more interested. Xiao, on the other hand, became more and more concerned with each word that left your mouth. In fact, had you been paying attention, you would have seen him hesitantly holding his hand out as if to stop you from driving your train of sheer arrogance straight off of the cliff of rude awakening!

“Well, for your information, his name is–”

“First!”

You nearly jumped out of your skin. Spinning around, you were shocked to see that it was Xiao with a more intense look of frustration on his face than usual. Even though it could be no one other than him that yelled your name so loudly, you could hardly believe it. But now that he finally had your attention, it seemed he didn’t quite know what to do next. If you were paying attention, however, you would have noticed a pair of very observant eyes watching the scene unfold before him.

“... The… manager wants to see you,” he finally got out.

You frowned. The manager? You were pretty sure you already handled everything they asked for… Maybe they needed you for something else.

“Did they text you what they wanted?” You asked curiously.

He shook his head.

You sighed.

“Well, hopefully I didn’t forget to do something. I’ll see you two later.”

With that, you slowly trudged your way over to the door. You were really hoping you weren’t needed for something important. Today was supposed to be a slow day. But before you could get any farther, a hand grabbed yours.

“Wait! Can you tell me the name of that composer first, please? If he’s better than me as you say, then you gotta tell me who he is!” Venti begged sweetly.

Xiao’s shoulders stiffened.

“The manager has texted me twice already. Don’t make them wait,” he interrupted.

“Aw, c’mon, Xiao,” Venti groaned. “It’s not going to take them any longer to tell me. Who is it, first?”

“First, they’ve just texted me again.”

“Please? I just want to know his name! Tell me? Pretty please?”

“Just go already.”

“No, don’t listen to him!”

“First.”

“First!”

You exploded.

“QUIET ALREADY!”

You turned to Xiao first.

“The manager can wait just five more seconds! Do you want me gone so badly?”

You then turned to Venti.

“And you! If you really must know, his name is Barbatos. He makes the most wonderful music in the whole entire world. The way he can paint the most beautiful scenes with his lovely melodies is proof that he is an angel in human form. For some time, I couldn't even sleep without listening to his music, so I really owe my life to him! He was my first love and he's way more the musician than you’ll ever be!”

You then turned, stomped off, and slammed the door behind you.

After a few moments of silence, Xiao let out a long drawn out sigh.

“This is why they dislike you so much.”

“Ehe!”

[SIDE A: Venti]

[SIDE B: Xiao] (coming soon)

#genshin impact #genshin x reader #venti #venti x reader #xiao #xiao x reader #my writing #this was finished before wanderer's release and i was honestly just too lazy to update it #this is based off of that scene in gekkan shoujo nozaki-kun chapter 14 #where waka tells seo abt lorelei #also for anyone that requested something recently i'm still working on your things #my brain hasn't been working as of late #i only posted these two things bc i was legit 95% done with them for like 3 months #didn't require much brainpower #i'll get back into the zone soon

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ultradeducing · 11 months

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im going to talk about yosano too. i hate how little the fandom talks about yosano's character. it makes me truly upset. like first of all lets address the fact that judging by how many of the agency members cringe abt the idea of needing her ability used on them shes almost definitely the only reason they havent all literally been killed. to say nothing of how many times we see it on screen esp in s4 like if yosano had not been there shit would have been worse. and yet barely anyone talks about her even w the slight uptick since her backstory being animated. and her backstory is easily one of the most emotionally devastating ones in the whole story and the depiction of her being like "the door might have been open but i wouldn't have known or been able to leave" because she was so heavily traumatized after is to me as someone w ptsd myself such a harrowingly real feeling that comes w ptsd and being in dissociative states because of it. she was so young and was so traumatized she couldnt even move on her own and until she was rescued by fukuzawa and ranpo she had to endure so much unimaginable pain ESPECIALLY for a child so young at the time. and yet even so today she still pushes through no matter what and is so incredibly strong mentally and physically esp considering we know her past still haunts her enough to where she still feels undeserving of the agency's care and like she has to atone for things she was forced to do (m*ri watch your fuckinf back because every second youre not running i only get closer). and despite feeling that way she still does everything she can to protect the agency and save people now that she can use her ability however she wants without being told when or how she has to use it because all she ever wanted was to save people. the agency owes their very survival to yosano in the most literal sense and i just think everything she's gone through and everything she contributes gets overlooked so so often and i hate it i truly do

#in general the girls and women in bsd get overlooked a concerning amount which is another can of worms #but this is one example of that #anyway please talk about yosano more #she is so important and a character doesn't have to constantly be in the spotlight to be crucial #because it isn't an exaggeration to say she's the only reason the agency has survived on a literal level #and even if that wasn't the case she's so interesting and has such a harrowing backstory #people tend to forget bsd is set post-war #and that becomes very important context with many story elements #whether it's yosano's backstory or ranpo finding fukuzawa while searching for a job at 14 yrs old #because the government set up minors to work after many were orphaned to prevent 'bad behavior'#and yes even fukuchi #because obv hes a dickhead but its not for no reason #especially considering what we've learned in recent chapters that doesn't make him excusable but does make him at least understandable #which is not in Defense of him but he's not just doing shit for what he perceives as no reason #but that and the post-war topic in bsd is another post for another time #but you do have to remember that #and it is obviously very prominent and important in yosano's backstory #and very crucial to understanding the level of trauma she endured #bsd s4 spoilers #bsd spoilers #just in case #bsd #akiko yosano

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ratgirlcopia · 3 months

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tbh i think a good amount of copia content just wants to fuck a horny guy with a goth-y aesthetic and i have no reason to be surprisedpikachu about that but i do think it's a genuine shame that this means even very simple, unique characterization bits like "copia has a bit of a stutter and uses a lot of filler words" and "copia has a weird dynamic with imperator" and "copia's living situation is a little messed up" end up falling to the wayside. to say nothing of the fact that she is a heterosexual woman.

#copiaposting #like it's one of those “well of course this is what everybody's doing but it's still a shame because this other stuff is more interesting.”#siiiiiiigh. i think rewatching chapters 9-14 and 16 + 17 would do us all good. it's only like 25 minutes.#and they really are such like. genuinely good character work. imperator's actress is so so good she kills me.#i can't believe she was only ever in like. the background of a paranormal activity movie before this.

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soaps-mohawk · 3 months

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Cherry Red, Crimson Blood Masterlist

Summary: Task Force 141 operates successfully without an omega, at least that’s what Price has been saying since its formation. Two alphas and two betas balance the pack just fine, and they have the numbers to prove it.

It works for a while, until the Omega Initiative is born and the 141 find themselves having to adjust to the sudden addition of an omega to their pack. Fresh out of an institute, you’re hardly fit for their secretive, dangerous world, or so Price thinks.

As each member of the team gets closer to you, things begin to come to light, not only about you but about the decision to force you into their lives.

Maybe, just maybe, Price was wrong and the 141 does need an omega after all.

Pairings: Poly 141 x reader, Price x Gaz, Ghost x Soap

Warnings: Alpha/Beta/Omega dynamics, NSFW content, explicit smut, fingering, oral (m and f receiving), knotting, biting, claiming, mating cycles, Alternate Universe, a/b/o typical classism and sexism, age differences, military inaccuracies, canon typical violence, blood, weapons, language, no use of Y/N, brief torture, hurt/comfort, let's be real this is so unrealistic but it's a/b/o you're not here for accuracy.

Chapters containing smut are marked with a *

Updates are posted on the weekends, either Saturday or Sunday PST

This fic can also be found on my Ao3 -> HERE

YOU DO NOT HAVE MY PERMISSION TO USE MY FICS FOR AI UNDER ANY CIRCUMSTANCES

NAVIGATION PAGE Lore and world building masterlist CRCB Barracks Sims 4 Build Masterlist Support me on Patreon for more bonus content

Divider by: samspenandsword

Part 1 - The Omega

Chapter 1 - The Introduction Chapter 2 - Adjustments Chapter 3 - Speak Their Language Chapter 4 - You Can Be Useful Chapter 5 - What I Want *

Part 2 - The Bond

Chapter 6 - One Step Closer * Chapter 7 - Sweet Strawberry Chapter 8 - The Thing About Ghost Chapter 9 - Save Me Chapter 10 - Treat Me Gently*

Part 3 - The First Heat

Chapter 11 - It's Coming Chapter 12 - Fire In My Veins* Chapter 13 - Piece Me Back Together* Chapter 14 - The Aftermath*

Part 4 - The New Normal

Chapter 15: Bonnie* Chapter 16: Big Brown Eyes * Chapter 17: Alone Chapter 18: Don't Let Me Go Chapter 19: Daddy Issues

#call of duty #call of duty fanfic #call of duty x reader #cod x reader #141 x reader #task force 141 x reader #captain john price x reader #john price x reader #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #kyle garrick x reader #gaz x reader #soap mactavish x reader #john mactavish x reader #x reader #a/b/o

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dathen · 10 months

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We’re so used to the sexual reading of the entire book of Dracula, which takes the sensuality of the early chapters and jams everything that follows it into the same metaphor no matter how poorly it fits, but I feel the segment we’re approaching works much better with a lens of chronic illness and disease.

Vampire legends are inextricably intertwined with disease. Many of them are said to have been birthed by burying victims of disease too soon, who later seem to rise from the dead. But what’s more is that Stoker and his family have deep-seated trauma over disease: his mother had to flee her hometown at the age of 14 because of a horrific cholera epidemic, and Stoker himself was bedridden as a child from an illness that no one could identify.

Found this quote from Irish Historian Mary McGarry:

Bram as an adult asked his mother to write down her memories of the epidemic for him, and he supplemented this using his own historic research of Sligo’s epidemic. Scratching beneath the surface (of this essay), I found parallels with Dracula. [For instance,] Charlotte says cholera enters port towns having traveled by ship, and can travel overland as a mist—just like Dracula, who infects people with his unknown contagion.

I bring this up because a lot of academic analysis insists that Lucy sleepwalking is proof of her being the Slutty Woman archetype that needs to be punished. This suggested symbolism is hilarious when put next to the text saying she inherited it from her father, but I’d like to suggest a different angle from the lens of disease suggested earlier:

Lucy’s sleepwalking is a condition that predates Dracula but makes her an easy target for him to prey on. Through the lens of disease symbolism, she now is someone with chronic illness or disability who is especially vulnerable to infectious disease. This becomes a cross-section of Stoker’s trauma regarding disease: his own mystery illness and his mother fleeing a plague.

To wind down my rambles with a bit of a soapbox, I feel this adds a very poignant layer to the struggle to keep Lucy alive. The COVID pandemic showed a horrifying level of casual ableism vs disabled and immunodeficient individuals, shrugging off their vulnerability and even their deaths with “well COVID only kills them.” There’s something deeply gratifying at seeing the way everyone around Lucy fights to the bitter end to protect her and refuses to just give her up to Dracula, whether it’s Mina physically chasing him away or the suitor squad pouring their blood into her veins or Van Helsing desperately searching for cures. The vulnerable deserve no less than this. They’re not acceptable casualties.

#dracula daily #ableism cw #dracula daily spoilers #lucy westenra

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