#< the face of a man who will get pegged into oblivion | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

odetojeons · 4 years ago

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ok ok ok but what kinks do you think mingyu has 👀👀

okay so i’m gonna start answering the requests now like i didn’t disapear for one month :’) and omg i’m excited. I already said this before, I think mingyu is more of a sub than anything, but there are times. there are TIMES. when he doms it’s not too kinky, it’s more like carnal and (very fucking) rough sex in which he gets too impatient to be a good boy and grabs you by the hips, takes what he wants and just completely destroys you,, ANYWAYS, you can read more of my thoughts here. Y’all better sit down and buckle up cuz I have A LOT to say about this man (especially with how fucking much I miss him).

Praise Kink — I HAD to start with this one. I think you can all agree with me how much Mingyu loves being praised. There is actually a video of him getting red all over and whining because he got too happy when he was praised by the other members and IT’S JUST SO CUTE. Mingyu would downright meowl every time you told him how much of a good boy he is and how he’s perfect, so pretty just for me. But I also think he would love to praise you too, wants you to know you’re everything he’ll ever need.

Pet names — Idk if this is considered a kink, but please, he gives me such vibes of being into the pet names puppy or pup. We all know he’s considered the puppy of Seventeen, so I think it suits him and his personality a lot, especially because I think he would be so horny and desperate when it comes to sex. Calling him baby boy, angel, sweetheart, he would love it so much. Although he would love to call you by cute names too, and I think his favorites would be princess, prince and my baby.

Degradation — HEAR ME OUT, I absolutely think he would love being degraded. I just,, I can’t even begin to explain how much I think he would enjoy that. Mingyu is just so dirty, he would go all red when you tell him how he’s the filthiest little slut or are you that desperate for me you can’t even stay still? while he humps his cock on the pillow, too needy to wait for your touches. He could even cum just from such kind of words, in all honesty I think this is one of his major kinks ever, not just the verbal aspect of it but also the physical part too.

Begging — Oh, yes. YES. Mingyu is all about begging. No matter how many times I think about it, I can absolutely hear his throaty and whiny voice saying please, please, please, let me cum, I have been so good, and he sometimes doesn’t even have to have a purpose or an incentive to do it, he just mumbles it without thinking like it’s the only word he remembers. It would come with the fact that he’s too horny for his own good, seriously, y’all don’t understand how much horny energy I feel this man exhuding.

Exhibitionism — We been knew how much he likes being watched. He may be shy about it, but I guess it can be related with his love for compliments. Although Mingyu would not only like people watching him, but also you as well. The way you move your body on top of him as you ride his dick, or the way he would put a hand on your lower back and make you arch impossibly more just so he could drill into you harder; the contrary of how he would cry and beg later when you edge him and tell him how much of a needy slut he is, being this desperate just because people are watching. ALSO ummm,, I try hard not to talk about other members here but, can I just say that I think him and Wonwoo are so much into watch each other fuck people. God, I even wrote like 18K words of porn of this particular thought. You can read it here.

Breeding Kink — Does this even need explanation? Mingyu would feel an almost animalistic need of putting as much cum inside you as he can. This would do as much as make him feral about it, when he has a stressing day or just because he wants to see his seed dripping out of your hole; no matter what compells him, it would get him aroused to the point where he wouldn’t even be able to wait until both of you get to the room, would rip and thorn both of your clothes off, put you on your knees and make you suck him off until he cums all over your face, just so he could fuck you against the wall afterwards. Which brings me to the next kink:

Strength/Size Kink — Well, is it possible to have a strength and size kink with yourself? Because he does. Mingyu would love to manhandle you around the place, fuck you against every surface of the house, especially if he gets to hold you up as your back is pressed somewhere. Not only that, but I also think it would be due to the movement of his hips. Or better yet; what comes after it. The way your ass and the back of your thighs would get red with how hard he’s thrusting into you, won’t be satisfied until you’re drooling because of his cock and simping for his muscles, bulging over the effort of fucking you. And I just know, I KNOW he would have a dirty mouth about it, would make questions like yeah? You like how strong I am? All this time on the gym gotta pay for something or falling appart on my big cock like you were made to, hm?. Fuck why am I like this. I LITERALLY BRING PAIN TO MYSELF.

Bondage — I think I’m writing too much so I hope y’all keep up with my horny ass, because I can’t stop until I say everything I want to say about him,, so, about this, Mingyu would love to tie someone up as much as he would love to be tied up... Okay, maybe I think he would love to be tied up more than tying someone up, if I’m being completely honest. He just gives this kind of vibes, maybe even as punishment for misbehaving, since he would sometimes be too desperate to wait like a good boy, and he knows you end up letting him take what he wants just because you would tie him up later and make him “regret” (the little shit would never regret anything, and neither would you).

Overstimulation/Edging — Oh, fucking definitely. I have this very vivid image of Mingyu sitting on a chair, hands tied up behind the chair back, legs spread and completely falling appart as you jerk him off. Flick your wrist faster and faster, just to get him on the edge and let go when he’s just there. Then, make that again and again and again, until he’s crying and begging for you to let him cum, and when you finally do, you only keep going, grip unforgiving. Watching his labbored breath of relief turn into little meowls, hips jerking away or closer, none of you are quite sure, but he wants it, saying don’t stop more like a moan than actual intelligible word.

Pegging/Anal Sex — Mingyu would be so shy about it at first. He would come to you, mumbling words you struggle to understand and cheeks burning red, until he manages to get out he wants you to fuck him. But oh lord, when he tries it out he would go absolutely insane. I really think he would be into it, into you rocking your hips and nudging your cock (plastic or not) against his prostate. Just imagine him with a dark blush all the way down to his chest, little whines and meowls that sounds too high and sweet for his own ears, body writhin all over the bed and fists clenching the mattress as his back arches. So damn cute and hot at the same time :( he just wants to be taken care of sometimes, being able to just lay down and have someone fucking him to oblivion.

Power Play — More like fighting for power to be honest. He really enjoys subbing, but when he does it he wants you to put him on his place, because Mingyu is irrevocably and completely a brat. He would tease you to the point where it drives you insane, just so you could snap at him and take what you want, as much as he loves when you do the same to him.

Spanking — Hmmm Mingyu and spanking. And he would do it hard. Full on open fingers going down on your ass until he leaves his handprint. To be honest, I totally think he’s the kind of boyfriend who would be possessive, wants his marks all over you neck and body, however, oh however, I also think he really really reeeeeally love when you do it to him. Everything, from the crescent shaped marks on his back, to the bite on his shoulder you accidentaly gave him when he was fucking you on missionary position, to the mark of your fingers on his cheek when you slap him for being a brat. Okay I kind of lost myself in the kink but yes. Mingyu and spanking.

Double Penetration — HOLY SHIT please tell me you agree with me. Like, fuck, there’s this evil side of him who wants to see you being speared open in more than one cock, wants to see you fucked into another dimension and reduced to an incoherent drooling mess, and it’s just so dirty of him, usually possessive and guarded, to let someone else get their hands on you just so he could watch you fall apart with two cocks. Or even him alone with a dildo, what it matters is to have two things inside you absolutely wrecking you. Or him. Oh shit why did I have to say that cuz now the image of him being double penetrated won’t ever leave my mind IT IS BURNED BEHIND MY EYELIDS FOREVER. Bye.

Choking — You damn right I think about his hands on my neck all the time. They look so big, and I’m sure it’s also something of his size kink, seeing his huge hands wrapped around your throat would make something ugly, something hot burn in the pit of his stomach. You doing it to him too, especially when he’s tied up, only being able to take what you’re willing to give him.

and that’s that! sorry (?) for writting too much, this always happens when I stay too much time without writting any filth,,, last time that happened, I speant two years without any smut so then I wrote 18K words of porn in two days (no, I didn’t sleep) AND I DON’T EVEN REMEMBER WRITTING HALF OF IT??? and the time before that, I simply wrote 12K words. what is wrong with me. anyways!! hope you liked it, tell me what you think and your opinions too!!

#seventeen imagine #seventeen smut #seventeen x reader #mingyu smut #mingyu x reader #mingyu imagine #mingyu #svt smut #svt x reader #svt imagines

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mrs-march-ahs · 4 years ago

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Hey beautiful!! If you have the time/ inspo could you pls do a full Kit fic based on that nipple clamp scenario you described?? It would be greatly appreciated but no pressure if you cant! Thanks and love you!!

Mr Walker’s Treat, Your Punishment

Yes queen, I’m sorry it’s been literally 6 years since you sent this request, I hope you love it. I chose to use clothes pins instead of nipple clamps, and decided against a daddy kink since y’all brought up a lot of good points. Mr Walker is it.

Summary- After losing a bet with Kit, his dark kinky side comes out and he punishes you with the one thing he’s dreamt of since the day he met you.

Words- 2k. I’ve been writing too many headcannons, need to stop being lazy and start writing longer fics for y’all😤

Another request that was a similar was- “Hi! I don’t really know how to work tumblr so if this is bad or something, sorry but can i get a smut about Kit Walker having a boob kink? I loved your Kai one with the mommy kink and all that but if you don’t wanna write it ofc you don’t have to. thanks <3″, I hope you’re here! I hope you enjoy!

No cap this might be the hottest thing I’ve written, enjoy! 🥵

“This isn’t like you, I kind of like it”, you giggle, as Kit ties your hands to the bed frame with the only two ties he has. He smiles down at you, straddling your stomach, fumbling with the ties before he finishes, and looks around the room.

“Hm?”, you ask.

“I need something to cover your eyes”, he says, before getting off the bed and looking at the pile of dirty clothes by the wall.

“Ooo, kinky”, you can’t help but giggle at how unusual it was for Kit to be this adventurous. Not only a few days ago did he propose a 69, but he also was willing to make it a game. Whoever came first lost, and the winner could do whatever they pleased with the loser. The second the proposal left your lips, a certain dominant twinkle sparkled in his eye and activated the horny young man he had inside of him. You pulled out all the tricks you had, but no matter how deep you took him in your mouth, and how much you choked on him trying to make him let go, nothing seemed to work. He was so focused on slurping you up and licking you raw that he barely realised your mouth was on him. All he had in his mind was the sight of you, tied up, and your kitchen timer set for him to do with you as he pleases.

You could’ve never expected what was to come, since Kit never showed a particular interest in anything kinky. But your body was ready to be at his mercy.

“How about these?”, Kit asks holding up a pair of dirty underwear to cover your eyes with. You scrunch up your nose in disgust and shake your head.

“Absolutely not, do you not have any more ties?”. Kit throws the pants back on the dirty pile and takes some sweatpants out of his drawer.

“How fancy do you think I am, doll?”

You chuckle at the way his accent proved his point, before looking up at him in awe when he returned to his position on your crotch. He shuffled around as he straddled you, before putting the legs of the sweatpants around your eyes, poking his tongue out slightly as he tries to tie a knot. After a minute of struggling, Kit becomes impatient and takes the makeshift knot off your face, and puts your face inside of the pants where his butt would go, making you both laugh at how unsexy your homemade blindfold is.

“Hey, it works”, Kit laughs before reaching over to the kitchen timer on your bedside table. He twists it to an hour and sets it down, then proceeds to get off you and leave the room. You wriggle around the bed as you hear Kit walk out.

“Is this what you wanted? To tie me up and leave me for an hour?”, you whine loudly so Kit can hear. He collects his desired (and prepared earlier) items before shouting back to you from the kitchen, “More whining like that and I’ll leave my naughty girl tied up for two”.

You become visibly aroused at the new dirty nickname and bite your lip at what Kit has in store for you. Just as your mind is about to wander to the filthy things you ache for, Kit comes back and puts, what sounds like quite a few, things on the bedstand.

He kneels at the end of the bed and crawls over to you slowly, admiring the sight of you bare chested and rubbing his body against yours. He presses his lips to your neck and kisses you slowly, the quiet sounds right against your ear making you open your mouth. Admittedly, not being able to see heightens the pleasure, and makes even the simple activity of being kissed down to your chest even more erotic than before. You’re both very touchy and affectionate to one another, so you quickly feel the effects of being tied to the bed, when you tug slightly against your restrains wanting to run your fingers through Kit’s hair as he softly sucks on your collarbone. Kit closes his eyes and breathes against your skin as he moves down to attach his lips to the sensitive skin around your nipple, teasing you before he gets to it. He uses his other hand to wrap around your other boob, not wanting to waste a minute of the hour he has with your girls. You rub your thighs together slightly, aroused from the feeling of Kit’s mouth inching closer to nipple, but Kit stops you when he presses down, putting his body weight on you, only propping himself up on his elbows to be face level with your naked chest. The extra restrain of not being able to move frustrates you; Kit’s chest pressed down on your still clothed crotch stops you from creating any friction.

Kit never makes it to your nipple, after kissing around it for the longest minute of your life, he grazes his lips against it, before sitting up slightly and reaching over to the bedstand. The teasing lack of contact makes you huff.

“Don’t be impatient, you lost, deal with the consequences”, Kit says, now completely sat up fumbling with something in his hands, squishing your lower torso, stopping you from moving.

“Yes, Mr Walker”, you mockingly say like a child. But the term of endearment shows you respect Kit’s new dominant authority, and he swallows it up.

“Mr Walka’s got you, just sit back and relax”. Kit flicks open a cap and drizzles some liquid on your chest, making you gasp. He shushes you softly, and puts his large hand on the edge of your boob, to ensure it doesn’t drip down to the mattress. He places the bottle down and runs his fingers around in the pool of cool oil and slides them around your tits, soaking in the sight of the trails he leaves glistening. He purposely still avoids your nipples, instead circling his fingers around them. Even when he finally places his hands on either breast, kneading them and rubbing in the oil into them, though distracted by the gorgeous sight, he doesn’t give attention to the one place you yearn for it most.

“Please…”

“Please what?”. You open your eyes under the cover, not even realising when a whimpering please left your lips. Although you wanted Kit to do anything he wanted to you, your body was tingling and tired of being teased.

“Touch them, Mr Walker”

Kit smiles at your eagerness and how easy it is for him to dominate you and have you begging, and holds back from the urge to rip your clothes off now and pound you into oblivion, knowing that if he can have you begging already, there’s more to come. He cups your tits and rubs his thumb over your hard nipples. The slightest touch makes you bite your lip, feeling overwhelmed by how such simple affection can send a rush of arousal through your whole body, making you resist the need to arch your back.

Unexpectedly, Kit takes his hands off your chest and takes a few seconds to look at them, making you even needier than before. He flicks your right nipple with his finger, making you flinch at the feeling. The minimal pain it brings subsides quickly, but the lingering touch stays and is only reset when Kit does it again, and again, and again. He takes it in turns to flick each nipple, biting his lip hard at the sight of you flinching every single time. When he stops and puts his hands on his thighs, you relax your body, savouring the slight sting from the consistent flicking.

Kit puts his hands above your shoulders and leans down, not touching you but admiring how pink your nipples turn, satisfied knowing that they will be sensitive and ready for the next activity planned. Kit leans over to the night stand, and messes around with the multiple things he has, leaving you motionless and completely submissive to whatever else he wants to do to you.

Kit sits back up and clears his throat, making you nervous slightly. He cups one boob, and you feel a sudden harsh squeeze on your nipple, making you wince. He takes it off and puts it on further, the uncomfortable nipping turning into a constant pinching of your nipple. The sensation feels weirdly sexual, and leaves you holding back a moan at first, but letting it out when Kit puts a clothes peg on the other nipple, too. Though the sight of you being used is enough for Kit’s bulge to protrude through his white underwear, desperate for attention, Kit’s intention is only to tease you, not to hurt you.

“Is this okay?”, Kit says awkwardly. You can hear the quick slurp Kit has to do as whatever is filling his mouth almost escapes.

“It’s… amazing”, you breathe out.

“Who woulda thought you’d be so naughty, hm?”. You furrow your eyebrows at what he could possibly be eating right now, but quickly melt under the weight of his lewd description of you.

Kit steps off you and stands up, chuckling darkly at the helpless view of you trying not to wriggle from the intense feeling at your sensitive buds. He takes off his shirt and drops it by the bed, not being able to rip his eyes off you laying there, wondering what he’s doing and when he’ll be back and close to you again. He slides his underwear off as silently as he can, before stepping closer to the bed, his hand wandering to his crotch, stroking himself looking at you.

When he kneels back on the bed and flicks the clothes peg, you whimper out at the endurance needed to take the uncomfortable pinch for so long. Kit moans quietly at you whimpering, before quickly slapping away the clothes peg, letting them rip off your nipples and fly across the room. You hiss at the painful turnout, making Kit instantly soothe your pain with an ice cube he holds to your nipple. You cry out at the action, and Kit smiles, before latching his mouth to your other nipple, settling the pain he induced with his freezing cold mouth and lips, swirling his tongue around your pink nipple. Tears escape your eyes at the unexpected pleasure, and a shiver breaks through your body when the ice cube between Kit’s warm fingers begins to melt and run down your side, giving you goosebumps.

Your breaths become hitched as swaps his hands and mouth, softly suckling on you with his cold lips, humming at the way you moan when he suckles harder. Your thighs can barely stay still on the mattress, moving around hoping to feel something and release the pool of pressure you feel between them. But Mr Walker doesn’t accept that, immediately sliding his hand between your legs and squeezing your inner thigh, not letting them touch and not giving you any more release than necessary. You completely let go and quickly become a whimpering and moaning mess when his hands and mouth work wonders on your body, squeezing and licking everywhere but where you need it.

“Mr Walker”, you whimper out, not being able to handle the punishment any longer.

Kit rubs his fingers against your freezing nipple as the last of the ice melts away, and removes his mouth off you with a sucking pop. He slides the sweatpants off your face, revealing the tears filling your eyes and running down your cheek. Alarm bells ring in Kit’s mind and he leans down close to you and wipes your tears away.

“I’m so sorry doll, did I go to hard on you? You shoulda said something”

“No, Kit, I need more… please”

Kit smirks at you begging once again, but sits up cockily and looks down at you.

“Sorry darling, but this was your punishment, you lost, remember? Besides…”

Kit stops in his sentence and you furrow your eyebrow in question, before, as if on cue, the kitchen timer dings.

“Sorry doll, we’re outta time”

You whine in annoyance and look up at Kit, who stands up and twists the timer again. He sets it back down before walking towards the bedroom door to exit.

“Are you not even gonna untie me?”, you whine loudly. Kit stands in the door frame with his hand on the door handle, ready to leave.

“Why? So, you can touch yourself the second you’re free? I told ya darling, if you’re whiny and naughty, imma just leave you here”

You look up at Kit in disbelief before pulling at the secure ties on your hands.

“Have fun”, Kit says, before winking at you and leaving.

━━━━━━♡♤♡━━━━━━

@milly-louise @amourtentiaa @kitwalker02 @tatestripedsweater @therenlover @maria-akira @tatesimper @sallyscigarettes @mossybank @ahsxual @mxlti-fand0m-imaginess @mrs-march-ahs-biggest-fan @kitwalkerangel @kitisagoldenretrieverboy @darlingkitt @blackbat2020 @undeadcortez @whiiiiplaaaaash @kaismessiahbb @elaineygrace @divinerulerluvr

#american horror story #ahs #american horror story asylum #ahs asylum #kit walker #kit walker x #kit walker x reader #kit walker smut #kit walker imagine #evan peters #evan peters character #american horror story smut #the evans smut #ahs smut #ahs asylum smut

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sugar-petals · 4 years ago

Text

:: Two Girls Dominating SuperM

↳ NOTE: Since sharin’ is carin’ 😋 Happy holidays! Get the list Santa cuz here go seven kinds of naughty. PS: I use different POVs here, whatever fits best.

words. 3.3k

warnings ⚠️ bondage, pegging, flexibility kink, sex toys, some switch!kai, rough sex, harnesses, oral (m giving), possessiveness, taemin’s evil lady kink, ice cream

⎡Taeyong⎦⇁ I think it’s time to reveal an unspoken truth about the pop industry. You ready? When Rihanna did S&M, a vision of Taeyong from the future whispered the lyrics in her ear. I swear to god. That’s exactly how it happened. Just the way we’d expect, dear Taeyong is gonna float in paradise. Not one domme ready to shake him up, but two? He can retire. Boy doesn’t need anything else. Except maybe a bit of cash to buy harnesses he can model but they’ll treat him to that anyway. That being said. Knowing that two fly madams in latex are ravaging his body at every chance they can get is gonna make him know he can die happy one day. Like, he truly lived. He won’t really hold back with restructuring a lot of parts of his life to let this dynamic unfold all the way. We’ve heard of his DIY skills. This sounds funny but Taeyong will design, paint, decorate, and maintain a special area for their play. Not necessarily just one room, he varies that. We know how gifted he is with interiors and domestic ideas, so. Prepare to get blown away by his sheer efforts. And man, the amount of spare time he can stretch to get a quickie out of that time window. Incredible. Even more interesting is gonna be the range. Taeyong can handle girls that dress up super differently every time, he goes along with any roleplay or character they come up with. He’s gonna be their little prince, their hotel boy, their waiter, their flight attendant, their Jack Dawson incarnate. And their dream boy altogether, cuz that’s what Taeyong is.

His frustrations are bound to work up over weeks if he is busy at SM, so finally seeing them again will have him so excited. And nervous. And so involved with preparing things for them, the perfectionist comes out. Can you imagine Taeyong donning his apron and preparing a four course menu for an entire afternoon? You bet he’ll pull that off. Butler Taeyong will be at full throttle. He’s gonna end up getting viciously fucked in the kitchen anyways. Like to the point where all his hair is a mess in his face and everyone ran out of breath. And seriously, he’s the type to completely surrender and place all trust in the girls. Which they know, and they’ll reward him so well. With things Taeyong loves best aka getting whipped and plowed. One of you could be binding him to a fucking machine and controlling the remote, the other marking his legs and upper back. The little bun gets terribly turned on if you push him on all fours for that and hold the nape of his neck in place so he can’t go anywhere. Consider your carpet ruined with semen. While Taeyong is busy recharging for the next round lying on the floor exhausted, you take polaroids.

⎡Baekhyun⎦⇁ Okay listen, I’ll tell you the secret. You can pull a complete duality on him. Baekhyun, getting nuzzled and snuggled and squeezed from all sides because he’s so sweet? Absolutely his jam. He got two hands to hold, after all. And two mochi cheeks to kiss, my friend, two of them. But also, getting a full dose of freaky stuff inflicted on him with some good music playing? This loud little fucker is going to levitate. These two raging girls can take complete control of his body and fool around to their liking. Grabbing his butt, feeding him cake, dressing him up or stripping him down, riding his face to oblivion. Like not just circling your hips. Actual sharp thrusting and making him forget the light of day. And using some cute pink ropes to string his pretty wrists from the ceiling as a treat. Only a matter of time until he’s an arching mess. As you already suspected: A giant dose of ass destruction is only one step away. Any toy suffices. At best, when he’s trying to beat a new high score and has to concentrate on the game. Nice challenge for his focus, he likes that. He wants to feel how he’s getting stretched out from all directions until it hurts so good. Screaming „Ah!“ is his favorite word. Maybe not too straps in one hole, that’s Taeyong territory, and Baekhyun’s ass is really tight generally, but spitroasting? His favorite pastime. Stuffed up and getting a load of extra hard thrusts. He can suck and gyrate all the way, all at the same time like he never did anything else. It’s gotta be hard and fast. I’m telling you, he’ll make it sloppy anyway.

Did he ever think he could get fucked up like this by a sexy tag team? Nope, he squarely thought he was undeserving. Now that he’s getting regularly suffocated and earns the praise for being so cute, Baekhyun is actually starting to believe he can ask for and enjoy that glorious wreckage. Because if there’s one thing he wishes for, it’s drowning in his own spit. These two are gonna be so territorial and wild, his dick and tongue are gonna threaten to fall off every night. How many condoms Baekhyun’s gonna fill, those will be record numbers, it’s like the album charts. Baekhyun’s a straight-up cum bank dairy cow extraordinaire when it comes to milking him dry. Like what did you think if two mommies feed him with all sorts of delicacies, all that juice is going to stock up and get ready to blow. And the amounts and types of collars Baekhyun’s neck is gonna be in: Whole lot, even with leashes attached. Oh god, they’ll strap him stupid with some dog ears on as a reward. Baekhyun’s prostate is gonna be a constantly spongy ruined mess, poor mochi gonna end up waddling around the kitchen to chug a liter of water at 3 AM.

⎡Taemin⎦⇁ You know who’s gonna be in his element. You just know it. Taemin is ride or die when it comes to wanting someone to be the boss of him. He’s not just dabbling in all that jazz to experiment, he’s livin’ and breathing it. Taemin’s imagination is the 3D version of AO3’s finest fanfics. Hell, he even imagines the sounds over and over, it’s gotta be 4D! He’s already crafted the most intricate fantasies for some seriously action movie-like roleplay. But let's start from the beginning. What’s on Taemin’s ever-wicked mind when he goes to sleep at night? Two intimidating ladies ganging up on him. Arriving on their black motorcycle at his house, flirting the living hell out of him, raiding his fridge, grinding on his lap in their biker gear, licking his face, taking his luxurious clothes off, calling him names, making him dance for him (that one’s a staple), biting down on his torso wherever they please, and having their way with him until it’s all one big orgy. Hell, probably on that motorcycle in the garage. Taemin pretty much getting one dry orgasm after the other because it’s the time of his life. Like, they’re really spoiling him. And he’s giving himself to them. That kind of scenario going down? To Taemin, that sounds like his wettest of dreams come true. He’s like yes, yes, yes and yes. A dynamic duo of sadistic girlfriends, that’s gonna leave him so shook and utterly addicted. Like he wants to get backed into a corner, bring on all the kabedon, Taemin goes all the way the way we know him. Nobody loves that fantasy more than him.

Now… the trick is. They’re actually really fun and sweet and pet his hair incessantly. You know, casually, doing daily life things. Cooing at him and getting all the sweetest princely kisses from their angel. My god, they’ll be so gently in love with him. But in the bedroom, it’s raw business. Taemin is gonna take is so hard, he’ll be seeing stars. That he’s getting slapped around — the thighs included, he loves that — while getting a handjob has to be the most orgasmic experience ever. Taemin is gonna bust fifty-thousand nuts over having his hair pulled by one girl and being choked by the other. Boy is he gonna be hard even if the pants stay on. What if he’s not the one grinding around this time. Two scary girls riding his lap, cuffing and belittling him — wow. Taemin never wants that feast to end. Getting roughed up at any occasion makes his day. He is needy, but the girls have all the cruel shit could ever ask for, and he has the stamina to handle all of it. And the class, he never loses his mystery. A fucking marathon with some pretty brutal bondage and impact play involved, no problem, he’ll last it. You can torture the soul out of him, he’s gonna be winding and gasping for more. Except maybe that his voice is gonna be pretty hoarse if they don’t gag his mouth for the most part. Man, Taemin is so vocal. This will have the ladies all runny beyond imagination. Nobody who meets him casually is gonna suspect it, but Taemin has the wettest dick in all of Seoul (unless Lucas is doing an allnighter) and no pliable brain left because he’s got is fucked out hard daily and he gave it daily. Now you know.

⎡Jongin⎦⇁ Kai is gonna act smug about this right from the start. He’s gonna be the guy who’s proud to show you off, walking around arms over your either shoulders, him right in the middle. Like hello, I’m experienced. The entirety of SM Entertainment is gonna have rumors circulating but nobody’s gonna be surprised. Little does he know you’re down to make his naughty lyrics come true. Kai is gonna get pegged and punished holding onto his dear oversized teddy bear. Literally, these two will have him burying his entire face there. Whimpering and high-pitched moaning like it’s time for EXO adlibs. His couch is large enough for three people, so. Somebody is gonna end up horny and crying. With his album on repeat because there’s no better music to fuck to, don’t kid yourself, you likely don’t, anyway. It’s Kai we’re talking about. He has sluttiness for days. Getting your hands on all that tall dark and handsome goodness is just all that you need as a domme duo. Have you seen how this guy moves just breathing and walking and cocking his head on the occasion… I don’t wanna know how far he can go in the horizontal realm to put it carefully.

But you gotta be ready for Kai’s aggressive side that wants to make things happen. If you like a struggle for dominance, this is the address. You two are just too tempting and delicious not to move around on his bed to assume new positions. And if Jongin doesn’t feel like snapping his dangerous hips into either of you, he’s lying. Kai is ready to fucking dick you down like it’s your birthday. He has to be taught to request and wait like a good boy, on his best behavior and his knees preferably. Yep, I think that Kai is a case for some extended training because he’s so impatient, with good reason, but he still needs to be put in his place. Which Kai likes because it means you go harder on him without restraint. Was it his goal all along? I can see one of the girls taking the role of speaking to him with his head in her lap. Giving commands occasionally, checking in. And the other, getting freaky on him with her instruments. Kai’s body is so sensitive and reactive, it’s gonna be fun to see him twitch and beg. Even something as simple as clamping his nipples will already do the trick. That’s when you have Kai begging.

⎡Ten⎦⇁ Believe it or not. Out of all people, he’s gonna be the one with the most doubts and insecurities — at first. It feels a little overwhelming to Ten because he doesn’t know what’s coming. You know that kind of facial expression he does when he is uncertain. Mind you: Having a whole bunch of people around him isn’t new to him. Bitch, he’s in NCT! A threesome is peanuts against that neo energy. It’s more like, the coordination, he doesn’t know how to act. He’ll be shy and big-eyed and doesn’t know what to say. The king of comebacks and clapbacks: Speechless. Let that sink in. The girls are dealing with the kind of guy who needs a lot of clarity and talk beforehand because he doesn’t have experience with it. It takes him to really know what the program is and damn he’s right about that. Ten really getting into what he’s signing up for is big-brained of him. He asks a lot of questions with an open-mind, but also care. But then again, we know how Ten’s confidence can skyrocket, and that he’s so secretly curious about those things he’s bursting with anticipation. And he knows what to ask for to really get someone going. Touch me, tease me, feel me up, am I right or am I right? He adapts so well to almost any circumstance in his life, it’s admirable. Totally up to the challenge once it goes down, he really grows into that. And I promise that particularly the physical part is absolutely his forte, that’s where he blooms. Ten can be easily taught through the genius of his body and he’s gonna love that.

Once things get hands-on and he finds himself with two girls mounting him, and on go the cat ears, he’s like oh my god this is great. The surprise factor is the biggest in the group here. Ten is gonna almost facepalm because he’s been worrying himself where there was nothing to be anxious about. Because he’s in his groove! Smiling and laughing and having a good time. No stress, just feeling so damn good. Probably with several super-size vibrating toys employed on him because that’s how Ten rolls, always taking the challenge. What a twitchy mess he’s gonna be, I can’t. The two ladies are gonna have a blast themselves bending him around and getting the best of the best erections out of him. Ten is totally gonna snack something while they’re fooling around as three. Or they’re stuffing him with delicacies, he’s gonna be so eager. But that’s not even a glimpse of what they’re gonna do! Ten is ready for almost everything, my friends. Tag teamed while dressed up as Alice? Likelier than you think. With the wig, that’s right. Ten is gonna be their good girl for one long night and truly love it. He obeys so well, spreads his legs like its nothing. It’s all gonna be a hell of a mess on his outfit though. If there’s one person ready to have cum all over him, that’s the right address. He’s throwing peace signs and pose for their phone cameras. Oh Ten, the legend you are.

⎡Lucas⎦⇁ Wong Yukhei… the entire concept that is him literally screams for it. Two people handling all that fucking hunk. So much space to work with, that body is a drug. Xuxi is one staggering big boy, his forehead is making love to any door frame. Lot of waist to grab (…like why is it shaped like that. Offensive!) lot of wrist to tie. And those long fucking model legs, for god’s sake, you just gotta do something with those for once. Get those thigh harnesses! Plus he’s a literal baby who’s all down to date girls his senior. Yukhei is a sucker for mad girls acting possessive over him. And he’s a handful, one fucking tease, one chaotic man. Two times the payback is just so much more appropriate. He can just get fucked and fucked and fucked some more. As is two times as much stimulation. You can imagine. Yes, all over his body. Grabbing his necktie and guiding him around this that (good shit) and caressing his face, and his back, and his chest, and his stomach, it’s so sexy to touch him there.

But let’s not lie. A certain somebody has cock and balls for two people. Lucas is one hell of a stallion. Lot of girth to make hard and to edge. That needs a duo of two unhinged girls, forces of nature, someone shy won’t do. It’s their job to make him shy and docile, not the other way around. Because Lucas enjoys being teased and flattered right back, and is more than fine with being toyed with, even playfully beaten up. You know he loves to be on the receiving end of bickering. Doesn’t mean he suddenly forgets to be an active party or just leans back. He has giant hands and knows how to use them, he’s chartered some major clit territory as well, remember that. That’s gonna be three people losing their fucking minds. Imagine all those luscious, raspy groans. Lucas never holds back, no filter, he knows what the ladies like. Drenched in sweat is all you’ll gonna be. And probably a whole bunch of lube because that’s the other thing the entire concept of Lucas is screaming for. The more ye know.

⎡Mark⎦⇁ Alright my friends. Cute Mark vibes different but that’s no secret. Boy’s gonna admit he’s really intimidated and shy, but so happy he’s gonna get sandwiched once he agrees to try it. It’s all a matter of courage. The girls will be the ones approaching him because they bought him ice cream, and the conversation starts from there, but it’s up to Mark to really set the mood. Oh boy, he’s not gonna stop blushing. This nerd with a girl on each side, that sure as hell looks great on him, I assure you. And if Mark Lee is your trophy rapper poly boyfriend, you truly made it, so. This is gonna be a dynamic right here. And the most fun, imagine the mayhem. He’ll talk his mouth off like his life depends on it. Mark doing sexy talk with two girls at the same time would be so entertaining. They will own his ass. Like wow… they’re making out with him, alternate with french kisses and putting their hands all over him, and ruin his face with ice cream. Mark would be so sexy to pull close by his collar.

And you bet it’s gonna slowly escalate from there, he’s tapping into some sides of him he never knew were there. Ice cubes down his chest, tongues down his mouth, hands in his hair kind of afternoon. As a brief and hilarious interruption, a shivering, horny as hell Mark takes a phone call from Johnny. Who, as you learn, is completely unsuspecting. „Hey, I’m at IKEA, uh. The living room section, actually. Should I buy the blue pillow or the yellow one? I can’t decide. They both have the same print on them, so.“ Mark is gonna blurt out that blue is probably gonna be a good idea and ends the phone call before anybody can moan into the speaker. Johnny is left confused at the other end of the line. The girls will end up teasing Mark that he said blue because that’s what his balls are for sure. Freudian slips, always glorious. Mark is not gonna deny that and ultimately ends up with his face between two cleavages — talk about melons, are we gonna kid ourselves — and two hands down his jeans. This is gonna need a lot of towels. Mark has never gotten this fucked up in his whole life and he is grateful. Watch out people, he’ll write a whole mixtape about this.

#superm #super m #super m smut #super m x reader #super m scenario #super m imagine #super m x dom!reader #poly!super m #baekhyun smut #taemin smut #taeyong smut #mark lee smut #ten smut #kai smut #yukhei smut

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batwritings · 4 years ago

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I totally forgot to type up the smut idea I had from earlier because I was looking at the walmart pride merch so!

Badboyhalo, I said earlier that he would like making baby clothes for little sapnap, he also like shaking clothes for his partner of the not pure verity. He would absolutely love a fashion show of what he's made you, but would absolutely blush and love his stuff if you made him smutty clothes, btw, make him wear pretty white lacy stuff, it would just look good.

Sam is a master of Redstone, and he had absolutely made toys for his partners. He just finds it more loving that way. That being said, he also will get redstone and gunpowder all over him, so please hop into the shower with him and help him clean off, he will love the intimacy if it and you get to feel him up, win win.

Please please please give foolish an full body massage (and I mean full body, peg his ass!) while giving him praise of what a good boy he is for doing so much, he will melt and probably be the most content he has ever been in his life, and when your done he's going to have to return the favor. He is going to fuck you into oblivion and make sure you remember every single piece of praise he gives you and if he ever hears you talk bad about yourself he's just going to have to remind you.

Schlatt seems like he'd be this super tough Dom, but this man has barely been shown kindness, please please, give this man so much affection he's crying over it. Give him sweet kisses to his cheek as you stroke his cock and sing him the softest praises. Gently pull him into a kiss by the horns and give tiny head scratches at the base while you rid him into cumming in you. (I keep seeing these hardcore Smuts for Schlatt, please give the baby some affection he fucking needs it!)

Techno, I said he'd like to make maps, and he has a couple under his bed that show places they have had sex. In villages, caves, dungeons, mansions, all sorts of places. Sometimes a rut hit him out of the blue or the blood rush and adrenaline kicked in and y'all had to get rid of it some how.

Karl can and will make sure he knows everything he can make your body do. What you don't like, what you absolutely love, what you'd like to try. He's got it all written down in a book in the nightstand and it absolutely does have naked photos of the both of you. Some taken on phones and printed out and some are hand drawn.

George like to have super sweet sex, and sometimes he goes on for hours just taking his time with you, and other days when he has had to deal with Sapnap his fuse is alot more spent, and those can be his favorite days, not that he doesn't like being slow it's just the faces his partners make when he's going hard is so cute. Sapnap and his partners are in a deal where Sapnap gets paid to mess with george more, George has no idea.

🦊

🦊 .....stopppp I love these. You’re so goood aaaaaaa. I love the Schlatt one most oh no....mr big tough president who is an actual soft sweetheart has such a special place in my heart.

#bat writes #anon response #🦊anon #good ideas!

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callmehopeless · 5 years ago

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I am that bitch who keeps asking for the pegging omega!ben shit on thirsty thursdays. I swear — maybe it’s my weird size and power complex— there’s something about a grown ass man loving being bent over, fucked into oblivion, and begging for your cock. I would not mind a needy omega emergency calling me home from work just to milk his cock and prostate. I rest my case🥰

I honestly find this such a big mood

I might have to just write a massive oneshot of it because today at work I got this ask and I zoned out for like a good 20 minutes, just picturing how he’d squirm and chirp and beg, this big muscular man just reduced to biting down on the couch pillows while you fuck him, pinning his hands behind his back so he can’t stroke his cock while you destroy him

I can’t...hhhh...I need it. I NEED IT

Can you imagine him after his heat’s over? Just a big blushing mess burying his face in your neck and getting all shy about it? Remembering how he begged you to fuck him again and again; begged you to let him milk his cock into your pussy, just once more?

Yeah I can I can imagine it

It’s hot in here

#omega!ben #ben solo #a/b/o #Anonymous #Mail

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jungkookiebus · 6 years ago

Text

The Surprise | kth

Genre: established relationship, smut, nonidol!au Pairing: nonidol!Tae x reader Word Count: 2.1k Warnings: pegging, ass play (eating that ass like I aspire to do), dirty talk Summary: You’ve explored everything in the realm of sex with Tae, that includes using toys on him, but this time you decide to surprise him with a little more.

It had all started from mild curiosity. You had each tried everything under the sun when it came to sex, but this was one thing neither one of you had breached. Casually, one evening, you had brought up the idea of a prostate orgasm and how you had read how powerful they were. At first, Tae was against it, but when you brought up the fact that you let him stick it in your ass, he decided to think on it. What was the harm? Obviously, you’d start slow and work your way up. You started just as you had, with a butt plug. The first time he had worn it throughout sex he had admitted that it wasn’t so bad, pleasurable even. The next time you tried, you used a small dildo of yours, experimenting by slowly thrusting it in and out of him while you stroked his cock and that was the first time he had had an orgasm that way and was, admittedly, blown away by it.

“Never thought I’d like something in my ass so much,” he had said through his post-orgasm bliss, eyes shut, and a smile spread across his fine features.

To you, it was the hottest thing you had ever seen; to have him come undone at your hands with something that didn’t involve your mouth or cunt.

Now, here you were pulling your latest purchase out of the black bag you just laid on your table. The strap on was one of the higher end brands, wanting only the best for him. The cock itself was purple, his favorite color, but the straps were a simple black. You had done your research and bought the type of harness where you could change the sizes of the dildo and opted for one that was the size of one you had already used. It would be a few hours until Tae came home so you decided to get used to your new “appendage”. Taking it into your room, you stripped off your work clothes and got to work trying it on, adjusting the straps until it was just right before you stood in front of your full length mirror. It was odd, of course, but didn’t seem totally foreign. Turning this way and that, you checked yourself out in the mirror and decided it looked and felt pretty good. It was suggested that you do mundane tasks to get used to it, so you decided to do just that. You started a load of laundry, folded clothes, changed the sheets on the bed, along with other things until you completely forgot that you were wearing it.

You were busy scrubbing the countertop when you heard the soft cough behind you. You whipped around in surprise, dildo thumping against the counter as you went, soap dripping down your arms and a very surprised, but amused Taehyung standing in the doorway.

“Whatcha got there, babe?” He sat his bag on the counter before leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed. You saw something flash in his eyes, they softened momentarily, before they seemed to darken the more he drank you in.

You gulped and sat the sponge down, rubbing your hand across your shirt before speaking. “A surprise.”

“Color me surprised then,” he said pushing off the doorframe and moving over to you. He placed his hands on your waist as his eyes travelled from your face to the dildo. His fingers traced along the straps of the harness and his growing erection did not go unnoticed by you.

“You look beautiful in this.” His hand came to cup your jaw as his lips came down on yours. Pushing your back against the counter he ground his hips into yours, the dildo pushed upwards between the both of you.

“You plan on fucking me with that?” he asked when he pulled away.

You whimpered at the thought of having him writhing beneath you. “If you’ll let me.”

“I’d love nothing more,” he said while pulling you along behind him, but once in your room, it was you who guided him to the bed.

Crawling over him, you leant down and kissed him deeply while he fumbled with his own belt and pants, whisking them off as fast as possible. You were caught by surprise as he caught the dildo in his hand and began pumping it over it. That action alone had turned you on more than anything else had so far this evening. His lips ghosted past your ear as you moved your head.

“God I can’t wait to have you inside of me,” he whispered.

You wanted nothing more than to be fucking him into oblivion in that moment, but you also wanted to take your time.

“I will, baby,” you whispered back. Kissing the side of his neck, then collarbone, down past his chest, hipbones, and then the base of his cock, you travelled down his body.

“Please,” he begged above you.

“Please what?” you asked innocently enough as you continued to place small kisses to his cock while you gripped the base.

“Anything,” he breathed.

You sank your mouth down his cock until he was hitting the back of your throat. Moaning around him, his hips thrust upwards in your mouth and you brought both hands to his hips to hold him down. You worked your mouth over him, taking him further each time and clenching your throat as you choked on him. As soon as his thighs began to shake you pulled off him, leaving a trail of spit in your wake. You looked at him to see that he had started to sweat, the light sheen sparkling on his face and abdomen and in that moment, you had sworn you had never seen anything more beautiful. Gripping the backs of his thighs, you pushed his knees as far to his chest as you could before leaning down once more. You kissed the inside of his thighs, past his cock, until you were exactly where you planned to be for the rest of the evening. Tae’s entire body trembled in anticipation as you teased him, placing small kisses and licks across his hole. Digging your fingers into the skin of his thighs you pushed your tongue inside, basking in the satisfied cry that left his lips. Burying your face further, you let go of one of his legs, trusting him to hold himself as your hand came to cup and slide past his balls and gripped his cock. His hips bucked into your face as you ate him out and your fingers ran through your leftover spit and the precum on his cock. He started to whimper louder and louder and you knew he wanted more, he always wanted more. Moving from his ass, you pulled one of his balls into your mouth and sucked gently, causing the sounds escaping him to become a little more pitched. You moved forward once more and as you got closer to his face, he desperately grabbed you and pulled you in for a sloppy kiss, wet with no direction.

“Fuck me,” he breathed.

You reached for the lube in the bedside table and Tae caught your wrist as you came back.

“Let me do it.” He sounded so fucked out and beyond reason, his eyes soft, but desperate as he looked at you.

You handed him the bottle and he put a large amount in his hand before he was running it over the dildo, moaning as he did so.

“You want this cock inside of you, baby?” You watched as his eyes fluttered shut, hand still working over the toy, and he groaned deeply. “Want me to fuck that pretty ass of yours?”

His lips were wet as he continuously drew his bottom lip in his mouth, released it, and panted heavily. By now, he was tugging at the dildo, trying to get you down to where he wanted.

“Yes, please,” he begged.

You pushed his legs once more as you sat on your feet in front of him, legs spread and knees on either side of his ass. Sitting up a little, you lined the toy up and started to push slowly inside.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you,” he began to chant as you slid further and further. You waited a beat once you were fully seated, watching as Tae’s chest heaved with each breath.

“Give me a second to adjust,” you asked as you held onto his legs. “I’ve never thrust before.”

You hadn’t thought this far ahead, suddenly very aware that this motion was going to be foreign to you. What you had planned to be a surprise for him might be a disaster at the hands of your inadequacy. Tae reached forward for your wrist and brought you almost flush with his chest.

“You’ve got this baby,” he said kissing your palm. “Roll your hips against me.”

Keeping your stomach against him, you rolled your hips backwards, and back down on him, trying to emulate a wave with your body. He moaned as his mouth fell open, lip catching on the palm of your hand, and his breath heating your skin.

“Do that again.”

Mimicking the motion, you started to gain more confidence.

“Does it feel good?”

“Yes,” he moaned. His head sank further into the pillows as your newly found confidence seemed to also quicken your pace.

Sitting up, you grabbed more lube and poured more as you thrust, ensuring his comfort. His hands were all over the place; one second, they were at your waist, then his cock, and then his hair. You wrapped your hand around the base of his cock and squeezed lightly, causing a rumble deep in his chest. Working your hand over him just as he liked it, you watched as the dildo slipped in and out of his ass with ease.

“You look so good spread out for me like this,” you said. You were absolutely out of breath, but the look on Tae’s face as you fucked him spurred you on.

You fisted his cock in your hand as your hips snapped against him and every obscenity known to man fell from his lips. Tae reached out for your hand once more and pulled you from his cock and to him, kissing you deeply.

“I want to come like this alone.”

You were so turned on right now that it hurt. The dildo did little in the way of giving you any relief as it did not have any direct contact with your clit, but god only knew that the sounds he made alone could have you coming untouched. You were looking at his face as you fucked him, his hands on your ass now, pulling you into him harder. He looked absolutely radiant, the pink that dusted his cheeks gave him a healthy glow and the sweat along his browbone gleamed in the low lights of the room. His long lashes brushed his cheekbones and his full lips fell open in ecstasy. His eyes opened briefly to look at you as you hovered over him.

“I love you,” he muttered between breaths.

You kissed him once more as you rolled your hips harder against him, knowing you were hitting his prostate based on the moans coming from deep within his chest. Threading your fingers through his hair, you deepened the kiss as you felt his body shudder and cum coated his and your stomach as he came. His moans became desperate sobs in your mouth as he wrapped his arms around your waist and held you closer. Your hips stilled, the dildo still inside of him, letting him come down from his high.

“Fuck,” he breathed.

Slowly, you pulled out to avoid discomfort as you sat up.

“You’ve ruined me,” he said finally.

“In a good way?”

“For the rest of my life,” he said as he sat up and pulled you closer, kissing you so passionately that you felt his love in every inch of your body. “Let me take care of you.”

He fingered at the straps of the harness, not quite sure how it was removed.

“We’re in for a long night, aren’t we?” you laughed against his lips.

“I don’t know what ever gave you that impression,” he said before flipping you over to your back and kissing down your neck. “I just want to eat you out and maybe fuck you so good that you’re crying, but I don’t have to…”

“I’d love nothing more,” you interjected.

With a laugh, Tae tugged at the harness once more, eager to keep his promise.

#btssmutclub #bangtanarmynet #btswritersguild #bts smut #bts au #bts imagines #bts scenarios #nonidol!tae #tae x reader #reader insert #taehyung smut

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bazz-b · 5 years ago

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I warned y’all yesterday that there was another character rant coming, and here we are.

Today in “Learning about Bazz-B”, we address how despite his hotheaded nature, gun-ho attitude, and penchant for rising to provocation, Bazz-B is a very perceptive individual. Always watching, digesting information-- so long as a subject doesn’t cross wires with a particularly passionate emotion, Bazz-B can be as analytical as the next guy. Probably more so, he hasn’t spent 1000 years playing with his dick.

His shrewd observation skills appear generally unnoticed by most, in favor of them focusing on the more overt, louder parts of his personality. That said, I think it's important to note that ALL of these traits can and do exist within Bazz-B simultaneously. While at times his impulsivity can interfere with his ability to really observe, it should be noted that these are skills that work together effectively both in personal relationships, as well as battle scenarios. I'll expand on both of these instances further below.

Maybe the most fascinating thing about his observation skills is that we see them present within Bazz-B quite early on in his life, while he's still a child and styled as Bazzard Black. With an education befitting a future lord, his father ensured he was taught to see things for more than what they seemed on a surface level. To settle disputes between conflicting families, when deciphering the appeals of the masses, the crimes of vagabonds. Not all who sin are evil.

In the above examples (images pulled from across two pages), Bazzard is watching Haschwalth quite intently, despite his continued outbursts. He’s perceptive to the different factors in the strange boy’s life, paying close attention to all the clues. At the mention of a lack of friends, the briefest display of concealed wounds, he acts. Tossing his catch to Haschwalth so that the other might avoid punishment, or at least give him a chance to stave it off, he also decrees that the pair are now partners of sorts. Hero and Sidekick, Bazzard is still quite an arrogant child. But this imparts two things to the despondent Haschwalth; a friend, and hopefully a reprieve having succeeded in the day’s hunt.

The effect is overwhelmingly positive. The gestures were exactly what Haschwalth needed at this point. A spark of hope, and a practical solution. Even at this age, unable to play a large part in Haschwalth’s pain, he manages to make a difference.

This talent, in his youth, blossomed in a natural empathy. Bazzard lived a privileged life, he knew the expectations that would fall on his shoulders, and was taught the importance of understanding his fellow man. His actions towards Haschwalth reflect this, but by the time we see Bazz-B in Silbern, the nature of the place has changed him. Aspects of himself have dwindled, and an empathy that came easily has been pushed aside for an analytical approach. There’s no longer the luxury for it.

Bazz-B’s continues to display this theme predominantly in battle. Observing the nature of those around him, he can typically predict how a person will react to an event. When matched against Yamamoto Genryuusai, it quickly became apparent that the power level between the assembled Sternritter (Äs Nödt, NaNaNa Najahkoop, and Bazz-B) and the Captain Commander was far too great. Instead of fighting a losing battle, he switched to the defense.

That quick thinking was the only thing that saved their lives. Despite the unfathomable glory they could have attained from killing the old man, Bazz-B knew the odds of survival and played defense. Both NaNaNa and Äs likely expected death was inevitable in that moment, or were crazy enough to think they had a shot at victory. Both would definitely find themselves shocked that it was Bazz-B that saved them.

His insight has also lead him to such situations as almost landing a deciding blow on Kurosaki Ichigo. Surrounded by Sternritter, Ichigo is barely holding on. Dodging attacks, unable to find an opening to push back, Bazz-B makes his move. Anticipating the actions of his current allies, analyzing Ichigo’s penchant and skill for dodging, he closes in.

He grabs hold.

A simple strategy, yet it completely shuts down Ichigo’s options. Without the aid of his allies, this would have been a deciding moment in the war. This is also a pivotal scene for Ichigo. After returning from the Palace he’s like a new man, taking names and kicking ass, calm and collected. But Bazz-B still gets him. Almost cracks that plot armour and eat delicious Kurosaki yolk.

His shrewd observation and careful study, despite his hot-headed demeanour, works in tandem with his raw power, making him a highly adaptable and highly dangerous opponent. This is further cemented because he has so many different match-ups with so many different characters throughout the TYBW arc, and takes down a LOT of well-known characters with varying types of strategies.

The biggest issue people seem to have in identifying Bazz-B’s intelligence is the matter of his emotions, his ego. The man flares up so easily, it’s easy to write him off as just another loud idiot in a shonen manga. But even infuriated, rushing, a goal in sight, he can acknowledge when he’s outmatched. As was the case with Yamamoto Genryuusai, and later with the assembled Lieutenants lead by Kuchiki Byakuya.

With a brief word from Liltotto, he cools his jets. Rather than rushing ahead, biting off more than he can chew, our Lord and Saviour Liltotto Lamperd gives pause to the storm long enough for a cooler head to prevail. Uniting with the Sternritter he’d previously betrayed, will continue to betray in the future, they make a unified stand against the Gotei 13.

The final scene I think worth mentioning is the death of NaNaNa Najahkoop. In the face of oblivion, there were still those among the Quincy loyal to Yhwach, spiteful in the face of the Shinigami. Deserting from any army is dangerous, but none more so than the Wandenreich. Open dissension couldn’t be spoken of, not without fear of retribution. Bazz-B had spent his life studying people, and the scene was set. Once painted a threat, NaNaNa was taken out. A single shot to indenture the Shinigami to his cause, he’d already pegged Liltotto and Giselle to sharing a fury against their former king. A reckless, blundering, foolhardy man would have thrown his lot in with his ilk and set his foes ablaze. In the face of Armageddon, Bazz-B weighed the scales.

As much as people like to insist that Quincy are the victims, that they are in need of more sympathy, there is an effortless ease in which they dehumanize Bazz-B for his righteous fury.

#hit 'em where it hurts: headcanon #long post

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httpjungoo · 5 years ago

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Oblivion ; 01 tears in the sky

🌙A cautionary tale of love lost, of falling outs between the most unsuspecting. A tale of how you lost the one who you believed to be the person who would stay, no matter the circumstance. A tale of how you learned to never love again.

pairing: jk x reader

genre: angst, drama (some semblance of fluff?)

word count: 988

warnings: profanity, longing, (assumed) infidelity, alcohol usage,

author’s note: Hello! this was basically an old draft of mine from my OFF days when i used to write crappy fics all the time aha which was decades ago. lmk in the comments if i need to improve on anything please!

hope you guys enjoy it!

"Let this be a lesson to us. A painful reminder from love. Let us remember each other this way, I feel that would be best".

You couldn't deny it, deep down you knew that one day, this would happen. Communication would slowly become almost impossible and when you did, it was unbearable. It would always end in an argument or in complete radio silence. Meeting in person was only a distant dream now. You never pegged Jungkook as one to unconsciously hurt someone, let alone, purposely do it.

After five years of navigating through adamant obstructions in your relationship with him, five years of seeing him grow into a commendable man, five years of roaring laughter with the man who changed the way you looked at your old, bleak life; he has finally reached the final stage of growth-and it didn't include you.

You stared at your phone. The lock screen displaying a photo of once was. It was a moment which you felt needed to be eternalized into a photo; it used to bring you sheer happiness but looking at it now only made you want to crush your phone into a thousand pieces like how your heart felt. Unexpectedly, your phone buzzed. It was a message from Taehyung. The only other person you would trust with your life.

---

“Hey, we're finally back! Just wanted to let you know in case Jungkook didn't mention it”

“Welcome back, Tae! I missed you! I'm in dire need of our monthly-or should i say weekly talks”

“You want to come over? You could try and talk to Jungkook too... if you want”

“No, I need to sort that out myself. Tomorrow?”

“Sure. Take care of yourself, please”

“Will do”.

---

Bzzt.

Your phone buzzed once again. This time it was a notification on Twitter. Jungkook had just uploaded a photo of himself back in the dorm. He was finally back from the long haul, two month tour in Europe. He didn't even bother to mention his arrival to you. Hell, he hasn't even spoken to you in about a month. The last conversation you had with him barely even constituted as a proper conversation.

---

“Hey, how’s tour going? I missed you a lot”

read.

“Have you eaten anything yet?”

read.

“Yeah”.

---

You felt your chest tighten at the thought of that last conversation you had with him yet you hesitantly unlocked your phone and sent a text to Jungkook, hoping he would at least have the decency to reply this time.

---

“We've been avoiding this for far too long. We need to talk, Jungkook”

“Fine. I'll see you at the park”.

“Okay”.

---

You looked at the skies outside and inadvertently matched your mood.

Dark and gloomy.

It was just a matter of minutes before the sky cried, mimicking your feelings at that exact moment. Nevertheless, you grabbed your coat and car keys and drove to the quiet park beside cafe where the both of you first met. The park was where you both confessed your true feelings for each other and consequently, shared your first kiss, the park where you comforted his trembling body, stricken with tears after his best friend from home, passed on.

It was the same park in which Jungkook could always find you when you felt a sickening sadness or emptiness and he would always, always stay with you for hours on end, until you felt better. Even if that meant getting drenched in the pouring rain. From then onwards, the park became yours and Jungkook's 'place'.

Little did you know, the place that held all the precious memories between you and him were now about to be tainted with one that will be engraved in you for years to come. A memory that will possibly hurt you for the rest of your life.

By the time you arrived, the wind had already picked up. You looked ahead to find Jungkook leaning against the large oak tree, his arms folded. You couldn't make out his expression. You then slowly started to walk towards him, and as if on instinct, he turned to face you. He looked somewhat solemn, but mostly he seemed agitated.

"Welcome back”, you uttered, voice weak. He looked disheveled, but handsome as always. You've always admired his face, even though he couldn't find it in himself to believe you when you praised him of his handsome appearance.

"Thanks, I-" his words somehow could not find themselves out of his throat. His voice was shaky and low. Not as it usually would be. He cleared his throat.

"Listen, I know why you wanted to meet me today. Let's just get this ove-" His words were cut off by your abrupt interjection.

"No, I don't want to get this 'over and done with'. I want to know why"

"Why, what?", he retorted, with a hint of annoyance in his tone.

"Why, it's come to this. I know this isn't you, Jungkook"

Jungkook straightened himself up and scoffed.

"What makes you so sure this isn't me? You don't know me that well. Don't pretend to"

You stared at him, bewildered. Who was this man standing before you? He looked exactly like the man whom you loved but yet, it didn't feel like him at all.

"I'm done fighting with you. We've been at it for too long, it's drained the life out of me. Just, please let me have this as my closure." All of a sudden, Jungkook had an outburst.

"Been at it for so long' ? So you're giving up, like always, huh? That's the kind of person you are, anyway".

You were utterly appalled. "Jungkook!" You fought back your tears which were threatening to fall.

"You know what, forget it. Let's just break up. I'm done having this pointless conversation with you".

And as if on cue, as the tears started falling from your eyes, the tears in the sky started to fall as well.

-- end of part 01 --

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evanfleischer · 5 years ago

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Truth, like love and sleep, resents Approaches that are too intense. — W.H. Auden, “New Year Letter”

Walter Benjamin spoke of an “angel of history” in his unpublished-at-the-time essay, “On The Concept Of History,” writing that —

His [that is, the angel’s face] face is turned toward the past. Where we perceive a chain of events, he sees one single catastrophe which keeps piling wreckage and hurls it in front of his feet. The angel would like to stay, awaken the dead, and make whole what has been smashed. But a storm is blowing in from Paradise; it has got caught in his wings with such a violence that the angel can no longer close them. The storm irresistibly propels him into the future to which his back is turned, while the pile of debris before him grows skyward. This storm is what we call progress.

Benjamin’s definition of ‘the angel of history’ enables us to look a little bit more closely at the function of the symbol and the idea of ‘an angel of history’ in The Rings of Saturn by W.G. Sebald. It’s also in discussing both Walter Benjamin’s angel and The Rings of Saturn that we can discuss Wings of Desire and take note of how the three engage with the other.

There are literal connections and all but literal connections that can be drawn between the three texts: in the library scene in Wings of Desire, per the screenplay, one reader studies Paul Klee’s “Angelus Novus,” which is referenced by Walter Benjamin in relation to “the angel of history” (and which prompts the above-quoted paragraph), which itself serves as a point of intellectual reference in The Rings of Saturn.

Thinking involves not only the flow of thoughts, but their arrest as well. Where thinking suddenly stops in a configuration pregnant with tensions, it gives that configuration a shock, by which it crystalizes into a monad. A historical materialist approaches a historical subject only where he encounters it as a monad. In this structure he recognizes the sign of a Messianic cessation of happening, or, put differently, a revolutionary chance in the fight for the oppressed past. He takes cognizance of it in order to blast a specific era out of the homogenous course of history — blasting a specific life out of the era or a specific work out of the lifework. As a result of this method the lifework is preserved in this work and at the same time canceled (orig.: aufheben) … The nourishing fruit of the historically understood contains time as a precious but tasteless seed.

The Rings Of Saturn is manifestly aware of an oppressed past and the notion of “blast[ing] a specific era out of the homogenous course of history.” The text is aware of how frequently it looks upon a “wreckage,” so aware that the voice of the text frequently slides upward into a register filled with hauntings — but not just Gothic-styled hauntings pegged to a specific object, i.e., a single ghost haunting a single house because of a single terrible act committed one generational leap back into the past.

Sebald pursues a different path: when the reader ascends to a certain level in the text when one might feel a more ‘direct’ encounter with a ‘ghost,’ i.e., that space between a pile of herring and the bodies of those murdered in the Holocaust as defined by the implicit metaphor, we also share an intellectual space with thinking over of what generational trauma means while also operating in the middle of an encounter with ‘place.’ (The narrator can be expected to only accomplish so much, being human, after all.) The book has names for the things that have produced that “wreckage” — imperialism, colonialism, capitalism, and fascism; and the book traces their evolution well — but merely indicting a large ‘-ism’ isn’t where the mission of The Rings Of Saturn begins or ends. Sebald the narrator seeks out a saint in Nuremberg. An angel seeks to become human in Berlin. Each are on an analogous path and make use of similar tools. In a small essay called “Why Do You Make Films?” written in 1987, Wim Wenders remarked that “The camera is a weapon against the tragedy of things, against their disappearing.” Sebald himself was quoted in an interview flagged by the podcast Backlisted as saying that “The photograph is meant to get lost somewhere in an attic — a nomadic thing that has a small chance only to survive,” making their survival — and the act of ensuring their survival — all the more striking. And, more often than not, both Sebald and the angel seek to commune with nominally empty spaces.

To explain what occupies this emptiness requires us to talk for a moment about what we mean when we use words like trauma, collective trauma, and generational trauma.

With all three, there’s a rough feeling that lingers with us where we can say that we know it when we see it, feel it, or hear about it. We know it when we keep friends safe in the middle of the night, telling them over the phone to breathe in and breathe out. We know it when we hear a blues song scratchily emanating from the side of an open and otherwise quiet car mechanic’s garage late at night. We know it when we read a book like The Body Keeps The Score and we know it when we watch a television show like Watchmen.

Now, there’s a DSM-5 definition we can break out — which talks about “actual or threatened death, serious injury, or sexual violence” — but that doesn’t incorporate a thousand other things that are part of the landscape of trauma. There is also a certain level of complexity in tracing generational trauma from one generation to the next at the level of biology. As of 2018 — insofar as this writer can make out — no studies exist that follow the trauma a mother might have before she conceives a child, how that trauma changes the genetic make-up of an oocyte (a cell in the ovary that changes to form an ovum), and how that link between the trauma established before conception and the trauma felt by the child is established after the child has been born.

That difficulty doesn’t mean the investigation into generational trauma is illegitimate. In 1966, Vivian M. Rakoff, a Canadian psychologist, described the children of parents who survived the Holocaust as suffering more acute psychological symptoms than their parents. In the 1990’s, as Rachel Yahuda and Amy Lehrner note in World Psychiatry, as technology developed, time passed, and more investigations were made —

… offspring of Holocaust survivors were more likely to show HPA axis alterations associated with PTSD, such as lower cortisol levels and enhanced GR responsiveness … Subsequent investigations documented that maternal and paternal PTSD were associated with different biological outcomes. A post‐hoc analysis of cortisol circadian rhythm data indicated that lower cortisol levels in adult Holocaust offspring were associated with maternal, but not paternal, PTSD.

The HPA axis refers to the connection between the hypothalamus, the pituitary gland, and adrenal glands. GR responsiveness refers to glucocorticoid receptors, which are found throughout the body and play a role in regulating the genes that control development, metabolism, and immune response.

Looking at these results suggests that it wouldn’t be entirely unreasonable to offer up the reductive assertion that lower cortisol levels and enhanced GR responsiveness means that someone is both hyper-sensitive and might not feel the stress that the body should otherwise feel if it were in a ‘flight or ‘fight,’ trauma-inducing situation. In other words: the children exhibit the symptoms of the traumatized.

There is much more detail at hand here — studies involving GR gene methylation that parallel but don’t explicitly show genetic transmission of trauma, mothers with PTSD who experienced September 11th rating their children as having higher anxiety in the morning than mothers without PTSD, animals exposed to “chronic stress in utero [that led to] increased male, but not female, HPA stress reactivity,” and ‘secondary traumatization’ — but we should zoom the camera lens out to flag the fact that trauma simply makes itself manifest in the day-to-day lives of individuals in a variety of ways. In Bassel Van Der Kolk’s book, The Body Keeps The Score, the doctor describes patients who “felt emotionally distant from everybody, as though [their] heart were frozen and [the individual in question was] living behind a glass wall,” as well as other patients who were “suffering from memories,” and notes that “I [the author] could not be [the doctor of a traumatized group] unless they made me one of them.”

This characterization brings us back to the idea of the lead characters in The Rings Of Saturn and Wings Of Desire encountering nominally empty spaces. At Somerleyton Hall in The Rings Of Saturn, the narrator thinks of how “fine a place the house seemed to me now that it was imperceptibly nearing the brink of dissolution and silent oblivion,” a house where “there are … moments, as one passes through the rooms open to the public … when one is not quite sure whether one is in a country house in Suffolk or some kind of no-man’s-land, on the shores of the Arctic Ocean or in the heart of the dark continent.”

The house is only ‘nominally’ empty because of the action implied by the phrases of “the Arctic Ocean” and “in the heart of the dark continent.” Open up the door of the latter phrase and voices will come rushing through. The alexithymia of trauma located in more than one place — in both the house and the ‘dark continent’ — will find a voice — of exploitation, cruelty, and worse. (Later on, the narrator goes so far as to suggest that the colonial violence of the Belgians in the past makes it manifest in physical deformations in the near-present.)

Consider two scenes in Wings Of Desire. The first is the montage that shows us a glimpse of what happened to Berlin in the war: the camera passes by a destitute man, a domestic argument, and a child screaming for his mother in the street before we transition to the sounds of a bomb siren, see for ourselves the bombs flash bulb across the sky of the city, the shadow of planes and white-yellow search lights, and buildings on fire. Or, as the English writer Thomas Browne puts it in one section of The Rings Of Saturn —

The shadow of night is drawn like a black veil across the earth, and since almost all creatures, from one meridian to the next, lie down after the sun has set, so … one might, in following the setting sun, see on our globe nothing but prone bodies, row upon row, as if levelled by the scythe of Saturn — an endless graveyard for a humanity struck by falling sickness.

The second scene is Peter Falk standing outside a small snack bar in the middle of a muddied expanse. He talks to Bruno Ganz, the angel, and — even though the angel says nothing — they share a moment.

I can’t see you, but I know you’re here. I feel it. You’ve been hanging around since I got here. I wish I could see your face. Just look into your eyes and tell you how good it is to be here. Just to touch something. See, that’s cold. That feels good. Or, here … To smoke. Have coffee. And, if you do it together, it’s fantastic. Or … to draw. You know, you take a pencil, and you make a dark line … then you make a light line. And, together, it’s a good line. Or when your hands are cold — you rub ’em together. You see, that’s good. That feels good. There’s so many good things. But you’re not here. I’m here. I wish you were here. I wish you could talk to me, because I’m a friend. Compañero.

It is agonizingly tempting to liken Falk’s voice here to Sebald’s voice in a one-to-one ratio, even in spite of the fairly central role ‘wreckage’ and melancholy play in The Rings Of Saturn, especially if one were to factor in the consistently sumptuous turns of Sebald’s language, i.e., how the scratchy sounds of a transistor radio playing on a beach are “as if the pebbles being dragged back by the waves were talking to each other”; how — instead of a child — one couple in The Hague has an “apricot-colored poodle”; and how — “every now and then” at the Schiphol airport — “the announcers’ voices, disembodied and intoning their messages like angels, would call someone’s name.” But just before that scene in the film, Falk is seen wandering through a muddied expanse of earth. “Walking and seeing,” he says in voice over. He turns and looks off in the distance to his right (and the lingering background of the shot.) “That must be the station — not the one where the trains stop, but the station where the station stops.”

“The station where the station stops” is a roundabout way of talking about “the zero hour,” the end of history, or the “inclusion of all exclusions,” which is how the German sociologist Niklas Luhmann once described the apocalypse. Falk goes from contemplating the “inclusion of all exclusions” — an enormous collective trauma collectively felt — to talking about simple things with a spirit he can’t see, a spirit who doesn’t feel like it’s part of humanity and wants to be a part of humanity. And Falk wants that spirit there.

Sebald’s narrator has a role in reaching out to the spirits. The angel has a role in reaching out to humanity. Each are working to build a narrative bridge over which those impacted by collective trauma and generational trauma can pass into the story of the present. The aforementioned individuals who felt “emotionally distant from everybody, as though [their] heart[s] were frozen and [they] were living behind a glass wall” might now have a better idea of the path they need to take to unfreeze the heart and come from behind said glass wall. (Or, as it was put in HBO’s Watchmen: “Wounds need air.”) Neither narrator in either text can accomplish the project of building this bridge without the other, as is evidenced by the fact that The Rings Of Saturn all but ends amongst a reconstructed Temple of Jerusalem — an appeal to the judgement of eternity — and Wings Of Desire ends with the angel becoming human and falling in love.

There are a few complications that linger along our path: on one level, Sebald’s narrator doesn’t really ‘do’ much of anything. He walks around, has some associative thoughts, and eventually ends up in the hospital. The same judgement could be passed on the angel: he drifts, becomes human, and — for his troubles — ends up with a colorful coat.

But that reading ignores the role of what it means to be a witness.

“A witness is needed in order for the particular narrative to rise from the inundation of universal sound,” Xavier Vila and Alice Kuzniar wrote of ‘the library scene’ in Wings of Desire in the 1992 Spring issue of Film Criticism, and witnesses abound in both Wings of Desire and The Rings of Saturn. Roger Casement is witnessed on television. The gaze of the painter is witnessed in The Anatomy Lesson. The pathway of a Nazi who becomes the head of the United Nations is witnessed from one era to the next. The descendants of the colonialists — as well as what they took — are witnessed. In looking at a bridge crossing the river Blyth, the narrator also performs an act of witness concerning the growth of capitalism and empire in China.

It is this repeated act of witness that lends a shape of characterization to the seemingly unobserved, un-filled-in narrator. In observing this, we observe a man who is quiet, decent, and thoughtful. We observe a man who knows what it means to genuinely ‘live in the moment.’ We observe his silence in the same fashion that the narrator and housekeeper observe the silence of Major George Wyndham Le-Strange after the latter was one of the ones who liberated Belsen.

By contrast, the angels in Wings Of Desire observe things in an earthward direction, i.e., someone reading in a library — or someone dying as the result of a motorcycle accident and seeing their life flash before their eyes —

Albert Camus. The morning light. The child’s eyes. The swim in the waterfall. The spots of the first drops of rain. The sun. The bread and wine. Hopping. Easter. The veins of leaves. The blowing grass. The color of stones. The pebbles on the stream’s bed. The white tablecloth outdoors. The dream of the house in the house. The dear one asleep in the next room. The peaceful Sundays. The horizon. The light from the room in the garden. The night flight. Riding a bicycle with no hands. The beautiful stranger. My father. My mother. My wife. My child.

In each case, we see a deepening of the role of the angel of history as described by Benjamin in his essay. It isn’t just that the angel witnesses the wreckage; it’s that the angel has emotions about the wreckage it wants to share with us. It isn’t just that the storm propels the angel into the future; it’s that the angel has an opinion as to how that wreckage should have conducted itself. The angel of history isn’t about the truth or falsity of history; it’s about who is acknowledged and what it means to share care and concern for those initially lost to history.

The other complication to the arc of this argument is that solely ascribing an interest in the traumatized ‘lessens’ the work of either text — that it strips them of the necessary ineffable mysteriousness that makes art ‘art.’

If that were to hold true — if we were to push our concern with trauma to the side — it still wouldn’t get rid of the fact that there is an emotion we can ascribe to the wreckage of history as described in The Rings Of Saturn. You can’t look at the very end of the book — wherein Sebald notes the death of his father-in-law — and not feel an emotion — that, over the course of history, when a ‘lady of the upper classes’ suffered a grief — which the reader could reasonably read as barely concealed code for ‘a very important woman’ — this is how history would respond (ergo, how we could respond), with …

… heavy robes of black silk taffeta or black crêpe de chine … black Mantua silk of which the Norwich silk weavers … had created … to rape black mourning ribbons over all the mirrors and all canvasses depicting landscapes or people or the fruits of the field …

— but the text doesn’t just stop with the emotion. It begins to move and slides upward to note that these arrangements were done so that —

… the soul, as it left the body, would not be distracted on its final journey, either by a reflection of itself or by a last glimpse of the land now being lost forever.

In other words: amidst the wreckage of empire and silk, as you cross from a story about Queen Victoria to fictitious words falsely attributed to Thomas Browne, we realize that a bridge has been built for a dear one close to the narrator’s heart. In fact, all of this is done in the name of building a bridge: the angel bearing witness to the words of a dying motorcyclist in Wings of Desire; Peter Falk (as an ex-angel) bearing witness to an empty space on his way to get a cup of coffee; Sebald’s narrator bearing witness to an empty house or to fishermen on the beach who looked

… as if the last stragglers of some nomadic people had settled there, at the outermost limit of the earth, in expectation of the miracle longed for since time immemorial, the miracle which would justify all their erstwhile privations and wanderings.

The late David Foster Wallace once characterized true heroism as “minutes, hours, weeks, year upon year of the quiet, precise, judicious exercise of probity and care — with no one there to see or cheer.” The actions undertaken in Wings Of Desire and The Rings Of Saturn highlight just how much weight the words ‘probity’ and ‘care’ carry over the course of a story, as well as what it takes for someone to actually earn that epithet of praise.

#writing #essay #lit #literature

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electronicdelusionstarlight · 5 years ago

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FINALLY managed to "fix" my problem, had to update the AMD Drivers apparently (???).

Game is running smoothly now, BUT the computer's fan is now kinda going to town on him, gaining its charateristic loud noise + burning temperature combo.

Had this been winter I wouldn't mind, I've spent many a year using my computer as free heating, but it's almost summer, I'll have yo counteract the effect with my AC now...

As a side note, finally started Legacy of the Dragonborn, started is a big word tho, I just got the ring(s) at Silent Moon Camp, the elemental defenses obe is kinda meh, but the Transmutation one is pretty good with my character for now, with the magicka and magicka regen buff.

Playing as Veronique Gawain (Which is, technically, a Breton Name? Mostly done to test the Lucien standard names, and guess what, he DOES call me Veronique at times!), Witch (obviously, only magic characters in my Skyrim).

She's distantly related of the current queen of Wayrest, the one we meet in TES Legends and we help ascend to the throne.

Her mother is the 3rd daughter of a noble currently going against King Barynia of Wayrest (Also from TES Legends), but is also his 4th cousin twice removed, and was particularly strict with his 4 daughters, trying to locate them onto advantageous positions within Wayrest and High Rock society.

Of the 4 daughters, the second ended up becoming a high ranking member of the Bretony Church, fighting tooth and nail against Barynia attempt to imperialize the faith via the Corrupt Order of the Hour. Watch out for her, she's important later.

Veronique's mother was supposed to marry into a political ally's family, to strenghten their bonds, but is not really into all this political intrigue thing, she'd be happier if they left her alone with her books and sone magic, trying to get back the arts that have been lost to time and the oblivion crisis...

But her father is a dick so she has to marry some dude, and Veronique's Mother, Armida the name, is still bummed about it, but thinks of a surefire way to get out of the whole deal.

So, Armida is weird, she's a weirdo, have you ever seen her without that stupid familiar on her shoulder? No. She also has, like, no friends, because she doesn't really have the time for it, too busy mixing potions and summoning dremoras and wondering why is their face so black Compared to their whole body.

Anyway, since noble life is a burden, and despite the fact she's gona miss her sisters, she decides to fake her death. She goes in the garden to "pick flowers," and prepares her death with a dusfigured body and some blood, skipping kingdom into Daggerfall.

There, she lives in peace for a couple years, even meets a kind young man, a classic Girl meets Ork tale, they become friends, her second friend after her wretched crow, much later she gives a try at the whole married life with him, she mostly appreciate the fact he seems completely fine with her hectic work hours and shit, it all goes fibe untill some of her father's men from Wayrest come into town and recognize her.

They assume the orc kidnapped her, so gather some racist bretons and the town guard, go to their witch cottage in the woods, break down the door in the night and set fire to it. Classic shit, Ork dies trying to stop them, never much for fighting or getting angry, Armida is brought back kicking and screaming to Wayrest, realizing later on she ended up gettinv pregnant by some weird twist of fate.

Her father expects her to get back into the old political intrigue life, but she doesn't, the taste of freedom too strong now, and not wanting for her daughter to become just another pawn, so she opens a portal to the Ashpit, as you do, PREGANANT to quote the sacred texts, and DEMANDS her hisband back to Malacath.

Malacath, god of outcasts, goes "Oh, Okay, sure, fine by me, I'm too old for this shit."

So, the Orc becomes the Green Knight, a spectral green knight guarding Armida for eternity, bond by undying devotion, and who gets pegged. He tears her father in half, her eldest sister becomes head of the household, poisons her own political husband, and takes control of the situation.

She gives free rein to Armida and her spectral husbando, who just locks up in her new mage tower and doesn't disturb anyone. They have Veronique, who is spoiled rotten by her grandmother, aunts and parents, and lives a long and happy childhood.

They survive the Pirate Attack of 4E 188 seemingly unscathed, the Order of the Hour and the Dark Brotherhood failing as a result, leaving the Bretony Chantry to fulfill the power vacuum. Veronique is interested in magic like her mother, but she has s passion for religion and lore, the tales of the knights, their ancestors, elven and men, their histories.

Most of all, she wants to live their adventures. She, much like Lucien, is a Nerd seeking answers away from home, seeking what their ancestors never managed to find, seeking...

The much fabled Grail of Bretony (Imperious Races Mod). Their ancestors died trying to bring the Grail back to Wayrest, but she will succeed where they failed.

Tales of its location have begun to crop up. Most of them indicate Skyrim, a province rich with unexplored ruins and deep lore, artifacts and myths, forgotten and cosmological magic, of ghosts and automatons...

The Second Sister, her favorite aunt, priestess of Mara, is however the only one who knows this. The family, her parents, only know she's going to Skyrim on a pilgrimage, to visit the temples of the 3 chief dieties of Northern Mythology, Kyne, Dibella and Mara, to get in touch with her human roots or some shit.

Her Aunt, however, is helping her in her quest. She will be escorted to Riften, to the temple of Mara, to get directions on how to acquire her favour, and where her escort will conveniently lose sight of her. Lady Mara has given her aunt a vision of a blue khajiit, hiding nearby, that will give his life for hers, a good, faithful bodyguard in her travels, and some lead on the position of the grail, sonewhere in Falkreath Hold, suggesting to check on the local tavern for clues.

There she meets Inigo, Lucien, and news of a museum, opening up in Solitude, seeking treasure hunters and explorers, the perfect way to gain some coin and have an excuse to seek out ancient artifacts and knoweledge...

But seeling knoweledge open many a door in someone's inner mind, and her relationship with the gods has always been... academical at best, so, when she started finding pages of strange books, peppered on the corpses of those who wish her harm, as forbidden knoweledge starts flooding her mind, she wonders nust who might be responsible for this, the sudden desire to snatch people bones and turn them into soldiers growing stronger...

And Herma-Mora waits, secure in his new, fallen disciple, and her skill in finding a way to get to him.

Also her mother bastard familiar is there for some reason, maybe she knew her daughter better than anyone and knee she was up to something, she doesn't mind even if her talons are kinda digging onto the flesh of her shoulder through her robes, BUT she helped her find her own familiar!

A specteal, demonic dog called Styx, a puppy, ready to grow into her own fierce protector, abandoned by her old master near the Lady's stone, another step in her journey.

(From Falkreath, she has gathered 4 doomstones where near, Lady and the 3 Guardians, and she assumed the Grail, given the historical importance of the sites, might be located near any of the 13 doomstones. She finds her Familiar and a Dilapidated old temple with some daedric and aedric altars instead).

#skyrim #sse #skyrim mod #elder scrolls #dragonborn #OC

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beyondalicerp · 6 years ago

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Name: Ever Dillon Age: 29 Date of Birth: August 3rd Gender: Cis Female Sexuality: Pansexual Heteroromantic Residence: The Palace Occupation: N/A Species: Werecat Affiliation: Crimson Face Claim: Gemma Chan Suggested: Gemma Chan, Ming Xi, Malese Jow Played by: Dee

The King’s Pet was too young to understand what happened during the Panic. It wasn’t until years later that they realized their parents had sacrificed themselves to give their children a better chance. The only thing they remember clearly is falling into that River, struggling to keep their head above the water. Then, they remember being carried into the most beautiful place they had ever seen by a brave man in armor. That very knight was also lost to Tulgey just a few years later, but the Crimson King took the Pet in to honor their lost friend. From then on, the King’s Pet was spoiled, given everything they ever wanted. The only thing the King’s Pet despised was their title. Because of their species, they felt that the people of the Palace, and Wonderland, looked down on them. The King’s Pet might not be able to change their minds, but they can certainly remind everyone that the they are far from beneath them.

The Crimson King: So many people think the King is cruel and crazed, but the King’s Pet knows that is far from the truth. They have seen the kind side of the King, treating the Pet like a princess from the day they took them in. The King is the only one who doesn’t try to speak down to them. The Pet sees their struggles and the difficult decisions they must make, and the Pet stays there with them through it, trying to show the King they are not alone. But the King is a complicated man who pushes people away. The King’s Pet only hopes they might finally see that there are still people who love them, even if most of Wonderland proclaims hate.

Whiskey: The King’s Pet missed their sibling dearly every day. They were the last face the Pet saw before entering their new life, and no one has seen them since. The Pet can only assume they are dead, as is everyone else they once knew, but they can’t help feeling some small hope in the back of their mind. It’s pointless, they know. That doesn’t stop the feeling, though.

The Golden Archer: The King’s Pet absolutely cannot stand the Archer’s arrogance. They think they are above the world, entitled to everything they desire. The King’s Pet sees them as nothing but a fool, and is sure to make a point of that every time the Archer is in their presence. The Pet sees themself as above the Archer, since they have the favor of the King and the Archer simply works for them. The Pet can see the Archer cringe every time the Pet makes use of that favor, and they don’t feel bad about it for a moment. Someone needs to knock that knight down a peg or two.

The King’s Pet is currently TAKEN.

There’s fire in her lungs, and all she can see is smoke and carnage as her parents try desperately to get she and her brother to safety. Her mother screams, words she can’t make out and before she knows it her arm is wrenched by her brother and the other is reaching for the parents she is leaving behind.

She can feel mud under her boots — it had rained recently and they’d been happy because it meant new food soon; she was so hungry — as she’s dragged by her brother, his words falling upon her ears but lose to the sound of blood rushing to her head and the pounding of her heartbeat as her pulse quickens.

They aren’t safe. There’s hoofbeats behind them and motion around them in every direction as she’s dragged through and tries to keep up with her brother’s longer strides, and before she knows it she collapses. He lets her go, muttering: We have to jump!

Before she can react he leaps across the water, landing on the other side and shouting to her. Both her lungs and her legs ache — her shoulder is a dull throb compared to that — and, still not recovered from the running, she tries to take a daring leap across the water, and her lungs take in a gulp of breath as she realizes she’s not going to make it.

As she’s sinking under the surface, her arms flailing in the swell of the water and it jerks her off and downriver, she sees her brother’s face and the lights coming from the distance, sure he’s as doomed as she is. Though she calls for him, she knows he can’t hear, and her mouth fills with water, and she’s sinking… sinking into oblivion and beneath the surface of the river that kept her from her family.

ii.

She has the same nightmare every night, and wakes up with the memory of water on her face and in her lungs, and in the wake of that flood she loses most everything; family, memories, and only bits and pieces ever surface to give her any hope. She sits and recounts each detail of the memory aloud to herself, and adds them together with each memory from before, and yet still at the end of the day her mind is a fractured and fragile thing that she keeps hidden behind an iron wall and refuses to let anyone into.

Your name is Ever. You’re almost 30 years old. You live in the palace. You had — have, don’t give up hope — a brother. You are kept but not trapped. You are free but do not fly. Your parents died. You were saved.

Every day is spent trying to pull herself up by her bootstraps and make others see her as she sees herself; more than a pet any longer. She only allows that sort of affectionate cadence and namesake from the King himself, and no one else should be using it against her, least of all as a way to bring her down. She bows to one King and one man, and everyone else should really see her for who she is: a cool, calculating woman who will not hesitate to show just how easily she can bring someone down. Perhaps she is not the kind to viciously attack someone (at least not by some of her nature) but she will bring people to their knees in other ways.

Her wit is quick and her tongue is less silver and more bladed; the only one exempt from her fury (when it arises) is Gideon, and that is a mystery to anyone. Many chalk it up to the savior complex, a need to appease the man who saved her life. The truth is, Gideon did not save her life so much as he made it better. Her savior was long dead, and missed dearly, but she was in no way feeling beholden to Gideon for his bringing her in. No, her acquiescence to his rule was won by his own intelligence; he’s the King Wonderland needs.

She is no fool, and she can see the plight of those around her, and while her heart can (and sometimes does) ache for those who have also lost, she has lived within the Palace walls to see how much a rebellion can take from anyone… even those that seem to be doing the taking.

Her life is her own now, and with every choice ahead of her she chooses to serve beneath the Crimson King with loyalty and certitude, using her wiles in any way she can to make sure that he suffers less and less every day.

Some would call her a fanatic, and she can see their point of view, but for her someone needs to be watching his back, and she has lives to spare to give them up for he and his cause.

#new rpg #skeleton rpg #fantasy rpg #gemma chan #literate rpg #kings pet #all #were #taken

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realmofthemind · 7 years ago

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Confidence Looks Good On You

Pairing: Loki x Reader (x Clint?)

Word Count: 2,512

Summary: You live in Avengers tower along with Loki and the other Avengers. You are a fairly plain and simple girl. You buy tickets for your favorite punk band's concert (I'm using A Day To Remember) and get all dressed up for it, leaving Loki in awe and giving him the courage to make a move before another avenger (Clint) does.

Warnings: A little bit of a jealous Loki

A/N: This is my first Loki fic and I didn't proof read it. ADTR is my favorite band and 15 years in the making was my first punk concert. The only real reference made to them was the lead singer, Jeremy McKinnon, and their song Have Faith in Me which you should check out. Not feeling to great about this fic but figured I’d post it anyway

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=exivUUeTrB0

(F/C) - favorite color

You sat in the common area of Avengers tower, not really caring about who was there or what they were doing. You were at the edge of your seat, nervously bouncing your leg. You could not peel your eyes away from the computer screen as you watch the seconds tick.

12:59:57, 12:59:58, 12:59:59, 1:00:00!

Your finger quickly pounded down on the trackpad as you clicked "Add to Cart." You frivolously moved to your cart and purchased it's content. After a couple of seconds of watching a loading wheel spin around the page, you were promptly redirected to another page that read "Congratulations (Y/N)! You're going to A Day to Remember - 15 Years in the Making Tour." You could not contain your excitement as you shot up from your chair and raised your hands in victory.

You had been so caught up in getting tickets, you completely forgot there were other people in the room with you. Tony Stark shot you a questioning look as he wandered over behind you. He leaned over your shoulder as he read the text on the page. "Hmm, I never pegged you for a fan of punk music." Tony said as he retreated back to his place on the couch. You looked up to see that Wanda was on the couch next to him and Loki was reading a book in on a chair the corner.

You closed the lid to your computer as you sat back down. "Really? I'm sure you would have heard me listening to it while we were in the gym. What did you think I listened too?"

Tony tapped his chin, pretending he was deep in thought. "Let me see here… what music did I think Plain Jane over here listened to?" He paused and looked over at you, eyeing you up and down. "I don't know. Honestly, I'm kinda shocked you listen to music at all."

You raised your eyebrow at him. "I have headphones in all the time. What do you think I'm listening to."

Tony looked down at his phone. He frowned as he read the notification on it. It was from Pepper, requesting his presence in the lab. He stood up, making his way toward the door. "I don't know. I always thought you were listening to relaxation tapes or a dramatic reading of Pride and Prejudice or something." He exited the room before you could respond.

Wanda laughed at his response. You folded your arms and shot her a look. She raised her hands up, showing she didn't mean harm by her reaction. "Listen, you spend most of your time alone and your wardrobe does…. Lack a bit." she said as she eyed you up and down.

You look down to see your monochromatic (F/C) t shirt and grey sweatpants. You looked back at her in protest. "What? It's not my fault I choose to be comfy over being a peacock."

Wanda giggled at your comment. "Whatever floats your boat." She said as she pulled out a magazine from the table in front of her and began to flip through it.

You rolled your eyes and picked up your computer, carrying it to your room. Little did you know, a curious Loki had been listening to the conversation the whole time. Although he would never admit it, he was always curious of you. You appeared to be a very simple girl but Loki knew there was more to you than what met the eye. He took a great liking to your mysterious aura. It intrigued him and he made it his mission to learn more about you. The more he uncovered, the more he took a liking to you. Although he would never admit it to anyone, not even himself, he's started to develop a slight crush on you. He hated that word. It sounded so childish but sadly, it was the only way to describe the feelings he felt.

Time went by quickly as you counted down each day until the day of the concert. The day of the concert finally arrived and you could not be more excited. You planned out how you were going to get there, what time you were going to leave and your outfit. You woke up and made your way over to your closet. You pulled out the outfit, admiring it for a bit. You looked over at the clock. It read 9:45. You had 2 hours and 15 minutes to get ready. Plenty of time. You made your way over to your bathroom and began to curl your hair. Once you were done hair spraying it into oblivion, you pulled it up into a ponytail. You let a small section hair down so it dipped in front of your face a bit. You then carefully folded a red bandana so it looked like a headband. You tied it around your head as such.

Then came the outfit. You threw on a pair of worn, black, ripped jeans along with a pair of black combat boots. You threw on your favorite band tank top and put on a black leather jacket with studs. You added on a black choker and a cartilage chain earring.

Finally, it was time to do your makeup. You did it very naturally. Once you looked at yourself in the mirror, you felt like your face didn't match the rest of your look. You peered into your makeup back and decided to be a bit crazy for once. You pulled out your black eyeliner, making a wing at the corners of your eyes. You put on some dark eyeshadow and completed the look with a bright red lipstick. Adding a bit of shimmery highlighter, you left the bathroom and looked into your full body mirror. Even you were shocked with the way you looked. It was so edgy and different. You felt a sudden surge of confidence. You smiled and looked over at the clock. 11:30. You still had time to eat. You grabbed your bag and made your way down to the kitchen.

Upon arrival, you noticed that Steve, Thor, Tony, Wanda, Clint, Natasha, Flacon, and Loki were already there, eating/looking for something to eat. The sound of your boots against the floor gained the attention of Natasha who did a double take as she almost choked on the orange juice she was drinking. After a bit of coughing she let out a "whoa." All of the others in the room looked at her before following her eyes over to you. You heard a couple of gasps, the sound of utensils hitting the place and even the sound of a coffee mug, shattering on the floor.

Steve was the first to for a coherent sentence when he stated "Who are you and what have you done with (Y/N)?"

You blushed, not used to all of the attention. The surge of confidence you had was slowly fleeting.

Wanda was the next to speak up as she could not peel her eyes off of you. "Seriously girl, you look hot; I'm questioning my sexuality." She joked.

Tony, realizing that today was the day of the concert, shook his head and laughed. "Wow, didn't know Plain Jane could rise to the occasion like this. You're full of surprises.”

Thor, confused about Tony's statement asked "What is the occasion that (Y/N) is dressed up very ravishingly for?"

Everyone turned to Thor. Clint, coming to his defense, said "Listen, you can't blame the man. She does look… well…. Amazing." He blushed slightly. It wasn't exactly a secret that Clint had a slight crush on you.

All while this was going on, Loki stood there with his mouth open. Tony took note of this and decided to jump at the opportunity. "What happened Reindeer Games? Cat got your silver tongue?" He teased with a smirk.

Loki glared at Tony and pretended to busy himself with something else.

You made your way over to the fridge, pulling out an apple and taking a bite into it. You tried to change the subject off of your looks as you glanced at the clock. "I have to leave in 15 minutes and I still have an extra ticket." You thought out loud.

Loki panicked as he looked over at a smug Clint who was looking around the room, waiting to jump at the opportunity. Loki refused to let this man who has been ogling over you for months now have this opportunity to be alone with you. Before Clint could open his mouth, Loki shouted "I'll go with you."

Everyone directed their attention over to him with a shocked expression. All except for Clint who was glaring over at Loki. Without taking his eyes off of Loki he said, "It's okay, (Y/N). If you're not comfortable going with him, I could go with you."

The staring contest between Loki and Clint was getting intense. Natasha tried to hold back her laughter at the situation. You decided to break the tension, by walking over to Loki and giving him a tug on the arm. "It's okay Clint. I'm okay to go with Loki."

Loki smirked at Clint in victory as he linked his arm with yours, leading you out of the room. You both head out the door and made your way to the venue. You noticed that Loki could not stop staring at you the whole way there. You decided to question him a bit. "Do I really look that different? Am I really that plain?"

Loki snapped his attention to your face. "I mean, the look is quite different, from your every day apparel, my dear. It's not a bad thing. Different is good from time to time. It just, looks good on you."

You frowned, thinking that you only looked good because of the makeup and clothing. You decided to joke about the stinging pain you were feeling. "Well, I guess I should add more leather and studs to my wardrobe." you let out a weak laugh.

Loki daringly put his arm around you, feeling more possessive. "I'm not talking about the clothes, darling. I'm talking about the confidence. It's not something you typically display. Walking in the kitchen this morning, you showed it. That's why everyone couldn't take their eyes off of you. You carried yourself as if you were a goddess."

You blushed at the compliment as you muttered out a thanks. You both arrived at the venue. You were so happy Loki was the one to come with you. Although he was completely uncomfortable with the atmosphere at first, he grew accustom to it, even letting lose and swaying along to the songs when he though you weren't looking or were too busy head banging.

When the song Have Faith in Me came on, the lead singer Jeremy McKinnon instructed everyone to grab a loved one and hold them close. You and Loki looked at each other abut remained put. This song was different than the others. It wasn't loud or violent. It was calming and the lyrics were quite beautiful. Feeling so caught up in the moment, you took Loki's hand, not even realizing you were doing it at first. Loki looked down at you. You looked back and smiled.

As the song came to an end, the lead singer shouted "I normally hate PDA, but I'll give all the couples in here a minute. Let's get some PDA up in here." Around you, couples were kissing, hugging each other, and holding hands. Without thinking, Loki leaned in and kissed you. You wrapped your arms around his neck as he pulled you in closer by your waist. You kissed for what felt like an eternity. You pulled away when you heard the lead singer say "Okay, I get it. Please stop, you're all going to make me puke." You both backed away as the crowd giggled at his words.

The concert lasted a few more songs and ended with a massive confetti cannon going off. The venue started to empty out and you and Loki made your way back to the Avengers tower, holding hands the whole way back.

Once you got back to the tower, all of the Avengers were waiting in the common room, as if they were anticipating something going wrong. When you and Loki walked through the door, you pulled your hands a part from each other. Clint's head snapped toward the doorway the second he heard it open. He took a look at you and Loki before clenching his jaw and storming off.

Confused, you raised an eyebrow. Tony looked over at the two of you and smirked. "Ah I see. I guess he wasn't too fond of the fun you two kids had tonight."

Confused, you looked over at Loki and noticed he had your bright red lipstick smudged across his lips. You gasped and raised your hand to cover your mouth, sure that your lipstick was probably smudged as well. Loki brought his hand up and quickly ran it across his lips. Pulling it away, he noticed a red stain across his hands. Eyes widening in realization, he covered his mouth as well.

Thor let out a booming laugh and pointed out the obvious. "Well, it's glad to see you had a fun time brother in the company of our lovely (Y/N). I don't know why you acted so disinterested in her. I knew you've been wanting to court her for a while. It's nice to see you finally acted on it." The rest of the avengers tried to hold back their laughs and smiles.

Loki growled and grabbed your hand, teleporting you back to your room with him. Loki stormed over to the mirror and removed his hand, taking a look at the red stain that colored his lips. After a few moments he started laughing. "I must admit. Your lipstick looks good smudged on me." He turned toward you and began to approach. "Although, I do enjoy the look of you on me much more."

He pulled you in and kissed you again, allowing it the kiss to get much more heated this time. You broke the kiss and left his embrace, taking off your leather jacket and hanging it up. "If I knew confidence would have given you the courage to make a move, I would have worn it a long time ago."

Loki immediately retaliated "I was going to make a move eventually my love."

You shook your head and teased back. "I'm not too sure about that. I think Clint would have beaten you to it if you waited any longer."

Loki growled at the though of you being Clint's and not his. You felt strong arms wrap around you from behind. "You're mine."

You giggled and turned around in his arms. You stroked his hair hugged him back as you whispered in his ear "I know. Now go get cleaned up and come back here. We could have a movie night or something if you'd want."

He pulled back and smiled "I'd love that."

tags: @welcome-to-fangirl-hell (You should check her out! She posts Loki!)

#loki x reader #loki laufeyson #loki x you #loki imagine #A Day To Remember #ADTR #clint x reader #hawkeye x reader #clint barton #avengers #thor #loki fan fiction #one shot

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clansayeed · 5 years ago

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Bound by Circumstance ― Chapter 11: Old Laws and New Enemies

PAIRING: Nik Ryder x trans*M!MC (Taylor Hunter) RATING: Mature

⥼ MASTERLIST ⥽

⥼ Bound by Circumstance ⥽

Taylor Hunter (MC) has made it good for himself in New Orleans; turns out moving to a new city fresh out of college to reinvent yourself isn’t as hard as people make it out to be. Things only start to get confusing when he finds himself the target of a malevolent wraith. Good thing someone’s looking out for him though — because without Nighthunter Nik Ryder as his bodyguard he definitely won’t survive long in the twisting darkness of the supernatural underworld he’s tripped into.

Bound by Circumstance and the rest of the Oblivion Bound series is an ongoing dramatic retelling project of the book Nightbound and the rest of the Bloodbound series. Find out more [HERE].

Note: Circumstance only loosely follows the events and plotline of Nightbound, and features a separate antagonist, different character motivations, and further worldbuilding.

*Let me know if you would like to be added to the Circumstance/series tag list!

⥼ Chapter Summary ⥽

Lady Smoke calls a council of the city’s strongest leaders and puts a target on everyone’s backs.

[READ IT ON AO3]

It hadn’t even occurred to Vera that someone else was the bloodwraith’s intended target. Which probably said a lot about how dangerous it was for her to be back in the city she grew up in. Not that a supremely terrifying and hard-to-kill otherworldly assassin couldn’t have tracked her down amid the dense New York population, of course.

But it was an awfully big coincidence. Too big for even Taylor; on whom coincidences just seemed to land lately.

So on the Vera-Taylor front all is forgiven. And when this is over — this being tonight’s gathering, since neither of them know when they’ll know enough or have a weapon strong enough to take down their pursuant — they will visit Kristin in the hospital.

He even made Nik shake on it. His version of a contract written in blood.

Actually now that he thinks about it, he’s starting a new, silent resolution to not be so fucking dramatic over everything. Because at this rate a blood contract would be relatively normal.

It’s unnerving how at ease Tonya Reimonenq is about everything that’s going on. Even others raised in this life — Cal, Vera, Cadence for sure — are dealing with varying degrees of worry and distrust.

Cal’s the worst of the lot. From the moment Lady Smoke decided to give them what little information they needed (along with a demand for their presence; not a request — a freaking demand) he’s been bouncing knees and fingers tugging through his hair and if he bites at the peeling skin of his bottom lip anymore he’s going to start bleeding.

Cadence; he’s not so worried about. But the other vampires that are apparently going to be joining them are another matter.

The collective sigh of relief when the werewolf finally sits is short-lived; the same two bounces of the left knee before he’s up and pacing the length of the large parlor like the hounds of hell are at his heels.

There he goes with the dramatics again. Are hell-hounds real? Holy shit — is Hell real? No, no he’s not going there. Nope. No way.

At least everyone is polite enough not to verbalize how frustrating Cal’s dogged pacing is. Well — almost everyone.

“I suggest you find a place to sit still, Lowell,” Lady Smoke doesn’t look up from her leather binder of files; doesn’t have to — her tone carries her intent just fine, “lest you shoulder off some of that restlessness onto the house.”

“I don’t need to be here.”

“You’re involved, boy. Accept it.”

“You don’t know what you’re doing. Or—fuck—maybe you do and you just want me to get my head torn off for defending Donny.”

The scratch of Smoke’s pen on expensive paper is all the answer he needs.

Surprisingly it’s Nik to the rescue with words of reassurance and some of that rare sincerity. “Kristof’s got more important things to think about now, if it’s any consolation. So just… relax?”

“You heard his threat. I wouldn’t be surprised if he just goes straight for the throat.”

It’s not relaxing exactly but he does eventually settle against the wall on Taylor’s opposite side. The tension rolls off of him in waves and Taylor wants to be sympathetic; he does — is. Only he can’t get what Mother Reimonenq said out of his head.

Still he tries — touches the gooseflesh on Cal’s bare arm and feels him simmer down almost instantaneously.

“Don’t get me wrong — I’m terrified of the guy. But Nik’s right; the bloodwraith is more of a threat to the Pack than you are. Kristof’ll see that — he’ll have to.”

It’s the flinch felt around the room; the word bloodwraith spoken out loud. Even Vera’s refused to repeat herself; keeps calling it “that thing” and everyone else just follows suit.

If they get to vote on an official codename he’s throwing in Lord Voldemort. Because duh.

The universe makes sure he doesn’t even get the chance to think about probing more into the elusive and undiscussed creature, though. Not at the sound of expensive heels on the marble tile in the entryway.

Cal lets out the breath he was holding when their first guests arrive; the tall woman’s figure cut in the same head-to-toe black as her ensemble at Persephone. The women flanking Isadora de la Rosa look practically bored, but their leader, mother, whatever the new head of whatever empire Carlo left behind is anything but.

Lady Smoke stands and the figureheads exchange curt nods as their only form of greeting — instead she focuses on Cadence with a wary eye.

“Smoke’s ruthlessness is legendary — should we begin singing praises of her forgiveness as well, Smith?”

It takes Taylor a moment to realize what de la Rosa is doing; how her gesture of respect is just that, a gesture, and whatever power there is left to grab in the thick night air around them has been clawed and claimed with ease.

Smoke’s face darkens. She watches the exchange like just another of the shadows cast along the windows by the moonlight.

“An accord was reached.” Cadence answers simply.

It’s not exactly true — Taylor’s still reeling, trying to figure out how they all went from threats and offers of deathly touches to bringing together the supernatural figureheads of New Orleans, but when a secret is out it’s out apparently — but it’s the only way to let the conflict die without more of a showdown than they’ve all encountered already.

“That much is obvious.” She purses plum lips. “And I suspect it will not be the only one reached this night if what your daughter claims is true, Tonya. Are you sure you can stomach all that unfinished business?”

Luckily — lucky for who isn’t exactly clear — the bang of a door forced open echoes so loud the vampires wince in discomfort. Cal doesn’t even have to scent the air — tenses back up immediately.

“This better be good, Reimonenq!”

Kristof is heard before he’s seen — not for long. Especially in the way he huffs and puffs and stops so abruptly in the eastern doorway that Octavia behind him stumbles straight into his back like a wall.

Think he’s seen Cal much?

The Alpha’s nostrils flare. “What in the hell is this?! You best not be gettin’ involved in Pack business —” he rounds on Lady Smoke, practically pushing himself over the edge in rage, “— if y’are I swear —”

“Will you calm the fuck down, Kristof?!”

It’s definitely not the Cal who begged for Kristof’s mercy on behalf of his brother; who spent the whole day following busting his ass with as much manual labor as Garrus could find in order to not deal with his exile.

But hoo boy, Taylor likes this version of their wolf — whoever he is and wherever he’s been hiding. The way he steps up and takes charge. Looks his former Alpha dead in the eyes. He doesn’t have anything to lose; not anymore. Nothing to prove but apparently everything to gain.

And in the moment of stunned silence that follows Kristof leaves himself open — tries to come to grips with his Alpha sensibilities and how his own flesh and blood is speaking to him.

“You’re a mile over the line, Cal,” Octavia tries to warn him — to separate them both with her body. And she definitely could if Taylor wasn’t already holding Cal back.

“If you listened before losin’ your lid things would be a helluva lot easier — for you and the Pack.”

“Tell me this ain’t to do with Donny.” Kristof may be the Alpha but it’s obvious who keeps a level head when it’s needed. Octavia’s eyes flare a bright, feral yellow.

The sudden velvet of Isadora’s laugh behind them is enough to break the tension… for now.

“You agreed to a Beau-Keyes Council without pressing the matter? I expected better from you, Jensen.”

Though the bad blood between Kristof and his nephew may be fresh, whatever horror flick monster-versus-monster feud rests between the most important werewolf and the most important vampire takes precedent.

Gets Kristof’s full attention. Thank god.

“I ain’t gonna waste time gettin’ told what’s what when that’s what a Beau-Keyes is for, la Rosa.”

“Given what happened to my father I would have pegged you to err on the side of caution.”

“Who needs caution? The less bloodsuckers around the better, I say.”

Octavia’s finally head enough then — curls her fist tight and all laws of physics should dictate that she can’t do much damage to a man the sheer size of Kristof. But the bruise that blossoms — lives and dies in reds and purples to settle on a speckled sickly green that reminds Taylor of Meerl back at Smoke’s Den — on his arm says otherwise.

“Our condolences on ya loss, Lady de la Rosa.” Octavia grits out; and there’s no doubt she’s used to apologizing on behalf of them both — not even a glance spared at her Alpha; she knows he won’t say it.

Their argument ends there with a curt nod from Isadora. At least someone is taking the gravity of the situation into account. The fighters go back to their corners.

A warm breeze settles over those gathered — is enough to rustle the hems of skirts and the trailing ends of Lady Smoke’s cape. Taylor swears he catches the faintest whisper of wooden wind chimes.

It catches his notice in how strange the feeling is. Strange only because all the windows around them are closed, latched, and locked tight.

“Lamrian’s here.” comments Ryder almost offhandedly after a deep inhale through parted lips.

Confused, Taylor follows suit. Tastes honeysuckle and something like the aftermath of a bite of strawberries on his tongue.

And there they are. Coming from the same direction as the vampires but so starkly different it’s almost violent. Encased in a soft brightness; so white it fades blue at the edges of his eyes. Bathed in moonlight — which he could have sworn was over at the other edge of the room just a moment ago.

The long, snowy-haired man and the three armored fae at his back aren’t his first of the faerie folk — Garrus has that honor and seems very happy that’s so. But Garrus is new-world. He’s waistcoats and tight jeans and obviously-enjoys-the-mortal-concept-of-hair-gel. He’s nothing like their new guests.

Who look like they’d be more at home at a Renaissance Faire than among the motley gang gathered. Unearthly beauty but in a way that haunts him when he closes his eyes. Like they’re burned into the backs of his eyelids because he never has and never will see something so breathtaking for the rest of his life.

Pale blue eyes sweep the room; land on Taylor and there’s a startled intake of breath no one else notices but them. So small, so reserved; yet strangely important.

No one else notices because it isn’t for anyone else. It’s for them. He’d stake his life on it.

And when the fae leader speaks that, too, is important. Because he’s definitely not talking to Taylor but that doesn’t mean he looks away.

“Are we the only ones summoned tonight, Tonya?”

Lady Smoke nods. “Time was of the essence in this particular matter, Elric. I sent out messages to those I could — those who I knew would come.”

Whatever she says is important enough to drag Elric’s focus away — to break whatever unseen tether was keeping them together.

Taylor makes a note to ask Garrus what fae magic feels like; if it feels like being consumed, body and soul, by drowning moonlight.

“But isn’t it the point of a Beau-Keyes to give every community a seat at the table, so to speak?” Isadora interrupts. “You didn’t even bother summoning the Garden Coven, or the Mayor for that matter.”

‘The Mayor?’ mouths Taylor silently to Nik; but he’s focused on everyone around them.

A long silence follows; bated breaths waiting for Smoke’s answer. Judging by her reply — slow and measured, each syllable carefully chosen and accounted for — it’s more thought than she would normally give to those in her presence.

“I would rather not incite the chaos and panic before its time. As it is such an outcome has already proven itself inevitable.”

Chaos and panic. Two words that really shouldn’t go together but always seem to. And during Mardi Gras of all times.

Kristof is the first to move; gives a grunt under his breath and passes Cal just shy of slamming them together shoulder-to-shoulder to open the double doors leading out to the famous back gardens of the Beauregard-Keyes House.

“Why can’t we stay here?” Taylor had asked before they left the Den — all messages sent and car being called up top. “Why can’t they just come to us? Not like this place is very secret.”

Not that he wanted to stay in the secret underground casino, but if this was there Lady Smoke conducted her infamous business then it was probably protected out her ass, right?

“Because there’s certain neutral territories in place for gatherings of importance,” Cadence had taken on the duty of explaining, “places of historical importance where ceremonies, councils, or conflicts are held.”

“So which one are we going to?”

“Ever heard of P. G. T. Beauregard?”

The Beauregard-Keyes House was everything they needed. It was big, important, and tied to half a dozen (or more, admittedly he zoned out when Cade started to sound like just another tour guide) important supernatural events or figures.

The museum was run by mortals — whether they were ‘in the know’ or not didn’t really matter. All that mattered was that every figurehead in the city contributed to its maintenance.

Turns out there’s more to maintain than just a fresh coat of paint and a trimmed lawn.

They pour out into the garden in their tightly-knit groups and factions. Lady Smoke subtly tries to keep Vera at her side and Vera not-so-subtly stays away — keeps by Cal and Taylor without regret.

Unbidden the guards behind Elric reach up and out. Stretch their fingers skyward as if to take the very stars in their hands. They very well could; Taylor believes.

The stars stay in their celestial homes but what cloud cover there is parts in a way that definitely isn’t natural. Shines the light of the heavens down upon them all and casts their shadows in a dozen different directions at their feet.

What Taylor first mistakes for a too-bright glare in his eyes soon begins to move; reveals itself as threads glowing, thrumming. The fae arc their hands and throw along the path of invisible shooting stars; they toss the threads from where they stand, to one another, to where modern civilization meets the horizon.

In the end they’re left under a dome of magic so powerful it rings in Taylor’s skull. Makes him work his jaw to pop his ears caught in the pressure.

Not just any maintenance — magical maintenance.

And though the glimmering shield fades to lowered arms everyone knows it’s still there; hovering invisible over their heads, guarding them.

He offers a silent prayer out to the universe, just in case. Please, please let it be enough.

All eyes fall expectantly to Lady Smoke.

The silence that follows isn’t just awkward, it’s downright goosebump ridden secondhand embarrassment nightmares worthy. How it always is when people who are supposed to have all the answers, who are never without something to say, find themselves at a loss.

“I’m sure I am not the first to say this — and with our legacies intact I know I will not be the last — but those who stand here tonight know by experience or reputation that this is not your ordinary community. We are a community of survivors.”

Something about her words earns a reverent bow of nearly every head. Only Katherine looks around with the same curiosity as Taylor — and when their eyes meet the unspoken answer is obvious.

They’re the only two outsiders. Vampire, fae, werewolf, witch; all of them locals — the city built on the bodies of their ancestors. A will to live not even Mother Nature could wash away.

“Come Hell and high waters.”

“Come Hell and high waters.” Ryder whispers beside him; voices echoing the sentiment around the garden.

“Come Hell and high waters.”

It’s an invocation that wraps their different beliefs under one sky — just like they are now. The weight of it staggering and important.

Lady Smoke continues; “Mardi Gras may not be sacred to the rest of the world any more but we of New Orleans know a different celebration. It is a prosperous time; our version of a bountiful harvest. And as such there were laws put into place upon the founding of both the supernatural and mortal communities — laws that ensured, even in times of conflict and strife, that there would always be a ceasefire.”

The looks chanced at Isadora and Elric aren’t very subtle; nor do the immortals seem bothered by it. Maybe it’s nice to have confirmation that it actually happened — that whatever rules were penned down were done so with the future in mind.

“I know I didn’t leave a good barbecue fer a history lesson,” mutters Kristof.

“No,” she answers, “you didn’t. You were called here because you swore an oath in blood to the Accords; to uphold them yourself and ensure they are passed down through the generations.”

Probably against his will, Taylor thinks.

“You sayin’ I haven’t?”

“What she is saying, Jensen, is that the Accords have been broken in some form or another.” Isadora’s careful, grandiose personality gives way to the pressure of insistence. “Aren’t you, Smoke?”

Tonya nods.

Elric speaks next. “This is to do with the mysterious deaths surrounding the festivities, then.”

Isadora’s teeth grind audibly. “The death of my father.”

“And the Shifter, Denna.”

Octavia’s eyebrows shoot up. “I thought those were coincidences.”

“This town wasn’t founded on coincidences.”

“Nevertheless,” Elric’s monotone keeps passions from running on sharp tongues, “their passing lies outside of celebration’s given time. There are no rights given to us to act.”

“On the contrary; my daughter was attacked the night following the late Señor de la Rosa. I’m a mother first —” — Vera very nearly interrupts with a red rage in her face, nearly — “— and a businesswoman second; and would expect any here to offer me the same chance at justice for mine own.”

Judging by the look on Isadora’s face the fine line that turns justice into vengeance has already been crossed. “How very generous of you, Reimonenq.”

Now that the discussion has taken a turn for the violent Kristof seems all too eager to get in on the action. The way he practically bristles with anticipation. Taylor thinks back to the trophy room in his cabin — wonders where the hell he’s going to find the space for another mounted victory.

But something just isn’t right. All of the leaders gathered have motive to go on the offensive.

All but one.

And that might just work out in their favor; might just keep them alive. Because Elric doesn’t look like the type to lead the battalion — soldiers in armor aside.

“I doubt not your passion nor its intent, Tonya,” the fae lord finally speaks to the mother with his focus on the daughter, “not just as a leader but as a father. But it would be unwise not to ask the child what exactly happened.”

It’s not a question.

Unlike her mother Vera very obviously isn’t a fan of being heard, of giving orders and watching atop an empire of her own making. She wilts under the scrutiny; must be truly desperate when she takes the risk of hoping her mother will step in on her behalf.

Yeah, like he’s gonna let that happen.

“I was there —” not that he’s entirely happy to be looked at and through again but if it helps Vera then he’ll suffer it, “— so was our friend.”

Octavia crosses her arms over her chest with a snort. “Why ain’t I surprised this has somethin’ t’do with you?”

Ryder steps up — something cocksure like “you got a problem with that?” on the tip of his curled upper lip — but doesn’t get the chance to say shit. Not when Elric holds a hand up. Is it magic that makes everyone fall quiet, or just the impermeable presence of him?

“‘Tis doubtful I am the only one curious as to where in this story you belong. Perhaps it is something we may all piece together in the here and now.”

Taylor’s laugh is short; pushed through his nostrils. “You and me both.”

Of course Ryder looks reluctant to let him keep talking — he can see the little vein in his temple throbbing as the Nighthunter scrambles for something to say before whatever Taylor says is somehow wrong and inevitably gets them into trouble.

So in a very un-Taylor-like fashion he thinks before he speaks; says only what seems relevant to the attack in what has to be the most professional retelling of the night’s events he’s given so far. Doesn’t mention his headaches and the whole seeing-through-glamours thing.

By the end of it everyone has a series of very distinct impressions; Smoke now knows what happened after Vera left, Kristof couldn’t give a damn, Elric — well he looks like he’s just seen a new original performance by Shakespeare himself.

The odd one out is Isadora; how her anger doesn’t seem to have a seat at the table. Not the same kind of anger Cadence used to mutilate a Minotaur, thankfully. But it’s old, and it’s not human anger, and there he is yet again knees knocking.

“Something to say, Izzy?” asks Cadence who had, up until then, been content in his silence. Maybe it’s a vampire thing — the way he notices. Would certainly explain the women shifting on their heels at their leader’s back.

“Merely entertaining the ways to pull out what the little mortal isn’t telling us while staying under Elric’s wards, Smith. Why — something to suggest?”

“Pull what now?” Thankfully dignity isn’t something he’s all that attached to.

Wouldn’t now be a great time to have a bodyguard? Oh, wait.

There he is half-stepping in front of Taylor like always. How many times does it take to turn an action into a habit, again? Surely they’ve passed it by now.

“Can’t say I’m a fan of what you’re implyin’, Isadora.” Ryder’s voice a low warning growl.

“Nor am I.” Not that it stops the barest flicker of doubt from finding home on Elric’s pale brow. “Why would you assume the young man lies?”

“Hi — still here?”

“Taylor wouldn’t lie about something like this,” comes Vera to his defense, “and I was there for most of it. It came out of nowhere. None of us could have anticipated — or even imagined…”

Isadora scoffs. “Where shall I begin to dispute; his claims at being nothing but an innocent who keeps tripping into the messes of a secret world? Or that the creature he describes — no doubt fiction exacerbated by terror — is one even I have not come across in my many lifetimes?

“Or—should that not be enough—that I struggle to tie together my father, one of the great and powerful men who built this city from the swamp beneath your feet, a half-witch in self-imposed exile, and two ignorant mortals; if we’re to take that farce as truth.”

You know an argument is a convincing one when even you believe it, maybe just a little, despite obviously knowing otherwise. Not that he’ll shoot his credibility in the foot and give her a hand for being smart.

Smart — and cautious. Still grieving. Taylor and his mom aren’t the best example of tight-knit familial bonds but he still loves her; would do anything for her. He can’t even fathom how it would feel to live more than an average lifetime with her, maybe even more than two, and then suddenly… suddenly lose her.

“There’s no doubt in my mind the target was my daughter,” Smoke corrects her — doesn’t leave room for grief-ridden argument, “and when it sensed easier prey, diverted its hunt to the mortals.”

“Where is the other?” asks Octavia.

“In the hospital,” Ryder raises a hand before anyone even chances interrupting him, “and before anyone gets their rich panties in a bunch I took all the precautions. Only the docs in the know are takin’ care of her condition.”

Well that would’ve been good to know earlier.

Elric quickly steers the group back on course — the first time his hollowing voice sounds anything more than stagnant; with a barely-there waver of concern, fear.

“Imagination may stretch the truth, but we would be remiss as speakers for our communities not to consider that what was seen was indeed real. That in this case truth has stretched the imagination.”

Kristof growls, shakes his head firmly. “No fuckin’ way; it’s impossible.”

“Judging by the account — I would say otherwise.”

“Then yer head’s finally full of fairy dust.” A remark obviously meant to incite some kind of irritation in the fae; but the only one left irritated is the Alpha whose baits go unbitten.

“I know what I saw.” Vera looks around; incredulous that no one seems to be the proper amount of scared.

“How could you? There’s never been a true massacre like that of a bloodwraith summoned in your lifetime.” Isadora counters. But even in her doubt a shared look passes between her and Cadence; a memory they can both tell tales of — even if they wish they couldn’t.

Cadence inclines his head. “Some things you just can’t forget. You of all people should know that, Iz’.”

“And, hey — hey over here!” Taylor keeps snapping his fingers until both of their ancient gazes are on him. Probably not the smartest idea to be sure but he’s learning from the Nik Ryder School of Bad Choices. “Yeah, hi, you’re kind of missing the point here.

“Even if we are wrong, even if we don’t know what’s out there —” he gestures out beyond the garden gates, “— whatever it is, is still fucking scary as hell. It still hunted me and my friend down, still killed your father and Denna. So what difference does it make?”

Elric gives a soft nod of approval. “He speaks sense. Best we prepare for that which we can defeat rather than an enemy of which we are unsure.”

Apparently his backing is the one to have. It gets Isadora off the confrontation train even if only for the moment. Gives Ryder a chance to join back in.

“Care to share, Lord Elric? Because I punched an awful lotta holes in that thing — I might as well have been usin’ foam darts.”

“Most things die when ya rip off their heads.” Kristof growls.

“Should you find yourself that close to a true bloodwraith, it is not the creature who will perish.” warns Elric, and he chooses to ignore Kristof’s mumbled argument to continue; “The power of the creature comes from two places: the black artist which summoned it and the malevolent soul summoned. The price to call such a being unto the living realm is steep… the bargainer and holder of its leash already surpasses the power even a renowned Nighthunter might possess.

“Yet even when their wellspring — the life force tying together spirit and master — dries up, the creature will remain. Mindless, purposeless, with only its nature to slaughter to fuel it. And more oft than not that is more than enough.”

Tonya’s biting tone stings with impatience. “Since you have so much knowledge, Lord Elric, perhaps you have some on how to rid our city of the thing before it gets that far.”

“Find the reason for which it was birthed into this world — that which it hunts for — and, ideally, destroy it.”

“Do the damn thing’s job for it?”

“Confront the lesser of the evils at work.” He corrects.

“How do we know it isn’t done — that it hasn’t already killed who it needs to before the spell ends?”

They couldn’t possibly be that lucky, could they? No, of course not.

Because Taylor’s been so fixated on the play of moonlight on Elric’s ethereal features that he notices right away — before anyone else — when a cloud passes over and obscures the glow.

Only there aren’t any clouds above — there haven’t been since Elric’s guards wove their warding magic.

“It’s not done.” He croaks out; might have even gone unheard were he not in the presence of some very keen ears.

Ryder’s frown is worried. “How d’you know, Rook?”

He points to the rapidly descending figure in the sky.

“Because it’s, uh, right there.”

With a swipe of its skeletal hand the bloodwraith tears through the wards of light; a cobweb — a mere nuisance.

It’s upon them.

The air on his tongue tastes burnt — but there is no fire.

It smells like the sheet metal factory his school took a field trip to in the eighth grade. Who lets a bunch of prepubescent dumbasses visit a sheet metal factory, he’d wondered. How that hadn’t been the first thing the administration asked themselves he still didn’t understand.

But it didn’t take long for one such dumbass — Steve-something, maybe — to catch sight of some in-law relative and convince them to let him and his friends try out the band-saw.

The trip was supposed to be a lesson in ‘shop and the trade jobs. Instead it turned into a fun biology lesson. They all learned a lot about reattaching severed fingers that day.

Strange the things you think of moments away from death. His life isn’t flashing before his eyes; in fact he’s not even thinking about experiences that are his own.

No, he’s thinking about dumb Steven and the Sheet Metal Incident.

What the literal fuck?

On tonight’s special episode Taylor has two options: get clawed in two by the bloodwraith’s talons, or have garden gravel for dinner. Only this particular game show doesn’t let him choose — oh no, no — hasn’t anyone been paying attention? That would be simple; logical.

There’s no place for that here.

Not anymore.

The stale sweat stitched into the inner lining of Nik’s coat makes him want to wretch. Or maybe that’s his stomach finally joining in on the action.

He tries to look up; out. To see what’s going on despite the throbbing where they collided with the earth. “Don’t, Taylor,” whispered into his ear and his face buried into that supple leather collar instead.

Their hearts are beat together erratically, one trying to out-pace the other. That won’t matter if they actually end up on the outsides of their ribcages. But the fact that it’s beating — it’s a short-lived relief.

“Katherine!”

Oh god, that sounded like — “Cade —”

“Head down, dammit!”

“But what if —”

“Now ain’t the time to fuckin’ question me!”

Taylor squeezes his eyes shut. Makes the blood pound through his veins faster, faster. Every ounce flooded with adrenaline and very late for wherever it wants to be.

But nothing, not even Ryder’s authority, can stop him from almost seizing in panic at the screams that fill the air.

Echoing cries — something ripping, hot and wet and the crunch of bones so loud and visceral they may as well be his own — that shift like the moon into feral howls.

Wrenching his cheek away from the path — little crumbs, pebbles of gravel digging into his cheek like blunted fingernails. It’s enough for him to see just over the crook of Ryder’s shoulder. To witness the mass of silverlight fur and muscle that steps a long and large hind paw just inches away.

There’s no mistaking the enormity of muscle that is Kristof — though there’s nothing in what he can see of the wolf within that even resembles the Alpha in his human form. Maybe a scar here and there that bled through the change — maybe the almost cocky snap of its teeth towards the bloodwraith beyond.

He can’t see them, Cal and Octavia, but he knows they’re there. Feels the tickle of tail fur just shy of the shell of his ear; musk of the primal hunt thick and dense in their coats.

Not that he wants to but Taylor can imagine their enemy now — that same cast-from-Hell grin on rotting skeleton teeth. When it shrieks and waves its arms like it means to tear away the very veil of reality with every stroke the wolves waste no time nor chance.

They lunge as beasts; as one.

Above him Ryder sees something he can’t. Digs the balls of his boots into the ground and scrambles to haul them both up together.

“Move—move—move dammit!”

The Beauregard-Keyes Garden is in chaos.

One creature — more than just the ability but the drive — to uproot vines, spread decay through hedges and let fungi spiderweb up the trunks of trees. It’s everything that happened in the cemetery but on a grander scale.

The bloodwraith is stronger than it was before. And it doesn’t look like it’s done gaining power just yet. As though it wants to live up to Elric’s foreboding.

“Taylor!”

Just as Vera calls out she’s yanked back; painfully so by the looks of it. Turns around to look at her mother with indignant argument but now is not the fucking time for their fucking family problems, Vera.

Just as soon as she lets her daughter go Lady Smoke peels off her gloves; no ceremony about it, letting the expensive fabric fall to the ground with the rest of the trampled things.

One of Elric’s guards. The younger-looking of Isadora’s ladies. He hadn’t even noticed them before. And the bloodwraith had had time to kill them both before Nik could get him to stand?

They were fighting a losing battle. Holy fuck.

The remaining two armor-clad fae stand in front of Elric with no doubt the same determination as their fallen comrade. They, too, are ready to stand until they have stood their last.

“Iz’ stop this madness!”

Nik forces Taylor behind the blackened, withered remains of what he could recall was a neatly-trimmed hedge. The heavy breathing beside him makes him jump — but it’s only Katherine; daggers long and sharp in her white-knuckled clutches.

But when she glares it’s only at Ryder. “Where the hell is that crossbow of yours?”

“Gimme a sec to pull it outta my ass, Kathy!”

“Seriously?! You’re snarking me now?!”

Taylor’s ready to tell them both to shut up or fuck off when Isadora’s voice rasps almost as loud as their enemy.

“Let me go you insolent…!” It’s all he gets before she dissolves into tongue-twisting Spanish. But that’s more than enough to see Cadence holding the woman back with arms around her torso.

No, not just a woman — a creature of vengeance; a fury in black ready to spill whatever blood the malevolent conjuring has as payment for her fallen.

For the other vampiress weeping huddled at their feet.

“That abomination killed my father, now my daughter! I will see it ground to dust before it takes the rest of my family from me!”

“You won’t live long enough to get the chance!”

And like it seeks to prove Cadence right the wraith draws the chaos back in; cranes its spinal column as a neck and drops its jaw so low what little decayed muscle holds it together snaps — threatens to send it comically falling to the ground to be trampled on.

There’s no way something so thin should be able to take on even one of the werewolves surrounding it. But it does. In the same way it shouldn’t be able to send the large black wolf flying through the air like it was nothing more than a stuffed toy and not enough packed muscle and power to snap the tree it collides with in half near the roots.

Taylor fixates, horrified, as the wolf struggles — twitches and convulses, trying to stand, to haul up, to do anything more than lay there exposed and injured. When its eyes roll up and back with one last involuntary twitch, he knows which one of them it is.

“CAL!”

“Shit—Ryder—don’t let him go!”

But there’s no fucking way he’s going to be held back now. Not when another high-pitched yelp echoes along the brick garden walls as the brown wolf—Octavia—tries to catch herself on her front paw; feels it twist and snap as no more than a twig.

Taylor’s fast — darts out while trying to keep low with dread filling the cold emptiness in his gut because fuck Cal isn’t moving he’s not moving oh god oh godohgod —

And sure, Nik is faster. Nik will always be faster. Every time he’s had the reflexes and the forethought to be smart, to keep Taylor out of as much harm as he can. Does the same, now, when he locks a rugged hand around his charge’s slender wrist.

But his mistake is expecting Taylor to yield — he doesn’t. Nik grabs harder. Taylor yanks his arm away. Feels something shift under his skin — an all-encompassing throbbing pain — then the numbing sting of pins and needles that make it easier for him to care more about Cal than himself.

“Get back here Taylor!” Ryder shouts; but it’s lost on the hallowed gust of wind that precedes the enormous shadow of Kristof the wolf skidding aside; disarmed, conquered, forgotten.

He’ll process ‘big, big wolf; large dog man’ later — if there is a later. Skids to his knees and tries to, uh, shit. He’s never even had a dog let alone figured this shit out. Just ends up following what comes naturally; cradling the large onyx head to keep it from rolling off to the side too harsh and giving light smacks to (what he hopes are) Cal’s wolf-cheeks.

“Cal — Cal c’mon wake up. Open your eyes Cal please. Please!”

Distantly yes; Nik is still yelling for him to find a place to hide — to come back to the safety he can provide for as long as he can provide it. But Taylor — Taylor got Cal involved in this mess; offered him a place to go and maybe Cal felt obligated to help keep him safe because of it?

First Kristin — now Cal. There shouldn’t even be a first, or a list to begin with. And it’s starting to crush him from the inside-out.

There’s a victorious screech into the night and Taylor chances a terrified look back — expects to see the thing advancing on him in the same way it had back in the cemetery.

Only it isn’t. Instead it advances on the prone Kristof’s scarred back with the hunger of the void in its empty eye sockets.

“Away from him, demon!”

Sweat and tears may sting in Taylor’s eyes but he swears he sees Lady Smoke advancing at the wraith’s back — cloak billowing behind her like some epic cinematic entrance.

It’s weird that no one’s trying to stop her or keep her under the safety of cover, right? He’s not the only one thinking that? Oh, he is? Well shit.

Not to mention the fact that without her gloves she looks like she’s somehow missing part of her villain’s ensemble. Definitely not as terrifying as three oversized werewolves.

But whatever Smoke has planned — it’s a good enough plan to keep her from being told to run and hide. To keep Vera at her back; her left arm equally bare, but no such confidence in her eyes as that of her mother.

You’d think she stares down near-mythical possessed-skeleton assassins every day or something.

Before the bloodwraith can descend on Kristof, a flash of light as bright as the sun behind snowclouds lands in the space left; distances them and makes it recoil with warbling hisses and claws up in a previously unseen attempt at protecting itself.

Elric doesn’t give it time to recover; hurtles another of the miniature suns up and over; this time lets it land so close the burning smell in the air grows hot and smoky — like Kristof’s beloved barbecue.

“Go,” he commands the soldiers at his back, “protect her!”

There’s a shudder in the furry mass beneath his touch — brings Taylor’s attention back to Cal who whimpers in pain. But being in pain means he’s alive. Alive is so much better than the alternative.

“Cal — c’mon Cal please — I can’t carry you alone.”

If he doubts for a second that the wolf may not be able to understand him that’s dashed when yellow eyes dimmed and glassy flick up to look at him. He feels the shudder of canine breath and the way his body trembles at his injuries. But Cal’s alive, and knows he’s there, and that’s something.

The hairs on the back of his neck stand up; a warning not to let his guard down. Instinctively he knows the thing at his back isn’t the bloodwraith — can hear it hiss and wail far back behind him — but doesn’t expect the face who rounds to join him, either.

Elric’s pale hands glow; the magic at his fingertips an undulating gradient of warm colors that make his skin look — if only for a moment — human.

“Your valiance is understood, but you must go.”

He gapes at the fae offended, angry. ”I’m not leaving him!”

“Go to your protector.”

“I said no!”

“You cannot hope to protect yourself, let alone your companion.”

“Cool — heard you the first time — still ain’t gonna happen!”

This close he can see the difference between Elric’s features and his. The almost catlike tilt of his eyes, the pressed-down bridge of his nose. Features that remind him of Garrus — obviously.

From a distance the fae are radiant, striking things. Up close their grace sharpens, though; makes them beautiful in the same way a poisoned needle is beautiful.

From the way they treat him it’s no secret that Elric has lived a long long time. So maybe its rare for him to be blatantly disobeyed. Taylor’s happy to show him what it looks like.

Maybe this will get the point across; “I’m not leaving him. So help me, or fuck off.”

Elric stares, unblinking, and wins the standoff only because his hands suddenly flare with colorless light; makes Taylor look to make sure Cal isn’t injured further.

The giant wolf shudders, then lies still. But before he can accuse Elric of anything wicked the coarse fur starts to recede under their palms. The twitching muzzle and whiskers drawing back as, inch by inch, Cal’s familiar human form is revealed.

“He will be easier to carry as a man than a beast.”

It makes Taylor almost sob in gratitude. “Thank you.”

But it’s still too much — too much weight for them to carry alone, too much blood revealed underneath the shrinking form.

Taylor looks up in panic, sees Nik helping Katherine drag Octavia away — not to shelter, but out of the line of fire.

Instead its Cadence who disengages from Isadora and appears at their sides in a blur. Not that he doesn’t appreciate the help but they’re running out of offensive players.

“Smoke — she’s —”

“She’ll be fine —” — and there’s an unspoken hopefully tacked on there somewhere but Cadence doesn’t let it come to light — “—is he bleeding? Where is he bleeding?”

“Just pick him up so we can go!”

“If I just grab him I could break him.”

“Momma don’t!”

Vera’s scream drags his attention away before he can help. Back to the fight where both of Elric’s guards struggle through bloodied lips to stand, to follow their orders and continue to fight —

— where Tonya reaches out with both hands as if to stop the advance of the bloodwraith and grabs it, instead.

He’s seen what touching that thing does to people. Sees Kristin’s fate in parallel with Tonya’s — or he expects to.

She’s right there in arms’ reach; supple flesh and hot red blood. Her hands around the bloodwraith’s throat should mean nothing; should do nothing. But a shadow passes over the pair holding one another in petrified stillness; agony on both of their twisted faces.

Whatever rolls through them both is all the way deep inside them. Deeper than bones or marrow. Leaves the wraith slack-jawed in a silent scream and Tonya shaking violently with all her rapidly-fading strength left in her hands.

Her hands — where, touching, the air shimmers with heat. The same illusion on a hot desert road at noon. Only the smoke isn’t an illusion. Pungent, black — so thick Taylor’s eyes burn and sting even from across the garden.

It doesn’t have to force Tonya back. She collapses all on her own. Holds her hands close and captive against her breast but smoke isn’t a tangible thing and diffuses out despite her.

Whatever she’s done — whether she meant to or not — the creature has changed. Pulls away from her in search of a better prey. Makes a choice not to take advantage of her vulnerability like it did the werewolf and pursues easier — better — prey.

It doesn’t need to have eyes to sweep a look across the garden. Greedy, hungry snarls on its fangs as it searches for what it seeks.

Everything sort of flips on its head when its sockets fall on Taylor then sweep him by like he’s just another bush or tree.

Whatever drives the thing, whatever it seeks, Taylor isn’t it anymore. No — judging by the way it stops and chokes out a wrathful howl at its new target in spite of its burning gored-out throat?

Taylor notices. Elric notices. Hell even Katherine notices and she’s on the other side. Makes her cup her hands over her mouth and shout so hard her voice breaks—

“CADE! RUN!”

The bloodwraith lurches forward. Taylor’s defenseless, weaponless, but doesn’t let that stop him from throwing himself over Cal’s body like a shield with eyes shut tight.

A shriek. Fingers wrapping around his wrist. Then a familiar and totally inappropriate warmth in his gut — given the situation, of course.

Home.

Without reason or warning he falls into slackened unconsciousness.

#nightbound #playchoices #choices nightbound #playchoices fanfiction #nik ryder x mc #nik ryder #vera reimonenq #cal lowell #katherine nightbound #oc: cadence smith #nightbound mc #mc: taylor hunter #oblv: bound by circumstance #oblv: new chapter #; my fics

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