#taming of the shrubbery | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

arachine · 1 year

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૮(ˊ ᵔ ˋ)ა ... i'd follow you anywhere .ᐟ

ᥫ᭡ pairing :: neteyam sully x avatar! reader

ᥫ᭡ genre :: mature

ᥫ᭡ synopsis :: in which reader uses her new avatar body to finally show neteyam just how much she loves him… + based off of this thirst!

ᥫ᭡ general tags :: 18+ (explicit sexual content, explicit language), minimal angst (?), lots of fluff and banter lol

ᥫ᭡ content warnings :: characters aged up to 20, oral (m receiving), cum swallowing, dacryphilia (v tame), corruption

ᥫ᭡ word count :: 2.5k

ᥫ᭡ note :: guys this is what happens when i ask for thirsts!!! i get carried away and never know when to stop ;(( anyway, here, have this while i work on my annual dick analysis for jake & quaritch.

“Where are you taking me?”

“Shh, you’ll see, kitty boy,” you giggled, tightening your grip on his wrist.

Neteyam shakes his head, tongue in cheek. He could never say no to you—not that he wanted to…he always wanted to play with you. He’d follow you into the depths of hell, or whatever the na’vi equivalent of hell was. Yeah, he’d follow you there, he thinks—definitely.

The boy relinquishes all of his motor skills to you, allowing you to drag his body further into the forest. He mirrors all of your agile movements, jumping when you jump, running when you run—and then you come to a halt, turning around quickly to face him. You’re so close—too close, the sudden proximity disrupting his equilibrium.

“Don’t go falling for me now,” you grab his forearm before he can fall, pulling him back up with a wink. He scoffs at this, mumbling something sly under his breath. You were always so quick-witted, with quick reflexes to match, too. To anyone else, this would be annoying, but to him, they were your most admirable traits. It’s what made him fall for you.

“Ha, ha, can you tell me what we are doing all the way out here now?” he raises his hands, gesturing to the clearing that you were now standing in. You smile wildly, pursing your lips together in avoidance. The boy reaches behind you to pull your tail, tickling your sides until you surrender.

“Okay, okay, just s-stop it already,” you belt out, “I wanna show you somethin’…gotta be nice to get it, though.” He retracts his hands, letting them fall slowly to his sides. Just what were you planning?

Grabbing his hand this time, you usher him to follow you with a tilt of your head. You lead him to a tree surrounded by shrubbery, a spot that, up until now, only you were privy to its whereabouts. The perfect place for privacy.

Letting go of his hand, you push him down to sit on the forest floor, with his back resting against the bark of the tree and you nestled between his legs. His pulse quickens. What was so important that you needed to drag him so deep into the forest? In such a secluded place, nonetheless.

“I’ve been wanting to try this with you for a while,” you start, voice so low, just barely above a whisper. His eyes squint in confusion, but he remains silent—listening, as to not scare you from continuing.

“You know, growing up in a shack with grown men…you hear a lot of things,” a silence, “things only men talk about.” Your eyes flitter to his, unmoving.

“like, the things they missed doing on Earth, the girls they miss fucking—and what they’d do to have a woman’s lips wrapped their cocks…” The last bit comes out more hushed, gently kissing the shell of his ears. His tail reacts to you before he can, swishing in jagged movements, exposing his excitement.

“Has anyone ever kissed you down there?” your eyes flit to his groin.

He shakes his head eagerly, “No, I have n-never heard of this…nobody has ever…”

“Can I?” you tilt your head, flashing him your best doe-eyes. It was fun teasing him, a feeling that you’d never grow tired of. From first glance, to first introduction, you’d been bound at the hip since you could talk. Everything he did, you did, and vice versa. If you were feeling sick one day and couldn’t play, then shit, he was too. If you wanted to jump off a cliff one day, he’s jumping with you!

His loyalty to you was unyielding, grounding. And as the years passed, and the two of you transitioned from bright-eyed little kids to gangly, awkward teens on the cusp of adulthood, you started to realize something. That you wanted to be all of his firsts.

Determinedly, you set out to do just that. On his thirteenth birthday, you kissed his cheek. A scintilla of your love, stained onto the expanse of his face that served as a mental reminder that this boy was yours—promised to you, and only you.

Then, three more years passed. The boy with the rounded cheeks and toothy smile, had begun to change. It started out slow, though, then the differences became more gradual.

The first to change was his face. What was once round and doughy, had now become slim and sharp. And then it was his physique. No longer was he the awkward child with gangly limbs, and a head too big for his body (as you liked to put it). No, he was much more…different. And each and every one of these changes, a testament to his inevitable journey into adulthood.

On his sixteenth birthday, you kissed him. Once. But in that one kiss, you poured every ounce of love that you’d collected over the years. Every thought, every wish, every yearn, went right into that kiss—another piece of your heart that you carved just for him. For him to have and hold, to keep safe.

And when it was over, you pulled away with a smile, and a dagger of a tongue dipped in poison, ready to deliver heartbreak.

You’re a man now, you uttered. I wanted to give my best friend his first kiss. And that was it, that was all it was ever going to be—because you were human, then. Still a weak, measly, little human who spent all her time living in a false reality, chasing something (someone) that could never really truly be promised to you. Not until you made the change.

So, you waited. And…waited, and waited, and waited until one day you could meet his eye without having to look up, or for him to drop down. You waited until the day when you’d be recognized as his equal.

Today was that day, on his twentieth birthday. And so you ask again.

“Can I kiss you down here?”

He nods. Once, twice, then stutters out an eager yes. Gently you smooth your palm up and over his knee, the skin of his thighs, and then stop beneath the fabric of his loin cloth. Your fingers trace the area teasingly, and you giggle when his hip juts up from the sensation. So sensitive.

Slowly, you remove the cloth from his body, and take him into your hand. He’s semi-hard and leaking pre—and warm. So, so warm. You bring it up to your cheek, rubbing it against the area before turning your head to leave a zephyr-light kiss on his shaft. You kiss it once, then twice, then kiss it again for every year you spent not kissing him.

“What are you doing?” he laughs, “Come on, it tick—hahhh.” A whine vacates from his throat upon you licking a long stripe from the base of his shaft, to the tip of his head. Naturally, his hands find solace atop of your head.

“So dramatic, I didn’t even do anything yet.” This time, you take him into your mouth, forcing him to watch you as more and more of his length disappears into the cavern of your mouth.

Technically, you’d never done this before (save for the few times you practiced on fruit) so it was your first time, just as much as it was his. But he didn’t have to know that. You wanted to appear like you knew what you were doing, or at the very least, like you’d done this before. You try to remember all the things you’ve heard over the years.

1) Girls who used teeth were bad, but girls who flattened their tongues and relaxed their throats were good.

2) Girls who didn’t use spit sucked, but girls who got really messy were good fucks.

3) Girls who didn’t play with balls were lazy, but girls who did knew how to have fun.

So, you use an amalgamation of all of the tips that you garnered. You flatten your tongue, ease your throat so that you can take him farther, until the head of his cock hits your uvula.

“Shhit, mmf,” he breathes, attempting to stifle a moan by digging a hand into the forest soil. Immediately, you grab his hand and place it back onto your head, pulling off of him with a wet pop.

“Keep ‘em here,” your hand fists his length, “want you to use me. Wanna make you feel good, ‘kay?” His dick twitches in your hold, because fuck, the sight before him is almost too much for him to handle.

You, before him on your knees, with your dainty hand wrapped around him, and your face wet with drool. And you want him to what? Use you? To make him feel…good? God, if he didn’t know any better, he’d think this was Eywa playing tricks on his mind. Giving him a taste of euphoria before yanking him back to reality.

He has half a mind to pinch himself, and half mind to poke you, because there’s just no way this is real. Bullshit. But then you’re sinking back down onto him, and swirling your tongue around his head, and using your hands to massage his balls, and—

“Fuck,” his hands reflexively push you down onto his length. His body shivers when the tip of your nose makes contact with his pelvis. You’re so warm, and wet, so inviting, he can’t seem to let go. He keeps you there until you physically can’t fathom it, and pull off of him in search of air.

“That felt…nice,” he says bashfully, “can you do that again?” You nod eagerly, accumulating a generous amount of spit in your mouth to use as a salve, lathering it up and down the length of him before he guides you back to his awaiting cock.

He watches intently as your lips stretch to accommodate him again. Now his hands, which are tangled in your tresses, are moving more confidently. They push and pull you, maneuvering your head gently and at a steady pace, then gradually, they increase their speed.

Neteyam does this a few times and then allows you to take the reins. When you’re ready, you take a deep inhale through your nose, and push yourself down until you feel the weight of him hit the back of your throat. The first time was a bit easier, mostly because your jaw wasn’t as fatigued as it was now, but you persevere anyway.

Inhale, exhale. A mantra that you have to repeat to yourself to distract you from the urge to gag. You try your best to keep your jaw relaxed and your throat open by digging your nails into the fat of his thighs.

When you look up at him, there’s an elated expression molded onto his face. His head is thrown back against the tree, hair strewn about with tendrils sticking to his forehead, and his eyes are shut closed.

He looks…so beautiful. That’s when you feel a tear ribbon down your face and onto his thigh. You’re unsure if it’s because of the air steadily leaving your brain, or if it’s because of how pretty he looks right now—all sweaty, slick with your drool.

You settle on the former. It had to be the air. Eventually, your lungs give out and you have to take a breather. The sudden loss of warmth forces his eyes open, and then they fall on your face. Your eyes. Doe-eyed and clouded. Cheeks stained with tears.

“Pretty.” Is all he says, bringing up a hand to tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear. You work him the rest of the way with the iota of energy you have left, concentrating on the head of his cock while your hand fists him to climax.

His abs begin to tremble and flex when you switch between hollowing your cheeks and massaging his balls. A visual indication that he was close to coming.

“Waitwaitwait, it feels like,” he’s panicked, trying to push you away. You dodge his attempts to remove you and continue your assault, only this time, you gently apply pressure to his perineum. Unceremoniously, he pushes your head down to the hilt and you moan around him from the force.

The vibrations from your throat makes his head feel all fuzzy. He’s so close, on the precipice of euphoria. And your hands—that are still situated on his thighs—rub the expanse of them reassuringly, coaxing him to finish right on your tongue.

With a final lazy piston, he comes into your mouth, and the warm, salty seed that you’d been anticipating leaks down the column on your throat. Moans tumble from his lips, along with hushed expletives, and he’s shaking. The cords of muscle beneath your palm tense and flex before regressing to their natural, relaxed state.

You remove your mouth promptly and rise to your haunches, making sure that his eyes are locked onto yours as you stick out your tongue to show him his seed.

“No, do not swallow that, I didn’t mea—“ Disobeying his wishes, you do it anyway. Swallowing it all all down and making it a point that you did so by sticking your tongue out again. His tail flicks in response, eyes wide in disbelief.

“Why did you do that? It’s dirty,” he caresses your cheek, wiping away the leftover spent from your mouth.

“‘Cause I wanted to…” You counter. “And it’s not dirty, you tasted good.”

Neteyam rolls his eyes at this, like him tasting good is too hard for him to believe.

“Don’t believe me? Here, try it.” And then you give him the gift that you had gifted to him all those years ago. A kiss. It’s equal parts sweet and needy, different from the first time it happened, but that’s because it was supposed to be. You wanted him to know exactly what you meant. No more waiting. No more pining.

When you draw back, breathless and dizzy, he’s still stuck in a stupor. Lips jutted out and waiting for you to kiss him again. Again, again, again. He opens his eyes, and sees you staring back at him.

“See, I told yo—“ He takes a fist full of your hair and connects his lips to yours. This is him returning the gift. Letting you know that he got the message, loud and clear, and that it was reciprocated. Every ounce of love that flows through his heart is poured into your own; he hopes you can feel it.

“I told you not to fall for me,” you whisper, looking up at him with an avian flutter of your lashes. Neteyam’s hands find solace on the sides of your cheeks, and then he speaks.

“I think I fell for you a long time ago.” Warmth washes over you, his sweet words and strong hands overriding all of your cognitive functions. Specifically, the one in charge of keeping you calm and collected.

“Good, ‘cause I think you’re gonna fall for me a lot harder when you see what I have planned for you later.”

“What’s later?”

“Shh, what fun would it be if I told the birthday boy the surprise?” You grin cheekily, unaware of the way your tail swishes from side to side as you say it. Neteyam knows you’re up to no good, but he doesn’t care. He’d follow you anywhere, after all.

#neteyam x reader #neteyam sully x reader #neteyam x reader smut #neteyam smut #neteyam sully smut #lo’ak x reader #lo’ak x reader smut #avatar x reader smut #avatar x reader #atwow smut #avatar the way of water smut

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wedonthaveawhile · 4 months

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Baby, it's cold outside.

Garreth Weasley x MC (18+ only)

MC finds herself in Garreth's apothecary on Christmas Eve, and testing lust potion is on the agenda.

Tags: NSFW, smut with plot, aged-up characters, oral sex male receiving, lust potion sex, one bed trope, voice kink, praise kink, hurt/comfort, violence and gore.

AO3 // Wordcount: 5.5k

Muttering obscenities under her breath, the agitated witch half-hopped but mostly stumbled over another tomcat feasting on discarded street food. In the wake of Christmas, the tapering pavements of Hogsmeade were crammed with last-minute panic buyers laden with shopping bags.

One obstacle away from losing her footing on the mushy snow, she slipped into a familiar backstreet and pushed open the door to G.W. Potions.

The owner had his chin propped in a knotgrass-stained hand, scribbling in an overflowing notebook. Glancing up as the door chime announced her arrival, he broke into a wide smile.

"You're a lifesaver, you know that?"

“I know, I got your message,” Her eyes scanned the clusters of wax-sealed phials, the timber shelves much less packed than usual. "It sounded urgent, I believe your exact words were 'dire need’?"

"I might have been a little dramatic, I’m just running low on stock," Garreth admitted sheepishly. His mop of copper hair tumbled over his brow and he attempted to tame it with his cleanest hand. "I hope I haven’t disrupted your Christmas Eve? I wasn't sure if Friday was the last of your rounds."

"No, no you're fine. I was heading through to Gladrags for a delivery,” she lied.

She'd exchanged firm words with a few demanding clients who assumed she'd be available over the holidays but couldn't bring herself to impose the 'no-deliveries' rule on Garreth—a choice that felt counterproductive to the crush she'd been attempting to curb for months.

She justified it as a reciprocation of the kindness he’d shown her on previous deliveries—slipping tonics in her satchel whenever she offhandedly grumbled about a sleepless night with an orphaned thestral, or an inflamed laceration from a scrappy kneazle. He’d refuse payment, only asking she mark his map with shrubberies of ingredients she spotted while out raiding poacher camps.

She assumed this raised their relationship from business associates to something that resembled a friendship, and friends could bend the rules for each other without ulterior motives.

"Sorry, this time of year isn’t the best for shedding" she explained, sliding a folded cloth over the countertop. Pulling the edge back, she unveiled a modest bouquet of dense black fur. “Though Remi felt somewhat generous after I bribed him with the promise of coins.”

“So, you’re the middleman between me and a niffler?” His face lit up with one of those heart-stopping smiles, and she prayed that the twist in her gut wasn't reflected on her face. “What’s in it for you?”

"I figured having you owe me a favour couldn't hurt.”

"Favours are quickly becoming our preferred method of currency." He pivoted towards the excessive collection of potion stations, gathered beneath a 'staff only' sign swinging from a crooked nail. The cauldrons rattled on their supports, releasing densely packed bubbles that burst with trapped steam.

The witch slipped a finger in the weave of her scarf, easing it slightly to allow a breath of fresh air to caress her neck, “Are you rebranding as a sauna?”

"Sorry, I know it's sweltering back here," Garreth's eyes skimmed down the curve of her neck as she discarded the scrap of fabric. Stealthy enough, but stoking her hope nonetheless.

Clearing his throat, he shifted his focus to transfer a trio of niffler hairs into his mortar, along with a few drops of mallowsweet oil. "Any guesses today?"

She inhaled the spiralling vapour rising from the cauldron as he wafted the fog in her direction—there was a botanic scent of mandrake, tangy undertones of mint, and berries.

Wiggenweld? ...No, wrong colour, but it’s definitely medicinal.

“What kind of health tonic needs fur?” She eyed him accusingly. "Is this a trick question again, one of your experiments?"

His eyebrows lifted faintly, and a wave of pride washed over her when appeared impressed with her deduction. "I’ve sold out, and the snowstorm wiped out most of the dittany. I'm trying to brew a healing potion without it. Hence the..." He motioned toward the array of vessels stacked on his workstation, covered in a thick layer of curdled gunge. "I've almost cracked it... I'm pretty sure."

"It's interesting that healing potions are so in demand when everyone's spending extended time with their families."

"If everyone's relatives are like mine, I’d say it makes sense." Garreth rolled up his garish crimson sleeves to cool down, inadvertently warming her up with his toned forearms. He was the only wizard in a hundred-mile radius who could wear such a hideous Christmas jumper and still manage to attract several double-takes from captivated passersby. "When I dominate my niece at Pictionary, I always end up with a black eye."

"How old is your niece?"

"Three."

He gnawed on the inside of his lip, restraining a grin the way he typically did when having made her laugh. “What about your family, will you need medical assistance over Christmas?"

The herbology cabinet groaned in protest as the pair leaned against it, "The odds are high, but only because I’m spending my Christmas with a teenage hippogriff. Someone's got to stay at the sanctuary, and I drew the short straw this year”.

"Well, aside from a few hours at my folks tomorrow, I'll be here restocking. I won't be open to the public, but if... you know, if you need anything..."

His eyes lifted to meet hers, and tension coiled in her gut, shooting south at the thought of being alone with him in the locked store.

"Thanks," she said quietly.

"Yeah... of course," Garreth severed the eye contact, redirecting his attention to pick at the corroded hinges of the cabinet. "Sirona’s open over the holidays too."

“Oh... is she?”

He dove into a thorough breakdown of the Three Broomsticks festive menu. She nodded in amusement as he unnecessarily mimed the dimensions of the portions. She tucked away the knowledge that he worshipped turkey and cranberry burgers to the collection of other useless but endearing facts she'd gathered about him.

His cocktail of choice was red currant rum - She’d bumped into him on Halloween thoroughly intoxicated on the stuff. He’d feigned firing a toy arrow in her direction before proudly proclaiming he was Robin Hood, enunciating all the wrong words with the goofiest grin.

He outright denied being allergic to cats, inspecting the collar of each feline that decided to nap in a sunbeam on the steps of his shop, cooing their name before inevitably succumbing to three consecutive sneezes.

His family tree had long branches. On his opening weekend, she'd waded through a sea of proud redheads to reach the kiosk and hand over her business card.

"...Anyway, I wanted to mention it because, you know, if you’re alone for... well, not alone, but if you'll be around..."

Heat flared at the bottom of her spine, cautiously optimistic his rambling was veering toward an invitation.

A blast of glacial wind burst through the doorway as a customer wrenched it open. A light dusting of snow clung to his robes as he crossed the shop floor to the cabinet housing the erotic potions, taking a moment to tuck stray wisps of silvery hair into his hood.

Garreth's lips tightened into a taut line as he observed the elderly wizard pulling the entire supply of lust potion vials from the rack.

His thumb brushed his upper lip as he leaned in close, his elbow jostling her arm. "Do you reckon he takes them all in one go?"

"He'd orgasm from a pat on the head."

"Orgasm? My guy would be flung into the astral plane.”

She butted her forehead against his shoulder, struggling to transform her snort into an ill-concealed cough.

"I should get going, give you two some privacy."

"Attraction has to be in the fold for those potions to do their thing, and he's not my type," Garreth's eyes flitted to her lips, but the tinkling of thirteen phials skidding across the kiosk drew them away.

She reluctantly bundled back up into her scarf while Garreth seamlessly transitioned back into storekeeper mode.

"Have a great Christmas."

"You too, see you next time," he waved at her, turning his attention to the eager customer.

The witch spent her evening re-stitching the ruptured wound of an adolescent Hippogriff, the beast fluctuated between snapping at lacewing flies and charging aggressively toward its caretaker.

Collecting the fallen feathers from the creature's wings, she updated the ledger with the newfound stock, clucking her teeth disapprovingly at the sight of the diminishing list.

What did Garreth say was in short supply? Dittany?

During last week's Hippogriff rescue, she recalled noticing shrubs nestled in the mouth of a cave. It was a harsh winter, finances were stretched, and adding dittany to the stock during a surge in demand would ensure the creatures' comfort for the remaining winter months. Not to mention, it provided a convenient excuse to take Garreth up on his offer of dropping by.

After feeding the remaining beasts and wrapping them snug in warming charms she headed off to investigate.

Her destination wasn't far—a short ride up a shallow mountain. However, the wind thrashed against her broom. The bristles and handle careened in wildly opposing directions as she blundered through the dense forest, with a lumos scarcely penetrating two feet of the blistering snowstorm.

She sought refuge by the wreckage of a stone cottage, navigating through twisted roots and debris until she reached the cavern. Her nose wrinkled at the musty stench emanating from the path ahead, barely visible through a shroud of thick cobwebs. With a silent prayer that this was the right spot, she ignited the tangled web with a tap of her wand, the smouldering strands lit the passage and in the fleeting light, she saw a twitch in the shadows.

She’d barely uttered the Lumos incantation before a force erupted from the shadows, striking her face and propelling her into a bank of tightly packed snow. She desperately palmed the moisture flooding her vision, pale fingers smothering in the warmth of her blood. The forest whirled around her as she was hoisted into the air and slammed back to the ground.

She blindly blasted the acromantula into crumbling ruins with a frenzied swish of her wand. The arachnid recoiled from the thunderous blow, sprawling onto the ground before burrowing beneath the earth.

Scouring the terrain for any indication of the beast, a trail of crimson droplets stained the snow as she backed away, a ferocious blast of icy wind lashing at her throbbing wound.

Wiggenweld, I need wiggenweld.

The invasive thought tore through her mental image of the sanctuary farmhouse as she apparated.

Ploughing shoulder-first into a weathered door, the impact reverberated through her bones, pinging her brain around in her skull.

The skunky stench of wizzenweed curled into her nostrils, mingling with the sharp reek of spilt beer she'd stomped into and splattered up her ankles.

She swiped her hand across her eyes to smear away the blood and the harsh click of a lock snapped her back to reality—back to Hogsmeade.

Mellow candlelight exploded like a flashbang as a door creaked open, and a broad figure silhouetted against the orange glow said her name.

"Garreth?"

Humiliation struck her chest like a knife—a solid blow between her lungs. Tacky blood clung from her eyebrow to the corner of her mouth, pulling at her skin as she fought to articulate an explanation.

“What happened to you?”

"I'm so sorry, I tried apparating home, but the… it was a mistake. I needed wiggenweld… but the shortage, that’s what you told me, so I thought of you, and, I could've splinched…”

"Whoa, take a breath, you're talking a mile a minute.”

Garreth’s hands were firm on her shoulders as he steered her towards the counter and settled her on his chair. Flames from the brewing station twinkled in and out of focus as she tried to hone in on him dragging an extra stool across the floorboards, taking a seat in front of her.

"This doesn’t look like a hippogriff wound. Did someone do this to you?"

“N-no, no I was just being reckless… I did this to myself.”

She quivered as the crook of his warm finger tipped her chin up, assessing the cut with suspicious emerald eyes.

"I'm sorry," she momentarily forgot how to breathe as his thumb traced a slow path up her cheekbone. "I didn't mean to bother you. I probably have some healing tonic in a drawer at home..."

"Stop with the apologies, I told you to drop by if you needed anything, didn't I?"

A stack of flannels rested beside a simmering cauldron. He reached for one, tilting her face as he dabbed at the coagulated blood.

"It’s not as bad as it looks,” he declared, slinging the cloth over his shoulder. He scratched his forehead, a streak of crimson smearing across his freckles. "It's not too deep. If you'll let me, I could stitch some of the shallower parts back together?"

She nodded, fighting back a soft sound when he applied the tiniest bit of pressure to her throat to keep her steady. The flesh throbbed as the tip of his wand traced down the wound, his copper lashes fluttering with concentration.

It felt glaringly obvious she was intentionally avoiding eye contact. She studied the awkward, rigid dance of the misshapen reindeer on his jumper as a distraction, scattered patches of burnt fabric lay strewn in their path. Some splashes of the corrosive substance had scorched through completely, frayed fibers exposing freckles scattered across his breastbone like tiny constellations.

“You shouldn’t be wearing this.”

He quirked an eyebrow, "What would you prefer me in?”

Her complexion transitioned from deathly pale to a fiery red in seconds, "No, I just mean... the stains. They look like they’re irritating your skin," she said, reaching out instinctively. Her fingertip traced around an exposed patch of inflamed skin, causing Garreth to inhale sharply.

The atmosphere shifted. His dilated eyes locked onto hers as she glanced up and tension rippled between them, her freezing hand poised on his chest while he cradled her jaw.

Tender fingertips brushed aside strands of wet hair that clung to her cheek. "Are you going to tell me what happened?"

"Spider," her voice barely rose above a whisper before she cleared her throat lightly. "Set its house on fire."

"Rescuing a beast?"

She responded with a noncommittal hum.

I flew up a mountain in a storm and set an acromantula on fire to find Dittany because you mentioned it briefly.

She'd be carrying that one to the grave. Or reserving the tale for their grandkids—hinging on whether the trauma scrambled her brain enough to ask him out for a drink on New Year's.

The hold on her lungs slackened as Garreth rose to his feet and fetched a trio of potions from a lofty shelf, "Murtlap essence for minor skin abrasions and it will stop you from bruising, a calming draught for shock, and this one’s for internal damage. You don't seem to have a concussion, but just in case." He arranged them on the desk alongside a clean glass before adding "They're not renowned for their flavour, you're better off taking them all at once."

With a weak expression of gratitude, she swallowed the amalgamated concoctions. The blend curdled on her tongue, flopping into her stomach like a sodden lump of wet cement.

Garreth chuckled at her attempt to conceal a grimace. "You should recover fairly quickly, but just in case, is there someone back home who can make sure you're taken care of tonight?"

"No, I run the sanctuary with a friend, but she's at her Gran's for Christmas," she fidgeted with the hem of her coat. If she had been seriously hurt, nobody would have had a clue where to find her, let alone bother looking. "It's just me.”

Garreth nodded, twirling his pestle in circles inside his mortar. She sensed his question might have been an indirect hint for her to leave.

Swallowing down her disappointment, she rose to her feet. "Well, thank you for coming to my rescue. I’ll—"

“You should stay here tonight,” he interrupted before she could finish her sentence, pivoting towards her with hands on his hips. "I just… I don't think you should be left alone after something like this."

"Here?” She stared at her mud-splattered work boots to try and conceal the blood swarming her cheeks. “Are we supposed to top and tail on your brewing station?"

"I live above the shop. You can take the bed, I sleep on the sofa most nights anyway – I can grab you some dry clothes too."

Her overactive imagination slashed through the depths of her mind leaving behind tattered shreds of unadulterated filth. Sleeping in his bed, swaddled in one of his knitted pullovers – was he trying to kill her?

"Didn't know you were such a night owl," she deflected, anxiously nibbling on her lip as the storm screamed past the window.

If he’d detected her brain being filthy, he wasn't letting on. Swinging open a cabinet door, he produced a bottle of billowing crimson liquor, suspending it between two fingers. "I got some red currant rum from a customer. Given that it's technically Christmas Day, perhaps we should celebrate?"

"Is it that late?" She craned her neck to check the time—twelve o’ twelve. "Was this whole white knight act just a way to lure me into keeping you company on Christmas?"

"Act? Come on now, are we just going to pretend you didn't think of me on your deathbed?"

The calming draught had worked too well, eclipsing any hint of shame she might have felt from that comment with the flicker of bad intentions in his eyes.

"You seem more than happy to receive me."

The cupboard beneath the potion station emitted a groan from its corroded joints as Garreth began searching for a pair of untarnished glasses. "What can I say? I have a thing for women covered in blood," he paused, peeking over the door, "I swear I’m not going to murder you, that joke came out wrong."

She laughed as he polished water spots from the vessels with his gaudy jumper and placed them next to his replenished stock—rows of incandescent fuchsia spiralling in heart-shaped containers.

"Luxtentia," she read aloud from the label, a scrap of parchment detailing the trial-and-error process tucked alongside it. "Did I catch you in the middle of trialling new potions?"

“Lust potion,” Garreth clarified, allowing the scarlet alcohol to flow liberally into their cups. "Believe me, you'd be noticing some side effects if I had been testing that."

Tugging at the loose threads of his words felt almost instinctual.

"...Attraction has to be in the fold for lust potions to work," she tilted her head innocently, quoting his earlier words, "Doesn’t it?"

Handing her a brimming glass of the berry-infused cocktail, Garreth took a sip of his own while studying her over the rim. "Did I say that?" He appeared wholly unruffled, and a twist of arousal lit her up at the fact.

"Word for word."

He tapped a finger against his drink thoughtfully, "Would it work both ways?"

She let the back of her head thump against the barren shelf, half-hoping the collision might knock some virtue into her. No such luck. "Do you want to take me upstairs and find out?"

His grin was blinding, and a delicious anticipation blasted into her. An unspoken dare hung in the air, both silently challenging the other to make a move. He gave in first, reaching out to collect two vials of the blushing potion and pressing them into her palm.

"Your move."

She feigned a thoughtful pause before digging her nails into the stoppers and pouring a vial into each of their beverages.

Raising his glass with a wild glint in his eyes, she tapped hers against it before they knocked back the entire drink in perfect unison.

Sparks charged down her oesophagus as she set down the glass, and her clothes clung to her skin like she'd been dunked in honey. Was that the potion? What an insufferable side effect —though the logic became apparent as the urge to strip away every layer waged war against a rapidly declining sigh of restraint.

“Do you feel anything?”

Garreth’s voice burrowed under her skin – Was it always that deep-rooted and husky? If his voice was making her wet, actual sex might ruin her.

His face swam when she glanced up at him, features swirling like the post outside Madam Snelling's Tress Emporium. She couldn’t feel anything except how her skin was so tight she might rip out of herself. “I… feel drunk.”

His hand crept towards her in excruciatingly slow motion, each passing second punctuated by a thousand splintering cracks of her heart against her ribcage.

The warmth of his fingers on her wrist seeped through her clothes and scattered like white-hot stars beneath her skin. In her mind's eye, she watched those fingers tugging at the roots of her hair, tightening around her throat, satisfying the desire swirling between her thighs – Oh, she was fucked.

"Look at me," Garreth crooned, oblivious to the fact that his words were licking at her like flames. He kept talking, something about a rose, but his words were swallowed by the ringing in her ears.

"What?" she asked, dumbfounded by the cascade of words pouring from his lips.

“Your cheeks are all rosy, are you warm?”

His voice. His fucking voice.

She thrust the heel of her palms into her eyes, but his scent clawed into her lungs— Mallowsweet and shrivelfig fruit, blending with the smokiness from the ever-burning stove. She wanted to bury her face in the crook of his neck, to trace her tongue along his pulse until she could taste it too.

“Sweetheart?”

He had never said that before, only ever referring to her by name. When she cracked open her eyes, she saw that his were feral, locking onto her like a predator sizing up its prey. His pupils were blown out, the vibrant emerald engulfed by black.

Her uneasy laughter cut through the fog, hands instinctively reaching out until she found herself pulling him closer by the fabric of his sweater. "Garreth, what the hell is this?"

"I didn't know it was this... intense." His fingers pressed into the burning flesh of her cheeks, unsure whether they were pulling her closer or attempting to keep her at bay. Her tongue chased the pad of his thumb as he swept it across her parted lips. "Do you want me to take you to bed?"

"Apparate us.”

His hands descended to her neck as he drew her to his lips.

A fierce tug deep in her belly wrenched her in every direction as they plummeted into a disorderly pit of tangled blankets. The overpowering scent of his bedroom had her in a chokehold. Her greedy attempt to inhale the air was cut off as he took her lips again, his thigh sliding between hers.

She scraped her nails through his gorgeous hair, tugging the locks at his nape to lick along the sheen of his throat. The salty tang of his restraint was the single most delicious thing she had ever tasted. The groan he let escape reverberated against her lips and she imagined him moaning like that against her ear, his hips grinding into hers.

“Fuck, do that again.”

“I knew it,” her breathy laugh dispersed across his skin as she gave the sleek strands another tug. “You like that?”

"You often think about what turns me on?"

He buried his face in the curve of her throat, seeking out her pulse point. The unexpected pleasure of his bite triggered a sultry whine—she’d never made that sound before, but the potion had flushed out any ounce of indignity. He sucked a bruise into her skin, grinning as she grasped at his clothes in an attempt to pull him closer.

"Take this off, please," she scrambled with the hem. His rock-hard arousal was digging into her stomach and the fabric barriers were driving her insane.

"Don’t bother begging," his words rumbled against her neck as they both shed the constraints of their clothes, "I'll give you everything." His voice was twitchy, cracking apart with lust. An eternity passed before fabric was dragged down her thighs and found a home somewhere in the mountain of blankets.

She could barely feel his fingers—just an explosive shockwave blasting across her body. His other hand gripped the base of her skull, coaxing her mouth open, telling her how wet she was.

"Hear how pretty you sound?"

He added another finger, and stars streaked across her vision as she arched into his touch. Her body responded on pure instinct, thrusting helplessly as he mimicked with his hand what she was almost delirious for.

"My mouth sounds better."

Coarse hairs tickled her skin as she slid her fingers under the waistband of his trousers with the hope that touching him back might appease the hunger.

He thrust into her palm with a needy gasp, and it knocked her breathing shallow. In an instant, she'd pushed him onto his back, running her tongue up the entire length of his swollen cock, before swirling around the head.

The man reclining under her was almost unrecognisable, his untamed hair spilling into his black, wild eyes. Unnatural, jerky shudders wracked through his chest.

Sticking out her tongue, Garreth responded with a primal snarl, seizing the invitation to take control.

"There you go, is that what you want?" he whispered, sliding himself between her lips.

Her eyes welled up at the imposing size of him gliding across her tongue, but she didn’t care. The only thing that mattered was how he was gazing at her like she was the answer to everything—Water in the desert.

She took in as much of him as she could, her wrist twisting around what she couldn't. He was ramming into her too hard, but the potion smoothed out the rough edges, turning it passionate.

Gravelly snippets of praise were spilling from his mouth, and the ruined edge to his voice threatened to make her come from his words alone. A particularly greedy thrust pounded the back of her throat at the wrong angle, and she jerked back with a rasping cough.

In less than a second, she was caged under a warm body. "I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be treating you like this."

"Don't be sorry, make me take it."

"Fucking hell," he groaned, descending her body and parting her legs with his palms.

She latched onto his hair, pulling him towards her lips. "No, not your mouth, I need more."

She knew she was being demanding, he just wanted to reciprocate what she had done for him, but the distance between them felt like too much, and she needed it annihilated.

“You need it?"

He taunted her clit with the head of his dick. She didn't want to waste time, he could go down on her in round two because she was so turned on by him fucking her mouth that she was shaking.

He gently nudged at her entrance, and not a single discernible word occupied her mind. She relied on her needy whining to convey what words couldn't, her nails scraping against his broad shoulders as she desperately sought an anchor.

“I don’t think I can go slow.”

"I don't want slow."

The air was squeezed from her lungs as he sank into her, bottoming out with one stroke. An orgasm struck her instantly but being so overstimulated it scarcely penetrated the fog—just a fleeting flash of lightning between her thighs.

Garreth froze as the aftereffects pulsed around him, whimpers fracturing through his voice as he strained to remain still. "Do you need me to stop?"

"No," she squirmed in an attempt to coax his hips back into action. He twitched inside her, and she gasped, "I want more." Hardly had the words left her lips when he thrust into her with such force that it sent her eyes rolling back.

“Pull my hair again."

“Make me come again.”

The speed he set was almost inhuman as her nails clawed across his scalp and down his neck. She planted her heels on the mattress to gain some control and push back into him, but he grabbed the backs of her thighs, holding her in place—spreading her open under him.

"Is this what you wanted every time you pulled out an excuse to drop by?" His hips stuttered when he looked down at the point where they were connected. She was drenched, dripping with how badly she needed him. Taking a deep breath, he started meticulously inspecting the Gryffindor Quidditch flag above his headboard, resisting the urge to finish before her.

Her heart sped up at his words and she could hear herself producing feathery noises as he extracted pleasure from her, "What took you so long to give it to me?"

"You're too cute, made me nervous," he grinned, seizing her nipple in his teeth, and pulling on it until she whimpered. "Push into me, let me have you."

His restraint oscillated, the tender kisses on her neck escalating into gnawing at her throat. The persistent pounding of his hips matched the increasing intensity, delving into the deepest parts of her with each blissful drag of his cock.

"Moan for me, those beautiful sounds are driving me insane."

This wasn't the Christmas she expected: Garreth Weasley's fingers splayed across her throat, conjuring ethereal pleasure with every precise thrust of his hips.

“Garreth...”

“I know, sweetheart." He withdrew his hand from where he was holding her legs apart, using his thumb to trail a lopsided circle around her bundle of nerves. “Come on, give me one more.”

His voice thrust her over the edge and she felt every part of her orgasm splinter through her body.

"Where do you want me to come?" he asked desperately. She was still in the throes of ecstasy, shivering uncontrollably from the high of watching him falling apart. "Tell me.”

"Come inside me," she said hoarsely. Her body was exhausted and hypersensitive, the only reason she forced herself to stay conscious was to witness him unravel.

An aftershock pulsated around him, and he shoved his face into the crook of her neck as he released deep inside her. His fingers clamped onto her thighs so tightly they throbbed, but she was too drained to muster the strength to push them off.

He lazily circled his hips into hers, as if he couldn’t bear to stop. Interlocking their fingers, he planted kisses across her knuckles. The sweet gesture made her heart stutter, and as her head nestled into a soft pile of pillows, sleep quickly claimed her.

She had a hazy memory of stirring in the night with a heavy arm over her waist and knees nestled into the crook of hers. There was something hard and insistent digging into the small of her back and when she shifted to relieve the pressure, he had whined—fucking whined.

His lips navigated her skin until they found that sweet spot under her ear, and she arched back. He accepted the invitation and slid into her. Reaching around to grip his hair, she tugged hard enough for him to reciprocate the pressure with his teeth on her shoulder. Her chest thrummed against his palm as he held her tightly, murmuring sweet nothings while fucking her slowly. He was half-asleep, but he was himself.

The daylight streamed in, too bright, with flakes purring against the window as they cascaded from the skies. Garreth’s bedroom was snug, nothing more than a bed and a chaotic pile of thumbed potion books scattered across the floor. Rolling over, she discovered a mess of red hair protruding from the green blankets.

“Merry Christmaaaaas,” he groaned, his words muffled by the bedding.

"You should've woken me up and kicked me out. Don't you have plans?"

"Guess how many are over at my folks' for Christmas?" He emerged squinting. "Uncles, aunties, cousins, nephews, nieces, girlfriends, boyfriends— What’s the headcount?"

She flung an arm across her eyes, shrugging. His ability to nosedive straight into a conversation after just waking up baffled her. "Twenty-two?"

"Thirty-eight. They won't notice if one is late," he started kissing her, slow, sweet, and sinful. "And they won't notice if there's one more?"

She huffed out a laugh at his fearless invitation, "I can't gatecrash, the last thing I want to do on Christmas day is piss off thirty-eight Weasleys."

“My aunt Matilda will be more upset if I turn up alone for yet another year. It's your decision, but I'm impatient. Waiting a whole year to flaunt you doesn't sit right with me."

Definitely a far cry from the Christmas she had imagined.

“I’d love to.”

288 notes · View notes

redlittlefoxari · 4 months

Text

An Adventure in making life Chapter 7: Let the water wash you clean

Relationship: Astarion x Tav

Warnings: NSFW 18+, smut, blood, violence, sex, blood drinking, pregnancy. *This chapter contains smut*

Summary: With Hormones are ragging through Tav’s body and morning sickness becoming a regular thing tempers clash, questions are raised and Tav is at her limit.

Master list

Tag list: @lunaredgrave

If you would also like to be added to the tag list just let me know.

Weeks pregnant Ten

It had been three weeks since the ruins, and you and Astarion hadn’t let your guard down for a second. There had been nothing since the ruins other than a few merchant carts making their way to Baldur’s Gate. They had all reported that their trip from Waterdeep had been going swimmingly and that the rest of their journey would probably go much the same. Still, the two of you decided to play it safe and stay on high alert for the remainder of your journey.

It was at this point that Jaheira advised you to start taking the herbs she gave you for the development of your unborn child. They didn’t taste great, but you had been dealing with drinking blood for the last ten weeks, so their grassy flavor didn’t bother you much. Astarion had gotten up before you to find the two of you something to eat, meaning a deer or whatever he could find. You told him you didn’t want to know what it was from just in case it was from an animal that was less than desirable.

While you waited, you chewed on a piece of dried meat that you had bought in the last town you passed through. It was sweet and salty and had been marinated in hot peppers before being dried. It was delicious, which was odd because you never really liked spicy food before the pregnancy, but now it became something you craved alongside sweet treats. You hoped that this didn’t mean your child would have a fiery personality. That was the last thing you needed. A hard-to-tame half-vampire child.

The thought crossed your mind suddenly. Would your child be able to go out in the sun? Or would the sun's fiery rays burn them like they did Astarion? The idea of your child being born unable to walk in the sun made your heart hurt. The child wouldn’t understand and what would happen if they crawled into the sunlight? Would you have to shut all the doors and curtains, never allowing them out during the day?

You shook the thought from your mind. There was still plenty of time to do some research and figure this out. There was no need to worry yourself thinking about something that may not even be a possibility. There was just as high of a chance that they would inherit your ability to walk in the sun.

You finished the dried meat and cleaned your hands of the grease that was left over. It was time to get dressed and get this day of your journey started. You grabbed your pants and put them on each of your legs without any problems. It was when you tried to button them together that you hit your first hurdle. They wouldn’t button.

You began to fight with the pants, trying with all your might to get them to close to no avail. You looked down to see that your stomach, which was once inconspicuous, now had a noticeable bump that was making it impossible to button your armor closed.

You cursed and suddenly felt a wave of nausea hit you as you barely had time to make it out the tent flaps and turn left into the bushes before you were emptying your stomach contents into the shrubbery. It was a long while until your stomach felt satisfied that it had given up all that it needed to, and by that time, the others in the camp had already started to come out and see what was going on.

“Went a little heavy with the wine again, I see.” Shadowheart had a touch of superiority in her voice that usually didn’t bother you, but for some reason, today, it just rubbed you the wrong way.

“I don’t think that's any of your concern.” You straightened your back and sucked in your stomach the best you could to hide your bump.

She looked down at your unbuttoned pants in confusion. “Are you still so drunk that you can’t even button your own pants?”

“Come on, you two, it's too early for this.” Wyll tried to chime in to stop the fight that was surely about to break out, but his efforts were in vain.

“I’m not drunk. I just suddenly got sick in the middle of my changing and needed to run outside, so I didn’t paint the walls of my tent! I don’t appreciate being interrogated every time something happens to me that you disagree with.” You turned your back to her and grabbed your bag of soaps. “I’m going to the river to clean myself. Can I go, or do you need to question me about that, too?”

You didn’t give her the chance to answer as you stormed off in the direction of the river that was just south of your camp. It was about when you were halfway to the shore that you realized you had no idea what the hells just happened or why you just got so mad at your friend.

“You're doing this to me.” You looked down and pointed to your bump. “You're making me do crazy things… I knew I shouldn’t eat spicy food.”

You let out a heavy sigh. Well, there was no sense in worrying about it now. You would just have to make amends when you got back to camp. Say something about how waking up and vomiting your guts out made you less than hospitable in the mornings.

Or maybe it was time to come clean about what was going on with you. You wanted to wait so that your news wouldn’t outshine Gale’s, but it was growing increasingly difficult to keep this hidden from everyone. You couldn’t hide the fact that your armor didn’t fit anymore. You needed to wear it for your own protection. You supposed that you could just say that you thought it was unnecessary because all the merchants you passed over the last three weeks said that their travels were fine. But what if that was just their good fortune and the rest of your travel would spell disaster? There was just no way to tell. If only you were a divination wizard.

You finally made it to the bank of the river and decided that since you were already here, you would do what you told everyone you were going to do. You slowly stripped off your pants and kicked them away for good measure; they were part of the damn problem. Then you took off your undershirt that went between you and your armor, throwing it over to where the pants ended up.

You looked down and saw a body you did not recognize. Breasts almost double the size of what they were before. Hips wider and fuller are also part of the problem as to why the pants didn’t fit and a small round belly protruding out where your baby rested safe and warm in your belly. You cradled that part of you and smiled, the only thing you liked about yourself at the moment.

You walked into the water with your bag of soap and took it out, getting it wet and starting to lather your skin with it. The soap smelled of lilac and blackberries. After you were done washing your arms, legs, and torso, you walked further into the water to wet your hair. The water was cold and caused you to shiver as you submerged yourself in it fully sinking under the water. You stayed under the water for a few seconds, enjoying the calmness you felt. The lack of sound in a world full of it.

When you finally came up for air you heard your name being called out. The voice sounded frantic and scared. You recognized the voice as belonging to Astraion in your haste to get away from the others at camp; you forgot that he wasn’t there. He had no idea where you were or what had happened; he probably showed up to camp, and you simply weren’t there.

“I’m okay! I’m just in the water.” You started to make your way back to the shore. The look of worry on his face was still ever present.

“What were you thinking, leaving without saying a word? You don’t even have any of your weapons; what if someone was out here and attacked you.” He shouted at you, but his voice broke at the end of his words.

“I know. I’m sorry, I just…” You fully step out of the water. Your body is on full display. “I Just needed some air… I needed to get clean.”

Your voice shook as you spoke. Embarrassment filled your every pore as you felt Astarion’s eyes on your body. “I got sick, and my pants don’t fit anymore, and I…” You felt yourself start to cry.

Astarion’s face melted from anger to worry the second your tears sprung free of your eyes. “You’re feeling self-conscious? You?”

“Of course I am! Look at me!” You gestured to your whole self. “My hips are huge, my clothes don’t fit, and I’m picking fights for no reason I can’t stop throwing up, and I’m….”

“Beautiful.” Astarion cut you off.

“Excuse you?”

“The fertility goddess herself couldn’t compare to you, my love.” He moved closer to you and hesitated. “May I touch you?”

You shook your head no, wrapping your arms around your body. Despite his words, you didn’t feel like they were true. Hallow words meant to flatter you and make you feel better. But deep down, you didn’t want to feel better. You wanted to wallow in self-pity and believe that all your fears were genuine. It was easier to believe in yourself than to trust others. Your own body was betraying you; why wouldn’t everyone else?

“Then I won’t touch you. Do you want me to leave?” Astarion stood still, almost as if he was in front of a wild deer, and he didn’t want to scare it away.

“No…”

“Do you want to sit down and talk?”

“Yes.” You walked to a patch of grass, picking up your shirt on the way and covering yourself with it.

Astarion sat next to you but allowed for some distance between the two of you. “Tell me what you’re thinking. Tell me why my strong, beautiful, caring partner suddenly thinks she’s as ugly as a hag when she is far from it.”

“I don’t know…. I feel like a stranger in my own skin. Every time I wake up, something new about me has changed. I guess I’m just tired.” You hugged your knees to your chest.

“Darling, there is nothing wrong with change. Every day I wake up next to you, I thank the gods that I have you because you helped me change into the man I am today.” Astarion looked off into the distance. “When we first met, I was broken… I trusted no one and only strived for power so that no one could ever take advantage of me, and then there you were. You were everything that I wished I could be; you oozed self-confidence. Everyone listened to you when you spoke and did as you said. That's part of the reason why I seduced you.”

You remember back to his love confession when he confessed to having been using you the whole time for protection. That was until he started to feel the same feelings for you that you did for him. Through you, he had opened up and learned to trust again. Learned to love someone and get back his bodily autonomy.

“I remember. You fell so hard for me.” You smiled.

“Yes, I did. I felt like an idiot that even though I was manipulating you somehow without even trying, I did what I was trying to do, but even better. Truly, you are amazing.” You unwrapped one of your arms from your legs and reached for his hand. He wove his fingers into yours.

“I’m sorry. I just…. I listen to these words in my head, and they make me feel like there’s something wrong with me.”

“There is nothing wrong with you. Your body is changing; for god's sake, you are growing a new person inside of you. And I mean it when I say you are the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen and have become ten times more beautiful since you’re carrying my child inside you.”

Your cheeks felt hot. “Do you really mean that?”

“Every word.” Astarion paused and then continued. “May I show you?”

This time, you nodded your head yes.

Astarion moved so that he was kneeling before you, pausing to check if you were really okay. You nodded again, confirming you wanted to see what he was going to do.

“Lay down on your back if you would be so kind.” You did as he asked, placing your hands over your stomach. “Hands at your side, please.” You hesitated. “I want to show you just how beautiful I think you are.”

You slowly moved your hands off of your stomach and to your sides. “I’m not sure how this will…”

Astarion placed a light kiss on your tiny baby bump. “This is the best gift you could have given me.” He kissed the same area but in a different spot again. “For so long, I felt alone. I had no family but for the one Cazador made, but that was never truly a family.” He kissed a third time. “You have given me a chance at family again, something that I thought was lost the moment I became a vampire.”

Your eyes met the red of his, and you felt the gravity of his words. “I really am stupid….”

“Not stupid, just hormonal. pregnancy brain is a real thing, darling.” Astarion moved so that he was level with your face. “But it gives me a great excuse to tell you everything I truly feel and wow you with romanticism.”

“I don’t want to feel this way anymore.” You threw your head back. “And I want my damn pants to fit.”

“We can work something out. It’s just two more weeks till we’re in Waterdeep, and we can buy you a whole new wardrobe.” He scrunched his brows together. “This will pass; you are still the strongest person I know and the most beautiful behind me, of course.”

You sat up abruptly and jumped on top of him, pinning him to the ground.

“I don’t think this is going to get the reaction you want. I’m liking the view all too much, and I’m into this kind of thing.” He shot you a devilish smile.

“How do you know that I don’t want what you're thinking? And I know you like this.”

You leaned down and bit him hard on the left side of his neck, puncturing his skin and drawing blood. You sucked greedily at the holes you made in his neck until you heard a moan escape his lips. You pulled your lips away from his neck, where a large purple bruise started to form where you sucked.

“What do you think, Astarion? Is there anywhere else you want me to suck?” Your mouth was close to his ear as you spoke. And it dawned on you that pregnancy really was crazy. Just a few moments ago, you didn’t want anything to do with him, and now here you are craving the feel of him.

“I have some ideas, but for now, let me taste myself on your tongue.” Astarion pulled you to his lips. The taste of his blood was heavy on your tongue. He pushed through your lips quickly, and your tongues danced together.

You broke the kiss, wanting to tease him. It was only fair for all the times he teased you throughout the years. “Only a taste, Astarion, for I am not done tasting you.”

“Fuck.” He had a haze of lust as he watched you plant light kisses down his body, untucking his shirt to touch your lips to his skin.

You made your way to the waistband of his pants, barely looking up at him to meet his eyes. “Take these off.”

“You don’t have to ask twice.” Astarion pulled his waistband down just enough so that his length sprung free.

You grasped it gently at the base, placing your lips so that they just hovered above the head. Astarion waited with bated breath, his anticipation of what you were going to do. There was a question in his gaze.

You licked the tip of him lazily, causing a shudder to go through him that you felt at the base. You continued to lick lazy circles around his head. Every so often, a moan would escape deep in his throat. You did this for a few minutes, never going beyond the tip, teasing him with every stroke of your tongue.

“Are you going to tease me the whole time, or am I going to feel release?” Astarion’s voice shook his arousal plane to see in your hands.

You stopped and appeared to think for a moment. Playing out like you were contemplating something. “Maybe if you beg.”

Astarion let out a huff of air. “Please.”

“You can do better than that.” You accented every word so that a puff of air hit his tip.

“Please, I want to feel myself at the back of your throat.”

You nodded your approval and took him into your mouth, giving into his requests and taking him as far as you dared. His head lulled back as his fingers grasped the grass for some stability. You moved your lips back up his length, stopping just before leaving him entirely before going back down. You picked up the pace, throwing in intermittent twirls of your tongue around his tip to stroke and get him closer to his release.

He wove his fingers through your hair, and along with the gasps of pleasure that existed, his lip let you know that he was close to release. You sucked harder but kept the same pace as you felt Astarion's whole body tense, and as you felt his muscles release, you felt his warm seed hit the back of your throat. You swallowed it all and cleaned his tip before looking up at his face through the stray hairs that now covered your face.

“Gods, you look even more beautiful with me in you.” His voice was laced with pleasure, his eyes looking as if he wished to devour you.

“I know.” You moved from between his legs, grabbing your shirt from where you last placed it. “We should probably get back to the others… I need to apologize to Shadowheart.” You pulled your shirt over your head.

“Not until I return the favor.”

“I don’t think we have time for you to return the favor, but tonight, seek out my bedroll. I might let you in.” You placed a kiss on his lips.

“So I’m to just go about my day thinking about what you just did to me and stew about it?” Astarion pouted.

“Not stew plan. You’ll have all day to think of a way to get back at me.” You reached for your pants and frowned.

“You’re right.” He looked at you, holding your pants. “We can fix them so that they fit. Put them on.”

You did as he said, putting on the pants and trying to button them closed again and failed to do so. “Does the breastplate still fit?” He asked once he saw you try and fail to fasten your pants.

“Barley, but I think it will.” You tree up your hands.

“Let’s go back to camp, and we’ll attach the breastplate to the pants, which should keep them up for today, and then we’ll buy you some new armor at the next town we stop in.”

You nodded your agreement. “That’s the only thing we can do.”

“It will all work out just a few more weeks, and we can tell everyone our dirty little secret, and we won’t have to hide anything anymore.” He grabbed your hand to reassure you. “Everything will be alright. And no one cares that you yelled at Shadowheart; she is far too nosy.”

“I’m still going to apologize.”

You walked back to camp with Astarion to find that the others were waiting at the fire that was now just embers. They had already packed up their tents and seemed to be waiting for you and Astarion to come back and do the same. Shadowheart stood and walked towards the two of you with a look of relief on her face.

“I hope everything is alright…. I shouldn’t have just assumed that you drank too much last night; you've been sick this whole journey, it seems.” She didn’t meet your eyes.

“Yes, we'll, I shouldn't have gotten so angry with you… it’s not like I told you about my… sickness.” You decided to grasp onto the fact that she thought you had something wrong with you that was making you so sick.

“Is it something I can heal?” She asked, finally looking at you.

“No, I don’t think so… it will pass; I just need time.” You gave her a small smile.

“Alright, next time, I’ll hold your hair back so you don’t have to go to the river next time and make us all late to start today.” You knew her words were meant to be playful, not harmful.

“I’m sorry, I just needed to cool off. But I’ll go get ready now.” She gave you a curt nod.

You and Astarion went into the two of your tents and proceeded to fix your pants to your breastplate. With Astarion’s skills with a needle and thread, it looked as if nothing was a miss. Satisfied with his stitch job, the two of you then set to cleaning up and putting away your tent. In twenty minutes, you were packed up and ready to hit the road, no one mentioning the argument from earlier or the purple bruise that had already begun to fade on Astarion’s neck.

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immediatebreakfast · 7 months

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"Then outside in the shrubbery I heard a sort of howl like a dog's, but more fierce and deeper." - Lucy Westenra on september 17.

There are no wolves in england. Modernity subdued them, and killed them all. But sometimes the ancient howls come back to those forests of trees that are now forests of stone to inflict the same fear that never left, and will never leave.

There are wolves in england, linked to their forests, but tamed by the present. Brought from other lands as a way to fix the errors of modernity.

"Bersicker was one of three grey ones that came from Norway to Jamrach's... This one ain't been used to fightin' or even to providin' for hisself, and more like he's somewhere round the Park a-'idin' an' a-shiverin' of, and, if he thinks at all, wonderin' where he is to get his breakfast from." - Thomas Bilder.

Bersicker may be a wolf yes, but he is a wolf raised in a modern (for the victorians) zoo. He gets his breakfast from human hands, he has never fought for his survival, and his first instinct after Dracula gets rid of him is to go back to mister Bilder in broad daylight instead of hiding.

Even if Dracula used him, and wounded him in his attack to the Westenra household Bersicker still wanted to go back to his home.

Not the now vanished forests, nor the freedom of open landscapes, but the zoo. Moreover, unlike poor Lucy who suffered a string of errors that left her remaining life in chaos, Bersicker's caretaker was there waiting for him with open arms, not judging him for his escape, but instead glad that he came back.

It makes me think of Jonathan, and how he has the single objective of coming back to Mina. After suffering being used, then discharged by Dracula, Jonathan walked and walked through unfamiliar places, wounded and confused, with a single goal in mind: get back to Mina.

And Bersicker did the same. The poor tamed wolf was used then discharged by Dracula, left with wounds all of over his head, and walked until he went back to the zoo. And they are there, both of Mr. And Mrs. Bilder, glad to see him alive again.

There are no natives wolves in england, modernity killed them all.

#Modernity can't save anyone #Not even a pampered wolf forgets their instincts #But at the end everyone is a pawn for Dracula #Not matter human or animal #dracula daily #dracula #bersicker the wolf #lucy westenra #jonathan harker

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wembleygoodboy · 6 days

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Wembley, may I ask where you got your name? Were you named after the puppet?

itis actuolly kindof a Lomg Storey, so iwill let dadmom tellit! 😊👍 (it also doubols as My Orogin Storey!)

[story time! this is gonna be a long one, so strap in, ahaha

so, i went to college for music (education and performance; flute performance, specifically. i can wipe my ass w that degree now tho lol), so i was in a couple different ensembles at any given time. in 2013, we were playing a multi-movement piece called "3 Ayres from Gloucester" by Hugh Stuart. the 3rd movement is called "The Fiefs of Wembley." you can listen to a performance of it here. wembley is apparently a location within london. think "wembley stadium!"

i always joked with my fellow flutist friend (we'll call her M) who i shared a stand with that Wembley sounded like the name of a mischievous cat. "wembley get off the counter!!!" "UGH NO why always on the carpet, wembley?!" etc. it helped that the tune itself totally sounds like the theme song of a somewhat skittish yet naughty little cat, parading around causing chaos until he's spotted, then darting away.

on october 3rd, 2013, i came into rehearsal and find M looking pretty distraught. i ask whats up, and shes like "i think i saw a kitten in the middle of the club lawn, it was just laying there, maybe its hurt, idk what to do!" im like okay lets check it out together, and our conductor (huge sweetheart) gives us the okay to go investigate.

sure enough, theres a tiny black blob just laying there in the middle of the lawn; not hidden away in the bushes where a mama cat wouldve left him. as we approached, the blob got up and awkwardly darted away towards the lil decorative pine shrubs dividing the lawn from a small parking lot. we followed it, and there he was: a small black kitten, crouched in terror, hiding in the shelter of the shrubbery.

i dont remember when exactly it happened, but it suddenly dawned on me. i turned to my friend. "M... its WEMBLEY..."

we tried to coax him out to no avail- not even food would persuade him, and he looked very thin- and he was a bit too close to the road for our comfort, so i asked my roommate to keep an eye on the lil guy while M and i went back to rehearsal. after it ended, we recruited a small gaggle of band geeks to capture the kitten. it was the bassoon player who finally caught him, plucking him out of a miniature shrub he'd tried to climb.

i swaddled wembley up in a black bandana i kept in my back pocket (for the Fashion™️), hopped into my roommate's car with my stuff, and headed back with my roommate to our little on-campus apartment. as i stood in the living room, waiting for him to bring our stuff from the car, wembley began to purr in my arms :,)

(to be fair, cats may purr to self-soothe when theyre stressed; its not exclusively an indicator of pleasure. but. Still, lol.)

turns out lil wembley was only a month old: just old enough for solid food, thankfully, but much younger than the age at which kittens are generally separated from their mothers for adoption, which generally occurs after 3 months. he also had a sprained leg, which made walking very difficult and painful for him. the leg was likely the reason he was abandoned by his feral mother, as if he couldnt keep up, she couldnt afford to stop for him when she likely had a whole litter to care for. understandable, but her loss was my (and wembley's!) gain. 💚

i had to tame him, as he was feral, and EXTREMELY fearful of humans, but i spent hours that night sitting on the opposite side of the bathroom, slowly earning his trust until, little by little, i was able to scoot close enough to him to pet him. he'd obviously never been petted before; the look on his little face was pure magic. he completely opened up to me after that moment.

i totally had myself fooled, thinking id find a home for him once his leg was all healed up (my vet major pal showed me how to make him a splint), but... then he started sleeping with me and... well..... yeah. nope. he was my son, and i was his dadmom.

and i always will be. 💚

BONUS PICTURES:

the first picture i ever took of Wembley (thats the bottom of a red solo cup i sewed fabric around so he could drink water from it without risking him getting cut on the plastic):

baby's first petting ��:

he relaxed a lot after discovering the joy of Petting :)

settling down for his first night with us, too sleepy for this world 💚:

days later, with his lil foot in a splint, sitting in his temporary makeshift litterbox. the Poopie Prince!

...TL;DR, its the name of a part of london, and i chose it because of an instrumental piece of music. coulda just said that, i suppose, but I'll ALWAYS jump at the chance to tell wembley's Origin Story and share baby pics, ahaha 💚

-dadmom]

#wembley #black cat #cats #kitten #cat twitter #twitter cats #cats of tumblr #picture #origin story #asks #long post

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greyias · 11 months

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Still waiting to be able to start my playthrough as the clock hasn't quite rolled around to quitting time yet, but I am tickled pink that the flora of the galaxy is continuing to rebel against the game's code, despite them taming the galaxy's rogue trees with this patch.

One of the current known 7.3 bugs:

I mean, it's not flying or infiltrating spaceports or zombie infested wastelands. It's not a sexy hilarious bug yet. But give it time.

The Time of Shrubbery, has begun

#insert monty python shrubbery gif here #grey's silly swtor tag #rip my funky tree friends -- i'm proud tumblr!swtor was able to document at least three instances of their antics

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transskywardsword · 2 months

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so i love this post by nello-0 and i just HAD to make something inspired by it so have a lil bullet point ficlet

link, general, bearer of the hero's spirit, chosen by the gods, who totally had not been scrubbing latrines not even a week ago for lippin' off to a superior officer without even the rank of private to his name, had thought the Other Link was eight when the kid showed up, trailing behind the rest, a keaton mask on one hip and a too big sword on the other

(he'd see other masks, later, each cared for with adoration and feral protection, like they were real people and not chunks of wood, and one mask, reserved for the heat of battle, the power in it so old that the master sword would seem jealous at times)

The Other Link was not eight, it seemed. he took a great dislike to being called it, despite his chubby, tiny legs and chubby, tiny arms, and chubby button face. link told him such the first time they met, in the midst of a screaming match with the princess--

(his superior officer, superior officer, what was he doing?)

(this was a child, a child in a warzone, and regardless of how many promises of fealty he might swear, link was a hero to the people first and a Hero to the Princess second, and people included children too far in over their heads--)

"i will not serve behind some tiny, chubby eight year old!"

his hands move fast and proxi works just as fast to translate, though her twinkle toe voice does little to tame the snarl on his face, the fury in his fingers

"I'm not eight" Other Link spat

(his voice carried an accent that spoke of a nonnative hylian speaker, faded in a way that spoke of a childhood spent elsewhere and a life lived far from home, as if he wasn't just tall enough to only just see over the war table)

(where did such long, deep vowels come from? such bright, rolled 'r's?)

(it reminded link of a summer day, of time spent running barefoot through shrubbery and crawling up trees, of a child's dream)

"excuse me, kid" link signed, "I'll gladly watch a ten year old get run through instead!"

Other Link huffed, blowing curtain bangs off his face, and stormed out the war room, the most childish thing link had ever seen

"i will not" he tells his princess, "lead a child into battle."

he leads a child into battle.

Other Link was not ten. He drinks like an adult, but has a kid's taste in liquor, taking the moonshine when the flask is passed to him and pouring shot after shot into milk. it must taste terrible

it leaves a mustache on his tiny little face. a baby faced thirteen then. teenagers drank while hating the taste, and no one over the age of thirteen drank milk

Other Link was not thirteen. He fights like he's lived a thousand lives, like the blade is an old friend, the grip of his too-big sword as natural in his hand, and his eyes are ages old. no child fights like that, even at thirteen. no teen knew how to move so fast, how to have such control over gangly limbs, how to have such proper balance. hells, link was nineteen, and every inch he still somehow grew put him off his game for at least a week-- teens were nothing but growth, and the changes didn't phase Other Link at all

"okay." link finally signs, dropping beside Other Link during meals, snatching hardtack from his hand. it is stale and salty. they are running low on rations, and link has been slipping Other Link his own for days now. growing kids need food. stress stunts their growth

could that be it?

stress stunting growth?

the princess knows, knows something about this strange kid with his strange masks, a history, a place where he'd come from, the title he hides from them all.

"hero of--" she whispers behind closed doors, "hyrule's greatest hero, the hero across ages..."

link knows jack shit about heroes. he dropped out of school not long after learning to read and still counts his fingers for long-division

"okay. how old are you?"

Other Link snatches back his hardtack, scowling.

"I'm seventeen. eighteen soonish."

link laughs. Other Link doesn't.

"okay. how old are you really?"

Other Link still isn't laughing. He just stares, smirks, and goes back to his rations.

"keep guessin', city boy." he says. "go on. maybe you'll get a prize if you do."

years later, at the end of the war, the Hero of Time stands before him, just turned nineteen and still only just reaching link's elbow. link loves him so much it burns, and letting him go through that portal back to his somewhere-home is like cutting out a part of him.

"kid." he says instead with a nod of his head. Other Link grins.

"see ya around, city boy."

with time as fucked as it often proved to be, link was surprisingly sure he would

#my writing #hyrule warriors #hyrule warriors link #oot link #ocarina of time link #loz: hw #scarfy

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traveler02361 · 9 months

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This will be my last post here, on @traveler02361. It was a place I put all the parts of myself that were not sexy or enticing. But I'm done being half of myself for others. Gonna let my queue run out and then not post on this page again. A place 400 years in the past where I could be myself and love all of me. The dark, the artsy, the architect, the poet, the macabre, the animal lover. This is the first steps for me to heal and love all of myself. Not because someone else loves me, but because I do, and see that I have worth. Worth for just being me and existing in this world. I should really be thanking them for finally teaching me self worth. I hope everyone can learn it too. You are worthy of love. You are worthy of life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness. <3

#taming of the shrubbery #mine #poetry #a poet #my poem #my poetry #not sexy #all mine

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boneswriting · 1 year

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Simply ; Antonio x Reader (SFW)

art is official by netease!

Antonio Paganini (IDV) x Reader

tags: Antonio Paganini, Identity V, The Violinist, lovers, x reader

warnings: none!

side note: the reader is depicted as gender neutral and has no pre-determined attributes. the oneshot is more Antonio than reader, but they are still together

word count: 1,756

The Manor was split into two sides: the Hunters and the Survivors. The Hunters' side remained quiet except for the occasional music or ruckus from the survivors. The only rooms the two parties shared was the library, the garden/greenhouse, and the kitchen. Only a few Hunters used those rooms, as many preferred to be in matches hunting.

In between matches, Hunters could rest. A small break. A breath of fresh air in a smoke filled room. It was all Antonio had known besides his violin. He cannot remember his hunts, but he prefers them that way. His body, shared, except for times there was no blood to be shed.

He took to wandering the desolate hallways when he was in control. His hair tamely laid down, violin held by the neck in his left hand, and grip still firm on his bow with the right. When he wasn’t walking, he was performing. It was all he knew. Bow on strings. Please the people. Give them what they want, even when you’re rotting from inside to out.

Antonio shuffled closer to the doors entering the garden. It was the only place he could bask in the sun and enjoy the smell of life. Sometimes a handful of survivors would be out there, but they never bothered him. They understood he was not The Violinist when outside of his matches. They simply knew him as Antonio, or Toni by the little ones.

The lanky man stepped outside, sun immediately warming his skin. As he was dead, he tended to run cold which he sincerely disliked. He always preferred summer over winter. His smile ever-present on his face, he slightly waved to the handful of girls surrounding a flowerbed. From what he could tell, the gaggle consisted of the Doctor, the Gardener, the Entomologist, and the Little Girl. He never remembered names, just the simple titles.

Tearing his attention away from the smaller creatures, he gently sat on the wooden bench resting on a large tree. He sat in the shade, lest his skin gets burnt, and closed his eyes. The wind kissed his cheeks, letting him relax. The sound of the leaves and shrubbery whispering into his fine-tuned ears. The sound of the ladies giggling was akin to a fly buzzing near one’s ear, but he paid no attention to it.

Antonio simply sat. He would remain simply sitting until his next match, when the beast would boil beneath his skin and make his bones ache. His hair would come to life and then Antonio Paganini would be no more. After the end of the match, he comes back-to in his room at the manor, lying on the bed he rarely used. He always thanked his co-inhabitant for taking such good care of their body despite it not being mentioned in the contract. However, he knew it was because a broken vessel had no use to the beast that lurked inside his veins. So, while he was present in the moment, he sat and he lived.

Noise. More specifically, music. Antonio perked up right away, head swiveling towards its direction. He could tell the sound from a mile away: a piano. The keys sang a familiar tune. That dusty old thing in the library was being used? He knew it was not music from a gramophone, as it produced distinct static upon its revival. He knew it could not be a Hunter or a Survivor: they learned tricks to help them get stronger and defeat their opponent. Nobody had time for hobbies in a game of life and death.

He noticed the girls had stopped what they were doing and were looking, and listening, in the same direction. Antonio slowly got up from the bench, standing to his resting height. He was much taller than the Survivors and one of the tallest Hunters: maybe even the tallest one. The lithe man slowly began stalking the amiable tune, much akin to a bloodhound sniffing its next catch. He heard the wood creak behind him, the followers struggling to keep up with his long strides while remaining a respectful distance.

Through the labyrinth they traversed until they reach the old double doors that held the music being played. The doors were closed as to keep the animals out, lest they ruin the antiques inside. Large, shaky hands laid upon the gold doorknobs and pushed their way open, sunlight filtering through the air as dust danced if you looked close enough.

There, at the bench of the piano, sat a person. A somewhat tall person. A Hunter. Their long fingers danced upon the ivory keys, before suddenly the music stopped and the hands slammed on the keys, creating an unholy noise.

“Always that measure,” the unknown Hunter cursed before recollecting themself. Antonio had no reason to breath, as he was dead, but it felt like all the air had left his lungs. He was convinced the Manor let him go and he had, somehow, stumbled his sin-filled body through the gates of heaven. The Hunter broke his train of thought with a huff, slouching their back before perfecting it again, body and upper legs creating a perfect 90° angle. The Pianist looked angelic, nothing short of perfect. Antonio was enraptured.

They flung their forearms to the side, popping their elbows, and twisted their neck. Finally, they popped each individual finger. They rested their keys on the notes again before inhaling deeply and playing the music. The instrument in the song they played had a simple part, but it had been years since they last played.

Suddenly, catching them by surprise, the perfect tune of strings accompanied them, perfectly in sync with their own measures. The Pianist quickly turned to see the mysterious player, and they were not disappointed. A tall, very tall, man was slowly striding over to them, a large cheshire-like smile covering half his face. His ebony hair was down to his ankles and swayed with each step while his bangs covered his eyes. His suit, a dark purple, strained at the shoulders as he played, much too small for his svelte form. His cravat was slightly untucked, but the Pianist had hardly noticed, for they were infatuated by just the sight of him.

The two continued to play for the duration of the song, roughly 6 minutes, before stopping and letting their music fade into the past. The Survivors clapped politely before excusing themselves, giddy from the music.

“Your talent is incomparable, sir. Simply… flawless,” the unknown Hunter spoke, slowly standing up, the velvet of their long coattails following from behind the bench. “Not many are capable of playing Caprice n-“

“number 24 in A minor, indeed.” Antonio interjected, moving to hold his bow in his right hand, tucked beside his violin. “You are quite talented, too. It is a very difficult song.”

“Undoubtedly!” The shorter Hunter excitedly nodded, finally happy that someone shared a passion for music, as well as being easy on the eyes. The top of their head reached Antonio’s shoulder, so they cocked their neck back to make polite eye-contact. “As passionate as I am regarding the Paganini's work, I curse him for making beautiful pieces so difficult.”

“What a coincidence! I happen to know him quite well.” Antonio breathily laughed, his smile, somehow, getting wider.

“Wow!” The other gasped, hands worrying together out of habit. Social interaction wasn't their strong suit. “How so, if I may inquire?”

“You may,” Antonio nodded before bending slightly at the waste to meet the stranger eye to eye. He extended his hand to initiate a handshake. “I am him.”

—

8 months, 2 weeks, and 5 days since Antonio had met his partner. Not like he was counting or anything.

For 8 months, 2 weeks, and 5 days, the couple would play in the library together, then go outside and watch the sunset.

For 6 months, 2 weeks, and 1 day — that was when they first began “courting”, per Antonio’s insistence — Antonio would share a room with his partner. While they slept in his bed, he would relax on a worn down couch and read a book, ready for a new day with his beloved.

For 6 months, 2 weeks, and 1 day, they remained inseparable.

Until the end of time, they would always be a duo. Simply inseparable.

extra (when Antonio was sitting outside before meeting reader):

Antonio had been sitting for nearly an hour. He remained as still as a statue, except for the occasional tap of his foot.

Suddenly, a voice rose him from his dream-like state. “Mr. Toni! Mr. Toni! Wake up, please!”

Upon opening his eyelids, slightly squinting from the assault of the bright sun, he saw the Little Girl standing in front of him, with her white dress caked in mud and her hands behind her back. The other Survivors, the 3 adults, mainly observed the scene. The Doctor could be seen biting her nails. A nervous habit, Antonio supposed.

“Hello, young one,” Antonio greeted, slouching even more so he would appear less intimidating to the child. He doubted she cared, she was a participant in a game of murder, but he did it regardless. “How may I help you?”

“I have a surprise for you!” She giggled, doing a small dance in place to help contain her excitement.

“For me? How kind of you, little lady!”

“Tada!” She exclaimed before moving her hands from behind her back, presenting a small purple flower. “Just for you! The one you have in your pocket looks dead, so I wanted to give you this one!” She looked up at the Hunter expectantly, hands still cupped together, holding the gift.

“I am… speechless.” Antonio whispered, and he truly was. He was not one to feel strongly for the Survivors, but a feeling of warmth surged throughout his body from this action. Antonio got off the bench and crouched, nearly eye to eye with the Little Girl. He took out the dead flower and tucked it away in his pant pocket, not willing to give away a part of his life. “Can you put it in for me? It looks lovely.”

“Sure thing, Mr. Toni!” She gently placed the flower in his breast pocket, taking good care to not rumple the vibrant petals. She dusted off his shoulders until she seemed him presentable. “Perfect!”

Toni chuckled lightly, a genuine smile resting on his face. “A beautiful flower from a beautiful lady.” He complimented. Still crouched, he opened his arms if she wished to hug him. He did not want to force a hug in case it made her uncomfortable.

The Little Girl giggled heartily, running into Antonio’s open arms, wrapping her around his torso as best as she could.

#idv antonio #idv violinist #antonio paganini #antonio x reader #gender neutral reader #oneshot #fluff #your honor they're married

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babsvibes · 10 months

Note

I will return the favor (if you want to do it!) :

First Line Ask Game! Rules: List the first lines of the last ten stories you published (or works in progress if you’re feeling brave lol). See if you or others notice any patterns!

Ooo absolutely I do, thank you and @sailoreuterpe, who sent it as well!

1. Stacy’s Cardamom - T, louigan

Was sweeping the sidewalk Louise’s favorite chore at the restaurant? No. She’d much rather be strong-arming investors over shots. Or putting out grease fires started by raccoons. Something exciting to hold her attention.

2. Cheesus the Meatsiah - E, boblin

“HahahaHAhaaa!!” “Bobby?” Linda crept through their dimly-lit apartment and rounded the corner to the kitchen slowly.

3. but it’s (yukon) golden - G, louigan

At first, she thought the knocking emanated from a terribly annoying dream, but with every second of blooming consciousness Louise realized it was no figment of her imagination.

4. Thirty, Flirty, and Icing - T, louigan

With her head caught in overflowing shrubbery and shoe drenched by the damn train fountain, Louise concluded she was having a terrible day.

5. What’s That Song? It Goes Pike… - G, boblin

Linda barely noticed what music escaped her mouth throughout the day.

6. Honey Combed Hair - G, tinimmy

At first, she thinks she imagined it. In the middle of Geometry, Tina tries really, really hard to pay attention when suddenly there’s a slight tug at the back of her head. She turns around, seeking the source, but only finds Jimmy Jr. staring intently at the worksheet in front of him. He must be trying really, really hard too.

7. Once More, With Peeling - T, zekina

Sliding a barber's comb through tangle-free hair, Zeke brushed at the stray curl that refused to tame. He tsk-d and tapped at its reflection on the mirror in front of him.

8. It’s My Party (and I’ll fry if I want to) - E, louigan

Eyebrows furrowing, Louise focuses on her task of slowly peeling the label off of her beer. It tears, and her frown deepens. She glares at it a little while longer, imagining the intensity of her stare somehow gluing the damp paper back together. It remains ripped, and she balls it up to add to her growing pile of previously shredded labels.

9. Logan’s Run (-ning away) - T, louigan

“Could you slice another zucchini?” Bob asked over the sizzling of the grill. Louise nodded her acknowledgment as she continued to whack at a tomato, lines uneven but manageable.

10. And at least one WIP to keep things fun:

Logan’s leg bounced as he leaned on his barstool near the front door, ears strained. Waiting.

#babsbles #asks #my fic writing #thank you for asking!!#can you tell I hardcore cheated on it’s my party? no regrets #lol see what I did there? cheating? with it’s my- alright I’ll go #I thiiink people might not have gotten the message that I sent the ask game so they could link their fics #sounds like I’m going to have to make another rec list so y’all get your stories promoted bc y’all are great dammit

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biteyourcrush · 1 year

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@blueberry32 because dungeons needed to be raided.

“Bitchin’.”

With minimal effort, she backflips away from the window, and from the rustle of shrubbery, you could easily assume she landed safely in some bushes. By the time Vicky’s out the front door, Aaravi’s stowing her grappling hook inside her bag, and shooting Vicky a questioning look.

“Hey, are you attuned to the aethernet? I could easily get us a TP close enough to the entrance, and I’ve got more than enough gold to cover the costs- but that’s kind of a moot point if you don’t have attunement.”

Attuning to the dungeon aethernet crystals was one of the first things Aaravi did whenever she did any travel, it was so much more convenient than finding and taming a wild horse- she COULD summon a mount using her new scroll, but that would take so much longer to ride over there, and then... what, would she just have to make small talk?

...Could take that time to discuss strategy, talk about what she saw when she did her first test run of the place before she had to leave when the puzzles wouldn’t budge without the help of a partner. Bluh.

#ic #the chosen one : aaravi mishra #sanguine humour : vicky schmidt #blueberry32 #me hand picking FFXIV and Zelda lore to smash together for Aaravi Things(tm)

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rallis-fatalis · 1 year

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The Price of Freedom - Chapter 3

New year, new chapter! I hope to do a good few this year. Please enjoy the next installment of Astrath's adventures!

“Now just open the pouch and prepare yourself.”

The black dragon took a steadying breath and gripped the edges of the tan cloth pouch. After a moment, they nearly ripped it open with such force. Out of the mouth of the pouch shot forth a golden light that landed in a writhing mass on the ground before the dragon. The pouch erupted in a golden shower of light in kind. The flailing light began to take shape, something long and noodley. Four small almost vestigial legs formed, then a mane of fur-like spines, until finally the light disappeared with a pop and what slithered before the dragon now was something long and snakelike. They had made a wyrm appear out of thin air! Its golden scales and red spines looked heavily out of place among the green grass and verdant shrubbery.

“Very good! Now try to command it,” a man standing behind the dragon directed. He was bald and sported green robes and a long white cape with a wolf stitched on the back.

The black dragon nodded and gave the wyrm a concentrated glare, attempting to assert dominance without the spoken word. The wyrm reared back its head and hissed, forked tongue flicking between long sharp fangs. Its tail flicked wildly like a rattler, and it squirmed and growled like an unholy beast.

“It will be more strong-willed than a wolf or dreadfowl,” the bald man said. “Keep at it!”

The black dragon flashed its teeth in a snarl and flared open its wings ever so slightly, starry membrane glittering ever so delicately in the sunlight. Suddenly, it felt like a large amount of their energy had drained away. The dragon struggled to maintain the glare but powered through, and after the initial draining feeling faded away, the wyrm whined and loosened its stance and bowed its head, subdued. The black dragon took a breath and smiled at the man behind him. The man gave him a nod and a smile in return.

“Very good, Astrath. You’re advancing well, especially for someone not native here.”

The dragon, Astrath, leaned down and held a hand out to the newly tamed wyrm. It slithered up their arm and coiled around their neck and shoulders with a curious flick of the tongue. Astrath gave the wyrm a gentle stroke, combing their claws through its mane of spines.

“That little one won’t last on this plane long so make your time count,” the man said.

“Thank you, Master Pikkupstix,” the dragon said with a bowed head. “When do you think I will be able to move onto the larger beasts? Minotaurs, I believe I heard you call them?”

“Whoa there, friend, let’s not get hasty. Those beasts are very difficult to handle and in untrained hands can run wild and cause great destruction. You are not quite ready yet.”

Astrath huffed in disdain. They wanted the power this newfangled summoning skill promised! A way to take back Krawley manor, free everyone and exact revenge, was right at their fingertips and their own tutor wouldn’t let them continue. It was an outrage! Smoke rose from Astrath’s nostrils, startling the wyrm around their shoulders, but the dragon said nothing and instead spun on their heels and angrily walked through the town.

Astrath noticed no one and nothing as they stalked through town. Other summoning apprentices remarked on the job well done to summon something as surly as a desert wyrm, while other townsfolk simply admired the beautiful day with their own pets and familiars out and about. Speaking of, Rojaw the fire drake was currently chasing someone’s pet squirrel around the trunk of a tree in a dizzying game of tag. The sight sobered the black dragon back to reality.

“Hey Rojaw,” Astrath started. They held out their arm for the wyrm to coil itself around. “Look what I summoned today.”

The wyrm hissed and slithered down to the ground. Rojaw bounded over, excitedly giving the summoned wyrm a sniff. It returned the gesture in kind.

“Our friend won’t be here long. Why not show them a good time, hmm?”

Rojaw chirped and wagged his tail. He gestured the wyrm toward the squirrel and the tree so they could continue playing. Astrath chuckled as they watched the three beasts squeal and play. If the wyrm had to be summoning practice, the least the dragon could do was give it a good time while it was on this plane. They let them play and headed to the house of Silenthe, the druid kindly providing shelter during their stay in Taverley.

Astrath made their way to a two storey hut more furnished with plant life than actual lodging accommodations. Inside, Silenthe was baking a chicken for lunch and soup stock, making Astrath drool involuntarily. Silenthe gave the front door a glance and smiled to himself as Astrath walked in.

“Hungry I take it? Don’t get my nice wood floor too wet now.”

Astrath ashamedly wiped their mouth. “Do you need any assistance?”

“No, thank you. I’m nearly done. How did summoning practice go?”

“I’ve managed to summon a wyrm now.”

“That’s actually a bit impressive.” Silenthe sprinkled some spices on a tray of roasted potatoes and checked on the chicken. “You learn quickly.”

“Yet Master Pikkupstix refuses to allow me the knowledge to practice with the more difficult beasts.”

“He has a very good reason for that. The last time a student summoned a strong beast they were not ready to handle, it killed not only the student but three apprentices nearby and demolished a pair of buildings. Pikkupstix has been very cautious since.”

Astrath grumbled but understood the reasoning.

“You shouldn’t rush to that anyway. It’s time to relax and enjoy the festivities soon.”

The dragon cocked their head. “Festivities?”

“Oh, did I not tell you? In two days we will be celebrating midsummer. There are costumes and dances and delicious foods, and by the end we celebrate our surplus of herbs with a little… libation, amongst other things.”

Astrath hid a snicker at the idea of the entire town dancing around drunkenly. The people of Taverley seemed like they would be a lot more fun when they drank than the stuck-ups at the Krawley dinner table.

Silenthe hauled the roasted chicken out of the oven and sprinkled it with another round of spices. He transferred it to a large platter and brought it to the dining table alongside the roasted potatoes and pitcher of water. Even after spending a couple weeks under the same roof as the druid, Astrath was still not used to the copious amount of mouth-watering food the man just casually gave the dragon. They didn’t have to work their scales off or beg like a dog or take a beating just for a chance at scraps. All Astrath did was kill and pluck the chicken and pick the potatoes and Silenthe called that meager work more than enough help. They didn’t think they’d ever get used to such generosity.

Astrath brought Rojaw in for his share, summoned wyrm tagging along to simply enjoy living for a moment in this new world, and the quartet passed the lunchtime away in familial conversation.

__________________________________________________________________________

Music streamed throughout Taverley, sun adornments hung on every flat surface or open face, glasses of wine or other drink were clinked together in merriment. The day of the midsummer festival had arrived. A great series of tables had been put together for the whole town to come together for a great feast, and already the townsfolk were busy preparing great abundances of food. The younger members of Taverley ran about in festive attire, some alongside their animal or summoned companions, playing games and causing scenes of joy. Some of the adults were working on building an effigy of sorts atop the hill near the druidic altar for a later ceremony. It was all far too much for Astrath to take in at once. They had never seen anything like this. So many happy people and festive decor and just things and happenings in one place. It threatened to overwhelm them.

Silenthe wasn’t there to explain anything or lead the dragon around, too busy helping with the feast setup, leaving the dragon to stand awkwardly by the corner of a shaded building with an antsy Rojaw beside them. The little fire drake stamped his feet and paced as he wanted to run around and sniff and explore, but he also didn’t want to leave his friend’s side.

Astrath didn’t miss his companion’s gestures. “Rojaw, you can go have fun if you’d like. I think I just need a few more minutes to… adjust.”

The drakeling whimpered and rubbed his face against Astrath’s leg in comfort. He wouldn’t leave just yet.

After some time of waiting and watching in the shadowed silence, Astrath took note of a trio of druids setting something up by the altar with the effigy. Whatever they were doing caught their attention, or rather their nose’s attention, and so they went to investigate. Rojaw took this as his cue to leave and hopped away to mooch at the feast table.

On the dais in the center of the altar, the three druids were setting up long, thin, flat strips of metal, nearly the size of someone’s forearm. There were holes on one end of each metal strip, and Astrath watched in curiosity as the druids placed long thin sticks inside each hole. The sticks were tipped with something that smelled confusing, sweet but smoky, good but bad, a conundrum for the nostrils.

One druid took notice of Astrath’s lingering, and after a small jolt of shock at the sudden appearance of the dragon, waved hello.

“My apologies, I did not mean to startle you,” the dragon started. “I was simply interested in this part of the festival, is all. What is it you three are doing?”

“Oh, we’re just setting up the incense burners,” one druid explained. “After the feast and dances, we light these incense sticks, say our prayers and wishes to the icon,” he motioned to the effigy, “and then burn it so our wishes may rise and hopefully the answers brought back down to us.”

Astrath hummed in understanding and sniffed one of the unlit incense sticks in the tray. “This incense stick, what is it made of? Its smell is… peculiar.”

“They’re tipped with an herb called marrentil. They’re a perfect herb to use as incense. It calms the mind and provides a feeling of comfort. If you’ve never seen it before I imagine it might smell a little odd.”

The dragon gave the stick another sniff of interest. They couldn’t seem to pull their nose away. The smell was so enticing. They made a mental note to definitely check this part of the festival out once it started.

“Anyway, we’re done setting up here,” the druid said. “Come back around sunset to see the place all lit up! Now if you’ll excuse me, I want to get to that feast!”

The druid ran off giddily toward the set up tables with his two companions in tow. Feeling a little more comfortable, Astrath decided to join them.

Every single member of Taverley was present at the table, making Astrath more nervous and uncomfortable than they’d been since leaving Ardougne. They were never the one at the table, but the one watching from afar. And this wasn’t a meeting between the Krawleys and their prospective traders, solemn and full of looks and gestures with meanings mere words could not convey. Here, the people laughed and cheered and clinked their glasses and wished each other well. Animals sat beside their human friends, not owners but friends, and had their own plateful to eat instead of the scraps left behind after their ‘betters’ had eaten, cold scraps of bone and perhaps a few crumbs of bread or vegetable. Even Rojaw got a huge plate all for himself, something the little drakeling roared about with glee.

Once the eating had mostly finished and the chatter had reached a pitch, an older druid stood with his cup raised and asked for silence. The crowd slowly petered their conversations and looked to the man.

“Thank you,” he started. “My, what a bountiful year it has been. Truly, the land has borne more boons than ever. May we pray tonight that this coming year will be just as blessed. The gift of summoning has reached farther now than it ever has, and every passing day I see more of us truly embracing Guthix’s teachings and becoming one with nature. We have lost some friends, yes, but we have also made new ones, some of which I think I can safely say none of us ever thought of making!”

Everyone glanced at Astrath for a moment at that, some chuckling a bit, and raised their glasses to the dragon. The dragon returned the gesture so as not to be rude, but the attention was unwanted. They sank a bit in their chair at the farthest corner of the table as if to shrink away and hide.

The druid continued his speech, but Astrath didn’t hear it, too focused on trying to feel more at ease around all these people, which of course did the exact opposite. They only spoke when spoken to and ate in silence, focusing on the food rather than the company. They hardly noticed the time pass as everyone ate until everyone began to rise to place their dishes in the wash bins. Astrath shot up and hurriedly rushed their and Rojaw’s empty plates over. Finally, something to take their mind off things! A chore always did the trick.

Astrath hefted up a full bin of plates, utensils, and cups, ready to take them to the lake and river for washing, but someone stopped them.

“Dear, what are you doing?” a woman placing her dishes in a bin asked.

“Helping clean,” they said matter of factly. “These are to be washed at the river, correct?”

“Well yes but please do not worry about such things right now. Now is time to socialize and have fun! The washing can wait until later.”

The dragon inwardly grimaced. “Please, as a guest in this town, I feel as though I have not done my part. Allow me.”

Without waiting to hear any argument, Astrath swiftly strode away to the river with a massive bin in hand, ready to have some alone time with the water. As soon as their hands hit the cold river water, they had already begun to zone the noise of the festival out and grow calmer. They closed their eyes, took a few deep breaths, and began to wash the dishes. The methodical scrubbing did indeed prove relaxing, quickly returning to an old routine of washing whatever needed to be at the manor. But after a while, their calm gaze twisted into one of fury. A growl rose in Astrath’s throat and they could not hide the roar and blaze that came after. The cold river water sizzled as dragonfire flared across its flowing surface.

How pathetic were they?! Finding comfort not in the company of others but instead in the solitude of chores and menial labor. This wasn’t enjoyment, this wasn’t life. This was perpetuating a standard they had sought to escape from. They were free to make their own decisions now, and their decision should not be to escape from kindness and familiality to live in the familiar norm of the past.

Astrath rose with one final spit of fire and tossed the clean dish into the clean bin. They were going to enjoy the rest of the day, damn it, even if it killed them! They started to stomp toward the altar where the others were gathering only to realize perhaps it wouldn’t be the best idea to leave the bins of dishes by the riverside. Best return those first.

___________________________________________________________________________

The sun began to set and Taverley met for the final event of the day: a ceremony of wishes and prayers by the altar. Everyone gathered around, much more subdued than before but still cheerful. Astrath missed the beginning of the event, the speech and all that, and had come right as people were making their personal silent wishes. Once everyone had finished, a druid in green robes with a heavy green cape spoke.

“And now we offer our wishes to the sky and pray they may be granted.”

Some of the townsfolk nodded, others raised their hands up, others stood motionless but thoughtful. Astrath thought of a wish as well, one not as vengeful as the wish to enact revenge on the Krawleys. They instead thought of their parents and wished to see them again, safe and sound one day.

The green caped druid turned to the effigy, lit a stick aflame, and torched the effigy atop the altar. The flame consumed the figure in a blaze of glory, and a few druids began to set the incense surrounding it alight. At once, cheering began. People shouted and frolicked and danced around the circle. As the sun fully set, torches blazed and those costumed pulled on masks in the shape of the sun. Once again, the party was at a fever pitch, possibly even louder than before. But this time Astrath wasn’t anxious from the commotion. In fact, they felt calmer than they ever had in their life. Their vision grew slightly hazy, and they found it hard to keep their eyes completely open. A lazy smile graced their face, and dare they say even a few giggles slipped out of their mouth.

Silenthe had finally found the time to see Astrath and smiled at the dragon. “You seem to be in good spirits! I’m glad you found our festival enjoyable.”

Still half-lidded and lazily grinning, Astrath gave a sloppy nod. “Yeah… This is great… I feel so good right now. I love this place.”

The man laughed. “I’m glad! Come now, come! Let’s get a drink.”

A drink? As in alcohol? But that was only for the lords and ladies, not a lowly beast!

But instead what came out of Astrath’s mouth was an excitedly vulgar “Fuck yeah!”

Silenthe gave a shocked blink. The dragon was always so formally spoken. To hear them swear was quite a shock.

The two grabbed a glass of Astrath couldn’t begin to guess what and gave it a sniff. “Wow that smells like crap!” But they swigged it anyway. It may have smelled and tasted foul, but it made them feel warm and cozy and happy. They chugged the entire glass and grabbed another. Silenthe put a hand on the dragon’s arm.

“Whoa there, friend. Slow down. Have you ever had a drink like this before?”

Astrath shook their head. “Pssh, I’ve only ever served this stuff like a butler. You think I would ever be given something that actually cost money to drink? This foul beverage is fantastic and I would like another!”

The dragon wrenched their arm free and slammed down a second drink. Silenthe stopped them from grabbing a third. It was then the man noticed something.

“Are you alright, Astrath? Your eyes are very red.”

The dragon blinked a few times as if that would change their color. “I feel great, better than I’ve ever felt. I think I’m going to go back to those nice smelly sticks now.”

The dragon stumbled back to the rising smoke of the altar with a giddy smile. Silenthe decided it would be best to make sure Astrath would be alright and followed right behind them.

Once at the altar, Astrath flopped onto the grass and rested their head atop the dais where the incense was burning. They took a huge whiff and relaxed against the flame-heated stone. They closed their eyes with a smile, their head spinning in the best way possible.

“Oh, you must have gotten some of the smoke in your eyes,” Silenthe figured. “You probably shouldn’t stay right next to the fire then before your eyes grow irritated.”

“I couldn’t possibly leave,” the dragon mumbled. “Right here is exactly where I want to be.” Words were getting harder to say, and sounds harder to hear. All they could think about was the delicious smell of sweet smoke rising into their nostrils.

“Perhaps dragons just get drunk very quickly,” Silenthe mumbled, puzzled by their companion’s sudden change in attitude. “Come now, friend, I think you’ve indulged enough for one day. Let’s get you home.”

Astrath groaned sadly in protest but their limbs felt far too heavy to fight back. This wave of relaxation was so strong and sudden they couldn’t find the urge to move an inch, and creeping out of the depths of their mind the threat of sleep was coming. They said and did nothing more as they felt Silenthe pick them up and fell asleep in his arms.

__________________________________________________________________________

The sun shimmered through the window bright and early the next morning. The birds chirped their cheery song so sweetly outside, only broken by the soft sounds of people preparing for the day down below.

It was horrible.

Astrath groaned loudly as they woke in Silenthe’s bed, an oddity in its own right as they normally slept on the floor with blankets and a pillow. But what was just as odd was the splitting headache coursing through their head and the vilely sour feeling in their stomach. Astrath tried to sit up and immediately wished they hadn’t. The world spun and their vision swam and it was most certainly not like the pleasant feeling from last night. They held back a gag and sat at the edge of the bed with their head in their lap.

A few minutes later, Silenthe appeared with a piping hot cup of fresh tea. Astrath could smell something else inside it, but they couldn’t make out what, their senses muddled. Yet another thing to add to the odd list.

“After last night, I thought you might be needing this.” The druid rubbed the dragon’s back and held out the cup of tea. Astrath very slowly lifted their head and took the cup. The first sip already helped cut through the fog in their mind.

“I feel terrible,” they mumbled.

“Well, you did seem to have a bit of fun,” he stifled a laugh. “You drank a bit so I imagine that’s why your head and stomach may be hurting. Drink the tea and we’ll get some food in you.”

Astrath lifted the cup in thanks and took a large swig. Silenthe looked into the dragon’s eyes as they drank, unnerving them more than a bit.

“Sorry, I was just making sure your eyes weren’t still red. They seem to be fine now. It really must have just been the smoke causing irritation.”

“I would hardly call that– what was it, incense? –irritating. I’ve never felt better. It was so calming.”

“Marrentil does have that effect, yes, but not so severely. You passed out at the altar and were quite out of sorts. It was almost like you–.”

Silenthe stopped as a realization hit them. “Hold on, I would like to try something.”

He ran downstairs and returned with one of the incense sticks from last night, as well as a match. “What does this smell like to you?” he asked.

Astrath gave the stick a sniff and ever so subtly in the back of their mind, the headache began to fade. “I can’t describe it. It’s… sweet but sour but also smoky. It’s sharp but also plain. It’s like many smells put together, conflicting but they come together in the end.”

The description raised an eyebrow from the druid. “To me, it smells like almost nothing. Not until it’s burnt, anyway. Now if I set it on fire…”

He lit the match and brought the flame to the tip of the incense. Wisps of smoke wafted through the air, and immediately Astrath’s shoulders untensed and their headache was gone. They breathed in the smell with a small smile. Silenthe took the scene in and once he understood, he couldn’t help but laugh. He doused the incense as he tried and failed to cover his giggles.

Astrath pouted as the incense went out. “What is so comedic?”

“Oh, you, my friend! This little herb seems to have quite a different effect on dragons than it does humans. I wonder if any other herbs do something similar. I would love to test them.” Astrath squinted, wanting an answer. Silenthe waved the stick around excitedly. “You got high, haha! All that incense smoke, it must have overloaded your mind and senses and made you relax so much you fell asleep. It seems marrentil is to dragons as catnip is to cats. Dragon-nip if you will!”

Astrath covered their face in embarrassment. They might not have fully understood what ‘being high’ meant, but they knew from the connotation enough that they had acted foolish in public because of it.

“Your drake friend is eating in the kitchen. I wonder if he would act the same way as you.”

Silenthe deviously trotted downstairs to test his hypothesis. Astrath scrambled out of bed, headache forgotten.

“Leave him out of this! I don’t need that rascal acting even goofier than usual!”

‘Also you should save it for me!’ their betraying brain screamed.

#rs3 #runescape #my writes #oc tag

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