#I was trying to focus more on shape and simplicity

[crispytubes]

I’m probably not gonna finish this but here you go

[markrosewater]

Elegance

Here’s my original article for Elegance.

 This is a topic I’ve wanted to write about for a long time.  Ironically, the words needed to explain the concept kept the column from being elegant. So I did what all artists do.  I found a way to say a lot in a little space.

 Enjoy,

 Mark Rosewater

 [NOTE: EACH OF THE ABOVE FIFTY WORDS IS HYPERLINKED.  BELOW IS THE FIFTY HYPER LINKS.  THE HEADERS SHOULDN’T BE ON THE LINKED PAGE.  I’M JUST INCLUDING THEM SO YOU KNOW WHAT EACH LINK IS.]

 ELEGANCE

 Merriam-Webster’s Collegiate Dictionary has five definitions for elegance:

 • refined grace or dignified propriety

• tasteful richness of design or ornamentation

• dignified, gracefulness or restrained beauty of style

• scientific precision, neatness and simplicity

• something that is elegant

 The common elements appear to be dignity, simplicity, and taste.

 THIS

 Elegance requires thinking, but it also requires feeling.  Elegant prose is judged by how it makes the reader feel. It needs to generate a sense of calm that puts the reader at ease.  Everything in your writing should feel as if it was carefully positioned to create the proper effect.

 IS

 Pound for pound, the writer’s greatest writing tool is the verb.  Nouns add substance and adjectives add flourish, but it’s the verb that drives the sentence.  Choose a strong, descriptive verb and the sentence has flair and purpose. Choose a weak one and the sentence lacks any sense of drama.

 A

 Here’s a little game to test an elegance relevant skill (based on an old game called Inklings).  Randomly choose a noun.  Try to convey that noun to the other players using the least number of letters possible. You’ll be surprised how much you can communicate in just a few letters.

 TOPIC

 One of the greatest stumbling blocks to elegance is the inability to choose a single focus.  Elegance requires simplicity.  Simplicity requires a single purpose of thought.  This means that elegance starts before you write a single word.  A good sculptor must know his image before he picks up his chisel.

 I’VE

 One of the common misconceptions of elegance is that it requires a writer to be fancy. Elegance though is more about familiarity than formality. You shouldn’t be afraid of friendlier language such as slang or contractions, assuming that such language adds an element of ease rather than one of laziness.

 WANTED

 An important element of elegance is a sense of passion.  Brevity does not mean pulling away emotionally from words, but rather the opposite.  When you find yourself limited to fewer words, you must pack each individual word with extra emotional punch.  You are not reducing your message, simply your messenger.

 TO

 A good tool in understanding elegance is studying poetry.  Poetry is the most concise of all written art forms.  It strives to maximize impact while minimizing expression.  Each word carries the burden of evoking some essence of the poet’s message. If it cannot carry its own weight, it is excised.

WRITE

 To be an elegant writer, you have to become a student of prose.  You have to study the mechanics of language to understand how it can be shaped.  Once you have learned how to transfer the feeling in your head into meaningful words, you are on the path to elegance.

 ABOUT

 Be careful not to fall in love with ambiguity.  While intoxicating in its beauty, it is the enemy of elegance. Remember, the goal is not to make the reader struggle for comprehension.  Rather it is to lead them to the obvious conclusion. Elegance should be used to illuminate, not confuse.

 FOR

 Elegant prose requires connecting with your reader.  To do this, you have to understand who that reader is.  Nothing should come before this task.  It needs to be done before writing can begin. I like to compare this to planning a trip.  Maps are useless until you know your destination.

 A

 Another major key to elegance is the understanding of the importance of the tiniest detail.  Just as a chain is only as strong as its weakest link, a piece of prose is only as tight as its messiest detail. A good writer doesn’t stop at the nouns, verbs and adjectives.

 LONG

 Don’t confuse elegance with brevity.  Elegant things are short not because they have to be but because the difficulty to craft an elegant piece of prose combined with the limitations of time forces writers to be brief.  Elegant novels, for example, do exist, but they are few and far between.

 TIME

 To quote Roman orator (and letter writer) Marcus T. Cicero, “If I had more time, I would have written a shorter letter.”  

 Simplicity takes more time not less.  Anyone can get a point across with ten thousand words.  But a true artist can do it in ten (or possibly fifty).  

 IRONICALLY

 Irony is a potent tool for commentary.  Its genius lies in the fact that it comments not on what is, but rather on what isn’t.  Like all good humor, irony makes you laugh.  But like the best type of humor, it also makes you think.  It’s both funny and funny.

 THE

 Elegance in writing is about more than words. Equally important is how the words are woven together. Tempo, pacing, rhythm – these are the tools that set the mood for the piece.  Try reading aloud your text.  The natural beat of language is more suited for the ear than the eye.

 WORDS

 To realize the power of words, you must first understand how they work. Art is expressive; words are connotative.  That is, words draw their power from their ability to extract different ideas from different people.  A circle is a circle, but the concept of “scary” varies from person to person.

 NEEDED

 Elegance is not the result of any one attribute.  It is the combination of numerous factors coming together in harmony. This is why it’s such a hard skill to master.  Most people can pat their head or rub their tummy.  But put them together and it’s not quite so easy.

 TO

 An elegant piece of prose needs to hit the reader at a gut level.  Often they won’t know exactly why they like it, but they will recognize that something about the piece moves them.  There are many types of writing where subtlety is lost.  Elegant writing isn’t one of them.

 EXPLAIN

 There are many ways for you to explain an idea.  The most elegant one though is not through definition but by example. By connecting your idea to one already known by the reader, you’re leaving the work of teaching to someone in the past.  Education is hard.  Comparison is easy.

 THE

 If writing is like building a house, the structure is like the foundation. Its design will dictate how the house is built.  If it’s faulty, no amount of fancy brickwork will undo the damage.  So take the time to ensure your structure is building the kind of prose you want.

 CONCEPT

 Never underestimate the power of a concept.  An important part of elegance is condensing big ideas into little words. This is far from an easy task.  It often takes a genius an entire lifetime to create a truly innovative concept.  So take advantage of all their hard work and inspiration.  

 KEPT

 A common barrier to elegance is the belief that only one way will work. Often a writer is unable to abandon a beloved piece of prose even when evidence demonstrates otherwise.  If something doesn’t add to the larger sense of the piece, you have to learn to let it go.

 THE

 Readers notice things at a minute level far beyond their mind’s ability to interpret. This means that although they may not consciously notice many of your tiny details, they will do so unconsciously. Aesthetics teach us that it’s this unconscious structure that will determine whether or not it feels “right”.

 COLUMN

 All communicators, whether through speaking or print, need to find a voice. A voice provides familiarity and it teaches the listener or reader how to more quickly absorb the information. Elegance is all about the conservation of ideas.  Having a pre-learned voice to guide you is a very valuable tool.

 FROM

 I’ve spent some time talking about understanding your reader.  But there is one more person who is even more important to understand – yourself. Writing is about sharing your ideas with others.  If you haven’t spent the time to figure out what you think, how can you possibly communicate it?

 BEING

 “A picture is worth a thousand words.”

 Or so the saying goes.  What the cliché forgets to mention is how many words a single word is worth.  For example, take the word “being”. To capture the essence of what “being” represents is tens of thousands of words if not more.

 ELEGANT

 What is the value of being elegant? Why should you care? Elegance adds aesthetics. It evokes poetry.  It grants beauty.  Elegant prose draws the reader closer because it gives them something to not just learn but to admire.  Good prose stimulates the head, but elegant prose resonates in the heart.

 SO

 Who, what, where, when, how - all important questions.  But for a writer they pale next to why.  If you don’t understand the reasoning beneath the surface, the other details are irrelevant.  The act of elegance is cementing the why.  It’s taking the purpose and engraining it into the piece.

 I

 Elegance is a very personal thing.  If something doesn’t resonate with you, there’s no way for it to resonate with your reader.  Writing is an art, not a science.  There is no rulebook for how things must be done.  If your instincts are telling you that something isn’t working, listen.

 DID

 An important tool in your toolbox is time. Elegance cannot be rushed.  Mental ruts only get deeper the harder you focus on them.  Make sure to work time into your schedule so you are able to walk away from your writing. An hour next week is worth a day today.  

 WHAT

 Don’t let attention to detail pull you away from having a larger sense of what you’re writing.  Take this column as an example.  While I spent a lot of time fine tuning each entry I never lost sight of the effect they created when all the entries were put together.

 ALL

 Elegance requires taking a holistic view of writing.  Every word, every sentence, every paragraph is a piece in a larger puzzle. It’s not enough to understand the impact of a single element. You must understand how any two elements interact if you want to understand the potency of your text.

 ARTISTS

 Elegance and art are very intertwined.  Both seek to achieve a similar goal: to illuminate and inspire with a conservation of expression.  If you’re trying to be elegant, I think it helps to think of yourself as an artist. The instinct for the latter mirrors the needs of the former.

 DO

 An important part of any writing is understanding the feeling you’re trying to evoke.  And then realizing what mechanic tools you have available to evoke that feeling. Diction, verb tense, sentence length, alliteration, word flow, phonetic juxtaposition – each of these will control the mood and tone of your piece.

 I

 A writer’s life is the ultimate fodder.  Don’t be ashamed to plumb your own experiences.  You understand them deeper and more personally than anyone else.  No painter would refuse to use his finest paints. And, as a bonus, by using your own experiences, you will become better educated about yourself.

 FOUND

 Don’t forget that the act of revealing is also an act of exploration.  Don’t be afraid if you learn more than the reader you’re trying to educate.  Writing is not an exact science.  (Or even an exact art.)  Often you will find that the road to salvation has a fork.

 A

 Your future is paved with your past.  If you want to learn how to grow as a writer, you need to look back at what you’ve written. With time and a detached eye, your will find your mistakes become clearer.  Remember that it’s failure, not success, that bests drives education.

 WAY

 The problem with looking for a single solution is that you’ll never find more than one.  And the first one isn’t always the best.  But if you’re open to the possibility that every problem has an infinite number of answers, you’ll have the freedom of choosing the solution you want.  

 TO

 Sentences are filled with freeloaders.  Because writers seem to love overwriting. (I include myself in this camp.)  Make sure to create time for the editor side of you to prune unnecessary words.  If a word can be excised without any harm to the sentence, it has no right being there.

 SAY

 I’m spending my time today talking about elegance in prose, but most of what I’m saying is applicable in speech.  The key difference is that prose has less defining attributes like appearance or tone.  The key to elegant speech is making people focus on the words rather than everything else.

 A

 It’s ironic that something designed to be so simple can be so complex.  But that, my faithful readers, is the joy (and mystery) of elegance. Like an onion, elegance has numerous layers that reveal themselves as you slowly peel them away.  Oh yeah, and it can sometimes make you cry.

 LOT

 An interesting exercise is to look at each word you’re using and think about how much content is loaded in that word.  Then explore what other words exist that fulfill the same role but with added content.  Once you’ve found the word you can’t best, move onto the next word.

 IN

 A good way to get better at understanding elegance is to look for it in every day life. I think you’ll be pleasantly surprised where and how often you find it.  Study each example carefully and try to see if you can put your finger on what makes it work.  

 A

 Writing is a shared endeavor.  No one owns the words.  If someone uses a technique that works, there’s no shame in borrowing it.  Like science, writing creates technology that’s brought back to the group to spur further advancements.  Elegance is hard enough to accomplish without refusing to use the toolbox.

 LITTLE

 How big should a piece of text be if you want it to be elegant?  The answer is as big as it needs to be – and not a word more. Just think of it as playing the game Jenga. Keep pulling words out of your prose until it collapses.  

 SPACE

 One of the most important lessons in art is learning the value of negative space, the idea that the eyes are equally drawn to what isn’t there.  Prose has a very similar quality.  When writing pay careful attention to what you aren’t saying. Often it will speak the loudest volume.

 ENJOY

 For some reason people tend to equate dignity with seriousness.  And as such they come to the false conclusion that elegance has no room for humor.  Ironic as humor is one of the most elegant of styles.  A good joke is no longer than is necessary to do its job.

 MARK

 As is always true when I head off the beaten path, I am curious to hear your feedback.  What did you think of this article?  Was it entertaining?  Was it educational? Did you actually read all fifty links?  And if not, why not?

 Tell me.  Inquiring mind wants to know.

 ROSEWATER

 I couldn’t end this week’s column without my trademark closing.  I mean, how inelegant would that be?

 Join me next week when  I go from being a letter man to a Letterman.

 Until then, may you learn to appreciate now just the “what” but the “how” and “why”.

 Mark Rosewater

[rafesapologist]

the setback ─ rafe cameron; part nine

summary: it's been two years since your departure from the outer banks and rafe cameron has seemingly convinced himself that he can go on with his life as if you never happened, except now more than ever his addiction is at an all time high. whether he was snorting lines of cocaine at wild parties or drowning himself in alcohol to numb the pain, rafe couldn't escape the memories of you. despite his efforts to bury his feelings, your absence lingered like a shadow, haunting him at every turn. meanwhile, you've been navigating life outside the outer banks, trying to carve out a new path for yourself. but no matter how far you've traveled, the memories of rafe cameron still linger in your heart, leaving you with a sense of unfinished business. as you find yourself facing new challenges and opportunities, you can't help but wonder if fate will eventually bring you back to the place where it all began.

warnings: swearing, angst, topper being topper

author's note: i listened to 'one more hour' by tame impala before writing this so do what you will with that (this is a warning in itself)

As the morning sun filtered through your shut eyelids, you groaned, trying to fend off the burning light that threatened to pull you from the depths of sleep. But despite your efforts, the persistent glow seeped through, coaxing you back to consciousness.

With a reluctant sigh, you finally succumbed to wakefulness, blinking away the haze of sleep as you reached out to check the time on your phone. But just as your fingers brushed against the familiar shape of your device, the door to your room burst open with a bang, startling you from your drowsy reverie.

"Y/n, wake up!" JJ's voice echoed through the room, filled with urgency and impatience. "You've got twenty minutes before your shift at the golf course starts!"

You blinked, momentarily disoriented by the sudden intrusion. "What?" you mumbled, rubbing the sleep from your eyes as you tried to process JJ's words.

"Your shift, remember?" JJ reminded you, his tone tinged with exasperation. "Our job at the golf course starts today, first shift remember?"

Realization dawned on you as the fog of sleep lifted from your mind, memories of your earlier conversation with JJ flooding back to you. "Right, my shift," you muttered, scrambling to sit up in bed as you shook off the remnants of sleep.

JJ stood in the doorway, arms crossed impatiently as he waited for you to get moving. "Come on, y/n, chop chop! We don't have all day," he urged, his tone bordering on frantic.

With a resigned sigh, you threw back the covers and swung your legs over the edge of the bed, forcing yourself to push through the grogginess that still clung to your limbs. "Alright, alright, I'm up," you grumbled, shooting JJ a half-hearted glare as you dragged yourself out of bed.

As you splashed cold water on your face, the sensation jolting you into wakefulness, you couldn't help but feel a sense of apprehension gnawing at the edges of your consciousness. It had been a while since you last set foot in the golf course, since you left the familiar shores of the Outer Banks behind. And now, as you prepared to return to your old stomping grounds, a wave of uncertainty washed over you like a tidal surge.

The golf course was a haven for the kooks – the privileged elite who roamed the island with an air of entitlement that bordered on arrogance. It was a world apart from the humble simplicity of life in the Outer Banks, a world where money and status reigned supreme.

You sighed, trying to shake off the lingering doubts and fears that threatened to consume you whole. You couldn't let the expectations of others dictate your life – couldn't let the judgmental glares and whispered gossip of the kooks dictate your worth.

With a determined shake of your head, you forced yourself to focus on the task at hand. You slicked back your hair, tying it into a low ponytail to keep it out of your face as you braced yourself for the day ahead. You stared at your reflection in the mirror, steeling yourself for whatever challenges lay in store.

"It's not a big deal," you whispered to yourself, the words a silent mantra of encouragement. "It's just the golf course."

With a quick brush of your teeth, you left the bathroom feeling slightly more refreshed. Hastily throwing on your tennis skirt and tank-top uniform, you wasted no time in rushing out into the kitchen, eager to ensure that JJ was ready to go.

"Hurry up, JJ!" you called out, your voice echoing through the empty hallway as you searched for your boyfriend.

Just as you were starting to worry, JJ emerged from his room with a sheepish grin, his hair still slightly tousled from sleep. "I'm ready, I'm ready!" he exclaimed, his words punctuated by a hint of breathlessness.

You couldn't help but giggle at his disheveled appearance, shaking your head in amusement at his lack of time management when it came to getting ready. "You really need to work on your timing, JJ," you teased, unable to resist poking fun at him.

JJ rolled his eyes playfully, though there was a hint of sheepishness in his expression. "Yeah, yeah, I know," he admitted with a chuckle, his tone filled with good-natured resignation. "But hey, at least we're not late, right?"

You nodded in agreement, unable to suppress a smile at JJ's infectious enthusiasm. "Yeah, I guess you're right," you replied, feeling a sense of camaraderie with the blond as you prepared to face the day together.

As you followed JJ out of the front door and towards his motorcycle parked in the front yard, you couldn't help but feel a sense of anticipation building within you. Riding on the back of JJ's motorcycle always brought a rush of adrenaline, a feeling of freedom and exhilaration that you couldn't find anywhere else.

But just as you were about to hop on behind him, JJ stopped you with a gentle hand on your shoulder. Before you could protest, he swiftly placed a helmet over your head, securing it in place with practiced ease.

You couldn't help but roll your eyes at his gesture, a playful grin tugging at the corners of your lips. JJ had always been one to prioritize safety, even if it meant being a bit overprotective at times. But deep down, you couldn't deny the warmth that flooded your heart at his show of affection and care for you.

"Thanks, Jay," you said, your voice soft with gratitude as you adjusted the helmet, ensuring that it fit snugly over your head.

JJ flashed you a grin in response, his eyes sparkling with mischief as he climbed onto the motorcycle, revving the engine to life. "Safety first, y/n," he teased, his tone lighthearted yet sincere.

You couldn't help but laugh at his antics, feeling a sense of comfort wash over you as you settled onto the back of the motorcycle, wrapping your arms around JJ's waist as he guided the bike onto the road.

As the motorcycle roared to life and JJ guided it onto the road, you couldn't help but feel a surge of nervous energy coursing through your veins. The ride to the golf course seemed to pass in a blur, each moment tinged with a sense of urgency and anticipation that made time fly by in an instant.

You attributed the quickness of the journey to your own anxiety, the nerves coiling tightly in the pit of your stomach as you braced yourself for the day ahead. But despite the whirlwind of emotions that threatened to overwhelm you, there was a small sense of relief in the feeling of the wind against your skin and the warmth of JJ's body pressed close to yours.

As you clung to him, the steady rhythm of the motorcycle beneath you provided a comforting anchor, grounding you in the present moment and soothing the turmoil that churned inside you. With each passing mile, you felt the tension in your muscles begin to ease, replaced by a sense of calm and clarity that you hadn't realized you'd been craving.

And as the golf course loomed into view, the familiar sights and sounds of the bustling establishment filling the air, you couldn't help but feel a sense of disquietude wash over you.

"If you had went any faster you probably would have killed us," you quipped as you removed the bulky helmet off of your head, "I think I have whiplash."

"Yeah, whatever boosts your ego," you replied with a playful shrug, grabbing your tote bag from the bike's satchel. "I just can't believe you managed to get us our jobs back here." Shaking your head, you turned your gaze to the ground beneath you as you and JJ approached the golf course's main entrance gate.

Your heart raced a million beats per minute as you stepped foot onto the lush Bermuda grass that covered the course. Though JJ was likely still talking to you, your attention was elsewhere, your mind consumed by the memories and emotions that flooded back at the familiar sight of the golf course.

With a heavy sigh, you hauled yourself and the looming anxiety into the locker room, determined to put away your bag and clock in for your shift. The familiar routine helped to ground you, providing a sense of structure amidst the chaos of your racing thoughts.

As you stowed your belongings and straightened up your appearance, you couldn't shake the nagging feeling of apprehension that settled like a weight in the pit of your stomach. The prospect of facing whoever would show up during your shift, especially Rafe Cameron, sent a shiver down your spine.

Summoning every ounce of courage you could muster, you pulled up your socks just above your ankles, a small gesture of determination to face whatever challenges lay ahead. With a deep breath to steady your nerves, you squared your shoulders and stepped out onto the course, ready to begin your shift.

Despite the lingering unease that gnawed at the edges of your mind, you pushed aside your fears and focused on the task at hand. You had a job to do, and you were determined to do it to the best of your ability, no matter what – even if it meant coming face to face with Rafe Cameron.

As you ventured out onto the course, the warm rays of the sun danced across your glistening skin, casting a comforting glow over the lush green landscape. The figure-eight pattern of sunlight filtered through the swaying branches of the trees, creating a mesmerizing dance of light and shadow that enveloped you as you went about your duties.

The first half of your shift passed by without much incident, the familiar routine of serving drinks and catering to the whims of the patrons keeping you busy. You dealt with your fair share of middle-aged men who were more interested in flirting with a girl half their age than actually playing golf, but you handled them with ease, deftly navigating their advances with a polite yet firm demeanor.

Despite the occasional flirtatious comment or suggestive wink, you found yourself settling into a rhythm, the tasks at hand becoming second nature as you moved from one group of patrons to the next. It was smooth sailing for the most part, and you couldn't help but feel a sense of gratitude as the hours ticked by without any mishaps or run-ins with your past to corrupt your day.

As you were in the midst of refilling the cooler of drinks, lost in your own thoughts, your boss's sudden appearance jolted you back to reality. He approached with purpose, pulling you out of your reverie as he delivered the news of a large group of young men arriving to golf for the next few hours.

The request was simple – ensure their needs were met and provide exceptional service throughout their time at the course. While you obliged with a nod of understanding, internally, you couldn't help but feel a pang of apprehension at the prospect of dealing with a rowdy group of young men.

Though you maintained a professional demeanor, the thought of catering to their demands and managing their potentially unruly behavior wasn't exactly thrilling. Nevertheless, you knew it was all part of the job, and you were determined to fulfill your duties to the best of your ability, regardless of any personal reservations.

With a resigned sigh, you set aside your misgivings and prepared yourself to meet the challenge head-on. After all, you were no stranger to handling difficult patrons, and you were confident in your ability to navigate the situation with grace and professionalism. With a reassuring nod to your boss, you returned to your tasks, steeling yourself for whatever the next few hours might bring.

As you braced yourself for the impending arrival of the group, you couldn't help but feel the need to vent to JJ before diving into what promised to be a challenging few hours. You wandered around the course, scanning the area until you spotted JJ outside, meticulously polishing golf clubs hung up on the racks.

With a sense of determination, you made your way over to him, catching him by surprise with your abrupt greeting. JJ looked up, noting the irritation in your tone, and immediately sensed that something was amiss. He set down the club he was working on and turned his full attention to you, ready to listen.

"What's wrong?" he asked, his brows furrowing with concern as he regarded you.

You sighed, feeling a weight lift off your shoulders as you prepared to unload your frustrations. "There's a group of kooks coming in soon, and I have a feeling they're going to be a handful," you explained, your voice tinged with exasperation.

JJ's expression hardened at the mention of the kooks, a flicker of annoyance crossing his features. He knew all too well the challenges that came with dealing with entitled tourists, especially those who frequented the golf course.

"Well, you know you can handle them," JJ reassured you, his tone firm yet supportive. "And if they give you any trouble, just let me know. I'll take care of it."

As you exchanged a nod and a small smile with JJ, appreciative of his offer of support, the sound of your boss's voice shattered the moment, calling out for you to head over to the other end of the course to greet the arriving group.

"Looks like duty calls," you remarked with a wry grin, casting a glance over your shoulder at JJ.

"Yeah, go handle those kooks. You got this," JJ replied, his tone laced with confidence.

Rolling your eyes playfully, you shot back, "Easy for you to say. You're not the one dealing with them."

With a chuckle, JJ waved you off. "Just remember, if they give you any trouble, you know where to find me." Nodding in agreement, you turned and began to make your way towards the other end of the course, your steps quickening with each stride.

Hurriedly making your way over to the other side of the golf course, you felt a sense of urgency creeping in as you fumbled to find your notepad. The weight of the impending interaction with the large group of customers loomed over you, fueling your determination to be prepared for whatever they might throw your way.

As you approached the group, you plastered on your best fake customer service voice, offering a warm greeting despite the mounting tension in your chest. "Good afternoon, gentlemen! Welcome to the golf course. How can I assist you today?" Your words flowed smoothly, practiced and polished, even as your gaze remained fixated on your skirt pocket, still searching for your notepad. With each passing moment, the pressure mounted, and you couldn't help but feel a twinge of frustration at your inability to locate the notepad.

The sound of a male voice broke through the tension, pulling you out of your internal turmoil. "No shot," the voice exclaimed, its familiarity causing your heart to skip a beat. "Y/N, is that you?"

Your head snapped up at the mention of your name, your eyes widening in disbelief as you locked gazes with the source of the voice. And there, standing before you, was none other than Topper. Time seemed to stand still as you took in his appearance, his blond hair tousled by the breeze, his features sharp and familiar.

For a moment, you couldn't believe your eyes. It felt as though you were either dreaming or on the brink of insanity. Topper, of all people, here at the golf course – it was a surreal sight to behold. Your heart raced in your chest as you stood there in stunned silence, unable to form words as you processed the unexpected encounter.

You stumbled over your words, the unexpected encounter catching you off guard. "Hey, Top…" you stammered, your voice trailing off as you struggled to find your footing in the conversation. Your gaze flickered to the ground, a feeble attempt to avoid further interaction with him, but deep down, you knew Topper thrived on drama.

His snarky remark pierced through the awkward silence, poking at your nerves with surgical precision. "I haven't seen your face in a while. How was your little trip to Barbados?" His words hung in the air, laced with an unmistakable edge as he watched you carefully, clearly enjoying the discomfort he was causing.

Your eyes shot up to meet his, a mix of surprise and suspicion flickering in your gaze. How did he know about your trip to Barbados? It was something you hadn't even shared with Rafe, let alone anyone else. The realization sent a shiver down your spine, a nagging sense of unease settling in the pit of your stomach as you grappled with the implications of Topper's words.

Caught off guard by the sudden interruption, you welcomed the distraction with a relieved cough, hoping to diffuse the tension that had been building between you and Topper. But before you could respond, another member of the group chimed in, his words cutting through the air like a knife.

"Wait… Holy shit, are you Rafe's ex?"

The question hung in the air, heavy with implication, as the group turned their attention to you, awaiting your response. You felt a surge of panic rise within you, unsure of how to navigate this unexpected turn of events. The truth threatened to spill from your lips, but you quickly clamped down on the impulse, your mind racing as you searched for a suitable response.

The weight of everyone's attention bore down on you, intensifying the clamminess in your palms and the heat rising to your cheeks. "Um…" you began, your voice wavering slightly as you struggled to find the right words. Your brows furrowed in concentration as you shook your head, attempting to deflect the question with a vague response. "We used to be close is all," you muttered, your tone terse as you kept your reply short and to the point.

You hoped your answer would suffice, deflecting any further inquiries about your relationship with Rafe. But deep down, you couldn't shake the feeling of unease that lingered in the air, knowing that the truth was far more complicated than you were willing to admit.

Topper's laughter cut through the air like a knife, his amusement at your response evident in the way his laughter echoed around you. But it was his next words that struck deep, like a blow to the chest.

"That's a funny way of saying you two dated until he found out you were a backstabbing bitch."

Your eyes widened in shock at the venom in his words, feeling the sting of his insult like a physical blow. The tightness in your throat threatened to suffocate you as you struggled to process the weight of his accusation. Flinching at the sincerity in his voice, you realized with a sinking feeling that Rafe must have confided in Topper about the real reason for your breakup all those years ago.

The truth of his words hit you like a ton of bricks, stirring up a whirlwind of emotions that threatened to consume you. Anger, hurt, and betrayal mingled together, leaving you feeling raw and exposed in front of Topper and the rest of the group. You swallowed hard, fighting to keep your composure as you grappled with the devastating revelation that your past had come back to haunt you in the most unexpected of ways.

"What's going on? What are you guys laughing at-" The sound of a familiar voice cut through the laughter like a knife, bringing a sudden halt to the jovial atmosphere. Your heart sank as you recognized the voice, dread pooling in the pit of your stomach. And then, as if on cue, his face came into view, confirming your worst fears.

Rafe.

Your breath caught in your throat as you locked gazes with him, feeling a wave of emotions crash over you like a tidal wave. Guilt, fear, and a deep-seated sense of apprehension washed over you, leaving you feeling exposed and vulnerable in his presence.

As Rafe's eyes scanned the scene before him, confusion flickering across his features, you braced yourself for the inevitable confrontation that was sure to follow. The weight of his gaze bore down on you, and you couldn't help but feel a sense of dread gnawing at your insides as you waited for him to speak.

You watched with bated breath as Rafe's shoulders slumped, a flicker of recognition crossing his features as he realized the source of his friends' laughter. The sight of you, on the verge of tears, must have been a stark contrast to the jovial atmosphere he had walked into.

"Rafe! Look who we ran into. Funny, right? Who would've thought she'd show her face here after what she did." Topper's snarl pierced through the tense silence, his gesture pointing towards you as if you were some spectacle to be mocked.

Rafe's expression hardened at Topper's words, a glimmer of warning in his voice as he responded, "Top, knock it off. It's all in the past."

His words were like a lifeline in the midst of the chaos, a reminder that despite the hurt and betrayal of the past, there was still a chance for redemption and forgiveness. You felt a faint flicker of hope stir within you, tempered by the uncertainty of what lay ahead. But for now, in this moment, you clung to Rafe's words as a beacon of hope in the heat of the moment.

Topper's chuckle grated on your nerves, his persistence in dredging up the past only adding fuel to the fire of your emotions. His next words cut through the air like a knife, each syllable laced with venomous intent.

"Oh, c'mon, you hated her guts right after she left. You think I forgot all those times you said she was nothing but a heartless bitch?" Topper's jab landed with precision, causing Rafe's expression to falter, his facade of composure cracking under the weight of his friend's accusations.

Rafe's gaze immediately found yours, searching for any sign of the impact Topper's words had on you. As you met his eyes, he saw the hurt reflected in your expression, a painful reminder of the wounds that had yet to heal. Guilt washed over him like a tidal wave, hitting him with the force of a truck as he realized the depth of the pain he had caused you.

In that moment, the tension between you and Rafe was palpable, a silent acknowledgment of the turmoil that lay beneath the surface. And as you held each other's gaze, the weight of the past hung heavy in the air, threatening to suffocate you both with its unresolved emotions.

Fighting back tears, you clenched your jaw, determined to maintain your composure and professionalism in front of the large group of men. With a quick nod, you shielded your emotions from the prying eyes of the boys surrounding you.

"Right. Well, if you guys need anything, I'll be over here. Enjoy your day," you replied stoically, your voice betraying none of the turmoil raging within you. Turning on your heel, you swiftly walked away, each step a silent retreat from the painful confrontation unfolding before you. Reaching a nearby golf cart, you wasted no time in packing up your belongings and drinks, your movements brisk and efficient as you prepared to escape to somewhere far away from the suffocating presence of Rafe and his friends.

"Y/N please, wait."

As you hurriedly packed up your things, a voice called out your name from behind, growing closer with each step. You recognized the voice all too well, and a wave of conflicting emotions washed over you. It was Rafe.

Despite knowing it was him, you refused to turn around and acknowledge him. You couldn't bear to face him after everything that had transpired. You knew he was probably coming over to do damage control for his friend's spitefulness, but after what Topper had said, you had heard enough.

"Go away, Rafe," you muttered, your voice tinged with hurt and frustration as you continued to focus on packing up your belongings. It came out more harshly than you intended, but you couldn't bring yourself to face him, not after the pain his friend's words had caused you.

Despite your request, you knew Rafe well enough to anticipate that he wouldn't simply leave until you faced him. His stubbornness had always been both a blessing and a curse to you.

"Y/N, look, I'm sorry about what happened back there. You know Topper, he just says things," Rafe's voice broke through the tension, his tone laced with regret and sincerity.

"So you weren't calling me a heartless bitch while I was gone?" you spat, the bitterness evident in your words as you crossed your arms defensively, turning to face Rafe abruptly. The hurt and anger simmered beneath the surface, threatening to spill over at any moment.

Rafe fell silent, his blue eyes flickering back and forth between yours as he struggled to find the right words. Eventually, he sighed, a gesture of resignation as he brought a hand to his temple in frustration.

"I'm not going to lie to you and say that I didn't," he began, his voice heavy with remorse, "and I know it was wrong. But I did it because I was hurt and angry at you for leaving, okay? I shouldn't have said it, but I did, and I'm sorry, Y/N. I didn't mean it."

His admission hung in the air, the weight of his words sinking in as you processed his apology. Despite the pain and anger that still lingered within you, you couldn't deny the sincerity in Rafe's voice. He was vulnerable in that moment, his walls crumbling as he laid bare his regrets and shortcomings.

You felt a twinge of sympathy, recognizing the turmoil that must have plagued him in the aftermath of your departure. And as you looked into his eyes, you saw the flicker of remorse mirrored in his gaze, a silent plea for forgiveness that tugged at your heartstrings.

For a moment, you hesitated, unsure of how to respond to his apology. But deep down, you knew that holding onto resentment would only prolong the pain for both of you. With a sigh, you let your arms fall to your sides, the tension easing from your stance as you met Rafe's gaze with a nod of acknowledgment.

You looked up at him, a softness in your gaze as you nodded, taking in his apology and the acceptance of his words. "We can't keep hurting each other like this, Rafe," you admitted, your voice filled with a mixture of weariness and determination.

The weight of the past hung heavy between you, a reminder of the pain and heartache that had plagued your relationship. But in that moment, you felt a glimmer of hope, a longing for a future where the wounds of the past could be healed, and where you and Rafe could find a way to move forward together.

Rafe met your gaze with a solemn nod, his expression reflecting a similar sentiment. "I know, Y/N," he replied softly, his voice tinged with regret, "I don't want to keep making the same mistakes. I want to do better, for both of us." His words resonated with you, stirring a sense of hopefulness within your heart.

As you closed your eyes, a wave of conflicting emotions washed over you, threatening to drown you in their intensity. The weight of your choices hung heavy on your shoulders, each one fraught with its own set of consequences. You couldn't help but feel torn between loyalty to JJ, your best friend, and the lingering feelings you still held for Rafe, your first love.

The thought of hurting either of them filled you with a profound sense of guilt and despair. You wished you could simply escape from it all, to tune out the world and retreat into solitude where the weight of your decisions couldn't reach you. But you knew that running away wasn't an option, not when the consequences of your actions were looming over you like a storm cloud on the horizon.

With a heavy heart, you knew that you had to face the reality of your situation head-on. No matter how much you wished for an easy way out, the truth was that there was no escaping the difficult choices that lay before you. And as you took another deep breath, steeling yourself for the challenges that lay ahead, you knew that you couldn't afford to remain passive any longer. It was time to confront the complexities of your heart and the tangled web of emotions that bound you to both JJ and Rafe, knowing that the path forward would be anything but easy.

"I still have things to figure out for now, Rafe," you confessed, your voice laced with uncertainty, "and I hope that you can be okay with that until I'm able to do so. I just... I don't want to hurt anyone else more than I've already done."

Rafe's gaze softened, his eyes reflecting a deep understanding of your dilemma. "I understand, Y/N," he replied gently, his voice a soothing presence amidst the turmoil of your emotions, "I'll respect your need for time and space. Just... know that I'll be here, whenever you're ready."

You offered him a small, grateful smile, the weight of your indecision still heavy on your heart. "Thank you, Rafe," you murmured, hoping that he could sense the depth of your gratitude and the complexity of your emotions.

As you drove across the expansive golf course, the hum of the cart's engine providing a steady backdrop to your turbulent thoughts, you couldn't help but feel a sense of unease settle over you. The weight of the choices you faced seemed to grow heavier with each passing moment, threatening to crush you beneath their burden.

You hated the complexity of the situation, the tangled web of emotions that bound you to both JJ and Rafe. It felt like no matter which path you chose, someone would end up hurt, and the thought weighed heavily on your conscience.

Memories of your past with Rafe flashed through your mind, each one a painful reminder of the bond you once shared and the feelings that still lingered beneath the surface. Despite your efforts to move on, it seemed that the past had a way of catching up to you, refusing to let you forget the love you once knew.

And yet, as you navigated the winding paths of the golf course, you knew that you couldn't afford to dwell on the past. The present demanded your attention, and the future loomed uncertain and fraught with challenges.

You spotted JJ outside the lobby building, his expression grave as he motioned for you to come over. Your heart sank as you approached, already bracing yourself for bad news.

"What's going on, Jay?" you asked, your voice tinged with worry as you crossed your arms, waiting for his response.

"Okay, so get this. Pope just called and told me they found out that Ward is trying to track John B before he can expose all of Ward's fucked up lies. Apparently, he has a hit out on him," JJ explained urgently, his words hitting you like a punch to the gut.

Your eyes widened in horror, your arms falling to your sides as you processed the gravity of the situation. The thought of John B being in danger sent a surge of fear coursing through your veins.

"Shit," you breathed, your mind racing as you tried to comprehend the direness of the situation. "We have to do something, Jay. We can't just sit back and let Ward get away with this."

JJ fell silent for a moment, his expression telling you he was hesitant to say whatever it was that he wanted to tell you. You cocked your eyebrow, waiting for him to speak but to no avail.

"Well, what is it JJ?"

"Look, I know it's a lot to ask," JJ began, his tone hesitant as he gauged your reaction. "But we really need you to spy on Rafe again. It's the only way we can find out what Ward's next move is."

You felt a surge of confliction, the memories of your previous attempts to spy on Rafe flooding back with a pang of guilt. "Spy on Rafe?" you repeated, your voice wavering with uncertainty as you processed JJ's request.

"Yeah," JJ confirmed with a solemn nod, his expression grave. "I know it's asking a lot, but we need to know what Ward's planning. Rafe might have some insight that could help us."

Your heart sank at the thought of betraying Rafe's trust once again, but you couldn't deny the urgency of the situation. "But JJ, you know what happened last time I tried to spy on him," you reminded him, your voice tinged with apprehension.

JJ's gaze softened with understanding, his tone gentle as he replied, "I know, Y/N. I'm not asking you to do this lightly. But right now, we need all the information we can get if we're going to take down Ward and keep John B safe."

You shook your head, your gaze falling to the floor, overwhelmed by JJ's request. "JJ, this is a lot to ask... I don't know if I can do this again. I feel like I'm just hurting him all over again."

"Why does it matter if he's hurt? He's Rafe Cameron, he doesn't deserve your pity," JJ countered, his voice tinged with frustration.

You looked up at JJ, a mix of emotions swirling inside you. "I know he's made mistakes, but he's still a person, JJ. I can't just use him like some pawn in a game," you insisted, your voice tinged with anguish.

"But this isn't about him, Y/N. It's about taking down Ward and keeping John B safe," JJ argued, his tone firm.

You sighed heavily, torn between loyalty to your friends and your own moral compass. "I need some time to think about it, JJ. This isn't a decision I can make lightly," you replied, your voice wavering with uncertainty.

JJ folded his arms, frustration evident on his face. "Well, let me know when you make your decision, although I thought it should be pretty easy considering John B is your friend, too," he stated firmly, his tone laced with disappointment.

You flinched at JJ's words, feeling the weight of his expectations bearing down on you. "I know, JJ. I'll... I'll figure it out," you replied, your voice barely above a whisper, unable to meet his gaze.

With that, JJ nodded stoically and turned back around to go into the building, leaving you standing there with the weight of your decision heavy on your shoulders. You took a deep breath, trying to steel yourself against the conflicting emotions swirling inside you. The gravity of the situation pressed down on you, leaving you feeling torn between loyalty to your friend and the potential consequences of betraying someone you cared about.

As you stood there, lost in your thoughts, the world seemed to blur around you, the only sound echoing in your ears being the tumultuous beating of your own heart. With each passing moment, the weight of the choice you had to make grew heavier, threatening to crush you under its burden.

But despite the overwhelming uncertainty that loomed over you, one thing remained clear – whatever decision you made would have far-reaching consequences, forever altering the course of your relationships and the trajectory of your life. And as you grappled with the weight of your choices, you couldn't help but wonder if there was any path forward that wouldn't leave you broken and alone in the end.

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[wyllaztopia]

I love your style so much, what is your character designing process?

it's all over the place but character design for me includes:

theme

symbolism [either compliments the theme or serves as a juxtaposition]

take inspiration from several media

tell a story through design

shape language

color palette [that makes sense with the symbolism and theme]

but most importantly, simplicity and just coming up with a design that looks good to my personal taste

i dabble around all these things, also add some elements that i feel like is necessary like extra outfits or future physical traits depending on the story i want to tell with the character i'm designing

nowadays, as much as possible, i try to lessen details and focus on important elements of a character [such as the watch on the right guy's wrist because he foreshadows time, or the red shirt on the left girl bc she's the main focus of the story and red is the most visible color on the spectrum] - this helps me focus on conveying subtle aspects of a character and make them more meaningful despite the simplicity

[miaoqing]

@parlerenfleurs posed the question of how one could adapt genderbent PIDW into a female power fantasy, and uhh I passed out and when I came to I had written this.

My credentials are: literature major who literally JUST finished a course on erotica in particular. 💀

So, may I present:

Proud Immortal Demon Way as a Female Power Fantasy

warning this got very long lol

I'll preface by clarifying that by "sexuality" I mean expression of/sexual desire, not sexual orientation.

Also, I use "male/men" and "female/women" regarding target audiences somewhat loosely here - obviously there are readers who don't fit within either of those labels and I don't mean to exclude anybody - I use these terms only for simplicity's sake.

PIDW is heterosexual porn/erotica (whether there's a difference between those terms or not is debatable) so if we try to keep a 1:1 version of it with a female protagonist, it would obviously also involve sex. Now the issue here is trying to define what a "female power fantasy" would be. The protagonist would be a beautiful, smart, kind Mary Sue, of course, but what about the erotic aspect?

Generally, erotica targeted towards women differs in many ways from erotica directed towards men, so this requires some elaboration. I will mainly focus on feminist erotica here, because I think that's more or less inherent to a female power fantasy - there is, of course, erotica directed towards women which isn't feminist, but I would argue that there isn't much difference between that and male erotica, so I won't get into that.

In a lot of feminist erotica - erotica where women are put in positions of either equal or more power than men - it is not the sexual acts themselves that are eroticised but more the idea of having one's sexuality be accepted as it is, and if it's heterosexual, the fantasy of a man (who in this case becomes the "object" of the encounter, as opposed to most erotica in which the man is the "subject" and the woman is the passive "reciever") going against preconcieved patriarchal ideas about female sexuality - which usually also involves some sort of acceptance of a female "subject's" sexuality differing from how it "should" be. Both of those ideas have been explored by for example Anaïs Nin, and if you've happened to read Mrs Dalloway you might find that this desire to be accepted despite differing from a preconvieved notion of what a woman should be sounds kind of familiar - it's very common in a lot of (early) feminist literature.

So if we were to try to make PIDW into a female fantasy, it is very difficult to decide how to eroticise it in a way that would be appealing to women. Obviously the original male fantasy PIDW isn't realistic, so there's no need to make a female version of it be so, however, we need to find some sort of equivalent to the fantasies it appeals to. I would argue that PIDW appeals to three major male fantasies at a time - 1. to be desired by and irresistible to every object of one's desire, including those who pretend otherwise 2. have a huge dick 3. one (or more) of the episodic "weird" ones, like sex pollen, tentacles, succubi, etcetc. How does this translate to female fantasy?

Point 3: Women also have fantasies like this, so the presence of them is more a question of audience demands. Many of the same ones would likely appear, though maybe in different ratios and with some adjustments re:dynamics etc.

Point 2: Surprisingly, a lot of erotica meant for female audiences doesn't focus too much on appearance, at least not during the sexual acts themselves - body parts are mentioned, but more in the context of how they are treated (breasts may be squeezed, vaginas penetrated, etc) but without much focus on size or shape. (This isn't necessarily out of a well-meaning want to be inclusive - more often it's written that way in order to be marketable to a larger audience and thus more profitable.) Meanwhile, male-oriented erotica notoriously features almost comically large penises (and other anatomical anomalies, such as penetration of the cervix/uterus etc, but that's a different can of worms).

Point 1: As I mentioned, a lot of female erotica centers around the idea of a woman being accepted and desired despite her sexuality differing from how it's "supposed" to be. I would argue that the difference between the male and female desire to be desired is that the male one (usually) lacks self-consciousness. Men who feel undesired often blame it on others - the women they desire are stupid sluts who don't like nice guys, etc - while women who feel undesired usually see it as their own fault, some sort of fatal flaw within themselves. However, both men and women desire essentially the same thing - having sex with someone who desires them. I would say that what does or doesn't make a female fantasy is the dynamic between the subject and object. As I mentioned, in male fantasies the (female) object is usually the one who submits to the (male) subject. Even in femdom scenarios, the purpose of the encounter is primarily male pleasure, as proven by the fact that the male orgasm is a crucial element of an erotic story while the female orgasm is optional. However, a female fantasy doesn't just mean that the roles are inverted and now the man is passive while the woman is active - often it is actually just the mindset, noticeable more in the dialogue/narration than actions, that changes. The man doesn't just do what he wants - the progression of the sexual encounter is no longer just foreplay (optional) -> penetration -> man orgasms. Instead, he listens to what the woman says, lets her take the metaphorical lead - it's not as simple as suddenly switching from missionary to cowgirl, so to speak. The eroticised/appealing thing here is, again, not the sexual acts themselves, but rather being accepted, desired, listened to, and seen as an individual rather than just A Woman. (Or, to put it more bluntly - A Hole). Yeah, the bar is in hell.

So, should the protagonist just be an eternally insecure woman who gets reassured that her feelings and sexuality are valid and has empowering sex in every chapter? That would probably get old pretty fast - there's only that many ways you can incorporate the frigid woman's insecurity and sexual epiphany into tentacle porn (...I think?)

However, there is also a second side of the coin of "wrong" female sexuality; the opposite of the (arguably much more common) frigid woman - the one who wants "too much". A protagonist who is horny all the time seems perfect for an erotic saga, right? Sure, but I would argue that without the feminist element this is again just more reminiscent of male fantasy than female fantasy. An inherent element of pornographic logic is that everybody always wants to have sex with each other, so a protagonist constantly wanting to have sex is pretty much implied and there is nothing to be gained from problematising it/presenting it as the protagonist having to overcome some sort of insecurity regarding her sexuality. Without the feminist element this would pretty much just be different iterations of femdom, and presumably the only difference from male fantasy would be a stronger focus on female pleasure.

Thus, considering what we know about Airplane's writing abilities, fem!PIDW would pretty much just be xianxia My Immortal with more porn.

Thanks for coming to my TedTalk.

[calypso707]

Astarion x Fem!Tav bard : Fruit of The Poisonned Tree

Intro : Every day, she longed for his touch, his lips against her skin, his voice in her ears, his whole being.

Tags : 3rd pov for this one because i'm more comfortable with it, few chapters comings, this story will be mainly romance I guess, risk of spoilers about Astarion, ascendant form coming..

I hope you’ll like this first chapter, enjoy ! ~

Chapter 1 -

She missed her home at Baldur's Gate deeply. Although the majority of the inhabitants were humans, she had always felt at home there, with the river Chiontar within easy reach. For a bard, she had risen quite successfully and was well liked by the populace and the local lords, often performing at balls and other festivities. What she missed was practising her music on the riverbank, singing to the Blushing Mermaid from morning till night without her vocal chords weakening. She missed the simplicity and comfort of her past life. Quite simple. And in just a few days, it was all gone.

She had been kidnapped by mindflayers, had an illithid larvae inserted behind her eye, survived the crash of their ship,had fought gnolls, goblins and other creatures and now she was sleeping under the stars surrounded by odd companions. A few details aside, that was all. Normal people would have spread this over several months. She was still trying to figure out how she had managed to survive this far.

She looked towards her companions who were surrounding the campfire a few metres away. She had isolated herself, as she like to do, to be alone with her thoughts. Her eyes passed over each of her companions, starting with Lae'zel, a gith she had met aboard the nautiloid. However grumpy her nature was, she had shown unfailing loyalty and was a great ally. She had also crossed paths with a cleric and disciple of Shar by the name of Shadowheart. Then she met Gayle, a magician, in the funniest possible way. Wyll, nicknamed the Blade of Frontiers, son of the Grand Duke of Baldur's Gate who had made a strange pact with a devil, Karlach, a tiefling with a fiery temper and, finally, him.

Astarion.

Tav finally focused her gaze on him, comfortably seated on a wooden chair by the fire, his feet resting on a log. In his right hand he was holding a steel cup, and she could easily guess that the inside was some old brandy, the liquor he enjoyed the most. In his other hand, he was holding a book, he seemed to be absorbed by his reading. From time to time, Karlach teased him to include him in the conversation with the others. The bard tilted her head slightly and squinted her eyes to read the title engraved in gold on the cover of the book, "The Curse of The Vampyr". She held back a smile at the irony of the situation and wondered about the veracity of the tale. Did he see himself in what he was reading? She was curious to know exactly what the manuscript was about - was there anything new she did not already knew?

Her gaze followed the curve of the vampire's arm to focus on his face. His perfect face lit by the dancing light of the fire in front of him. She caught a glimpse at his fangs as he silently read parts of the book, her eyes detailing his perfectly shaped nose before finally coming to rest on his eyes. It was as red as the blood itself, and it pierced her soul every time he looked at her. She felt her heart skip a beat - she had never imagined herself becoming allied and close to such a creature. She had never seen anyone like him. He was dangerously charming and eloquent beyond compare. He was quick-witted, mischievous, teasing and delighted in the misfortune of others. He had a penchant for manipulation, lies, expensive alcohol, art and poetry. And she cursed herself for being drawn to him. Because she knew the influence he could have on her. He was the devil on her shoulder who drove her to commit terrible sins.

It took all her strength to stop staring at him like that, and she returned her attention to the violin at her feet, her fingers brushing the strings. Music was her magic, but it was so much more: it was also a sign of power. A power that could keep battles alive, make heroes eternal, but also shatter reputations and turn cities to pieces. She took a deep breath, as if to restore her own self-confidence, and picked up her musical instrument to return to the others. As she approached the campfire, she realised that everyone had already gone back to their occupations, except Astarion. The vampire looked up from his book to examine the young woman for a few seconds; she could not tell if it was the firelight that was having that effect, but a strange glint shone in his eyes. He stopped reading completely as he closed the book and locked his hands against his chest, still looking at her as she awkwardly sat down at the opposite of him.

"Interesting book? Did you learn anything new?" asked Tav, grabbing a half-full cup from the ground at her feet. Bringing the cup to her lips, she took a big gulp and immediately regretted it, repressing the urge to wince. From the strong aroma of the alcohol, she guessed that it was Chultan Fireswill.

"Surprisingly, no," he sighed. "I was expecting to learn something unusual, so I must admit I am a little disappointed," said Astarion, shrugging his shoulders.

She smiled at his answer, her eyes glued to the flames waving in front of her. The fire was blocking her view of Astarion and it was no bad thing, given how easily she lost her composure when she was alone with him and he liked to take advantage of that. She was glad there was this barrier between them.

"Now, darling, are you trying to run away from me?" asked Astarion. She was able to guess the mischievous smile on his lips. She barely had time to reply when she saw him rise from his chair, walk around the fire and come to her side. He held out his right hand, the other resting casually on his hip.

"All this brandy and small talk whetted my appetite. Shall we ?"

Tav lost herself in his crimson eyes for a few seconds before finally grabbing his hand to get up, leaving her violin on the bare ground. The vampire quietly led her to his tent, which she entered. It was not the first time she had entered it, but the smell wafting through the small space made her heart throb every time. Brandy, rosemary and bergamot. She looked over her shoulder at Astarion, who was closing the entrance to the tent with his agile fingers before returning to her. His fingertips grazed the crook of her neck, a shiver running through her body. He gently wrapped the long braid around his arm as he positioned himself behind her, applying gentle pressure to tilt her head back.

"I have waited for this moment with great patience," he said hoarsely.

Tav tried to calm her breathing, excitement and apprehension gradually taking over her body. She hated as much as she enjoyed the effect he had on her. Astarion tugged gently once more on the braid to tilt her head to the right, exposing her neck completely. He lowered his head, inhaling the scent she gave off before placing a chaste kiss on her sensitive skin. He slidded his other hand up her stomach before touching her breasts, grasping the lace of her corsage with his fingertips and pulling it with a calculated, disconcerting slowness to reveal the birth of her breasts. She half-opened her mouth, her breathing getting heavier and heavier.

"Stop playing that little game," she said. "Be very, very quiet, darling. You do not want to wake up the others" he answered, teasingly.

He then began to place another kiss behind her pointed ear, before placing another one against her neck. She felt something cold brush her skin, she guessed it was his fangs. This was followed by a stabbing pain that radiated throughout her neck. It was not the first time he had fed on her, but each time the ache surprised her. She leaned her back against his chest and placed her hand on Astarion's, which was resting on her breasts, intertwining her fingers with his. She listened to him feed, closing her eyes. Each of his sips, each of his breaths sounded like a melody to her ears. For her, this kind of moment was just as sensual and intimate, it brought them closer in a different way and that was what she enjoyed. Every day, she longed for his touch, his lips against her skin, his voice in her ears, his whole being.

﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

thank you so much for reading this first chapter, i hope you liked it! I've published the rest on Ao3 : Fruit of the Poisonned Tree. I'll mainly be posting my OS on Tumblr!

[failing-to-write-again]

Imagine Confusing the Sakamakis using Optical Illusions

"Vampires are basically an evolved predator species, so their eyesight is pretty different to ours. Turns out that if you put a big geometric shape right up close in their field of vision, it confuses the shit out of their brains and, you know, makes them panic" -Trevor Belmont.

So what Trevor speaks to there is motion dazzle, a theory as to why zebra have vertical stripes. Basically vertical stripes tend to confuse predator brains more than horizontal ones due to how our eyes work. And think to what crossed used to look like when Christianity was fancy:

[photo above of potential iron age stone cross, note the intricate geometrical knot design]

[Above is an example image of vertical stripes like a zebra being hard to look at for long periods of time]

Vertical and geometric patterns which could confuse predator eyes as they do not know where to focus for a few minutes. It's not a repellent more a delay of sorts. See how even human eyes can start to make weird splotches of ovals or shapes when looking at the vertical stripes?

So from what I know of the Sakamakis they were born around the time wooden crosses were more common for poorer folk, crosses which would have less of an effect. So they probably haven't actually interacted with a cross like that which could confuse em. So imagine a sacrificial bride showing the boys optical illusions and them realising maybe some of the vampire myths hold some weight. You are already starting to get Shu and Reiji to warm up to you. For simplicity’s sake below is the motion dazzle optical illusion you’ll use.

Shu

Slowly two blue eyes peak out at you when you plop down in the hallway across from one very sleepy blonde. “I wanna make a deal.” You sat in front of the sprawled out boy holding some paper, waiting for any indication it was safe to keep talking or to leave him to his music.

After a short stretch of silence you receive an eyebrow raise, leading you to push onward. “Can you look at a picture for me and tell me what’s in it? Same return as always you can suck my blood and I won’t struggle.“ A harmless task as always for a simple favor, a comfortable habit formed not long after your arrival. Shu was hardly complaining, you were certainly less dense than some of the other women sent by the church and knew not to ask too much from him. Slowly removing an earbud and shifting to not be as slouched against the wall behind him, Shu nodded finally giving full attention to the girl across from him.

Flipping up the card revealing the image, immediately you saw his eyes begin to dart about and his eyebrows furrow in confusion. You begin to smile realising you were right.

“Remember when I said how I was interested in why myths about vampires existed? You though it was all just nonsense but thanks to my biology essay we now know where the cross thing comes from.” Slowly lowering down the card and allowing his brain to calm down you explain.

“Your eyes are more like a predator than mine so optical illusions that match camouflage patterns like zebra, it scrambles your brain for a few minutes because your eyes don’t know where to focus.“ You looked awfully proud of yourself in Shu’s eyes. He almost had to admire the fact you had figured something out he had not yet experienced. You had not yet given up on trying to find small human joys or entertainment, it was almost cute,

You didn’t get much of a response though, already getting pulled into his lap allowing him to even the playing field with his fangs...

Reiji

Three gentle knocks sounded followed by the squeaking of hinges as Reiji opened the door. “You are on time,“ a simple statement neither praising nor scolding, but the best you could hope for from the bespectacled man. Tea times had once been a cause for much more fear than now, cups laced with potions being given to you once a week when you first came to the manor. However, after a failed potion allowed you to drink and converse normally with Reiji he had since lessened the drugging to a minimum. You weren’t daft enough to question his change of heart.

Sinking into the large armchair closer to the window you politely waited for Reiji to introduce that day’s tea. “I decided to go for a simple pomegranate tea after you mentioned not having an expansive fruit palate, if we are to continue these meetings your knowledge on beverages should be improved.” You thank him for his thought behind his choice as always, allowing the backhanded complement to pass by you.

From there conversation begins as to Reiji’s recent workings and the going on of the household until coming to your current reading.

“Well, as I mentioned before I want to look into the differences between humans and vampires and why so many myths you’ve said to be false have been made. I have actually made some progress on both in the library recently,“ you begin.

“Do go on, I am more than content to correct or verify any claims made in the library.“ Reiji sets down his teacup and crosses his legs, he looked both intrigued and unimpressed at the idea of you knowing details as to how he works.

“To put it simply, motion dazzle. The myth of the cross helping preventing vampire attack began back when Catholics made very ornate crosses for their churches, these would cause motion dazzle which could be confused with being God’s will. A simple cross won’t do much but I believe your predator based eyesight would potentially be distracted by these designs.“

“I highly doubt something that simple could confuse a being such as myself, I would remember to not shape your knowledge to fit our bias.”

“Well may I ask you to see if I am right at all?“ Pulling out a piece of paper and passing it face down to Reiji you simply wait for a response. Slowly taking the paper and turning it over, Reiji immediately gets a reminder as to why he stopped drugging you. You were not dull, you were sharp and would not believe something without proof and the way a headache was beginning to form between his eyes and his inability to focus fully on the image was certainly disproving his statement. A hand coming in to block the image allowed Reiji to snap out of his thoughts. You weren’t smug however, much to your benefit, not saying anything as you moved to sit back down. At least that was what you attempted before you were moved faster than you could process to be sitting in Reiji’s chair as you hands were pinned to you sides.

“You’re lucky you at least asked before pulling such a stunt. However, I cannot excuse you trying to act above your station. You are a human, you are easily toyed with and you obviously need to be reminded of this.“ Leaning forward and burying his fangs in your neck, you knew better than to argue back while his ego was bruised like this.

Yet it didn’t elude Reiji how he had not bitten as hard as he could, and his knee hitting the floor as he drank leaving him in a position he would rather be caught dead in. Kneeling...

Well I cannot write anymore tonight. If this is interesting enough to anyone to want more of the boys I can certainly try to write more. I just thought this was a neat headcannon lol.

[sailtomarina]

I bet I can do it better

cw: references to sex

He stood behind her where she hovered in front of the cooling rack, hands at the ready with her piping bag. She’d already done the eyes and smiles of two dozen gingerbread men, and was now planning her design of their outfits.

“Why are they all blokes?” he breathed into her ear, hands settling onto her waist and giving a slight squeeze.

“That’s the only shape I had. If you don’t like it, you don’t have to eat any,” she sniped back, but there wasn’t any real heat behind her words.

That was because Hermione had made these specifically for Draco after he’d dared make the declaration that florentines of all things were the best Christmas biscuit. Hermione pointed out the wonderful simplicity of a simple gingerbread biscuit paired with a decadent beverage like eggnog or hot cocoa. He’d hit back in defense of the florentine by explaining how the fruits and nuts made it so nothing else was needed–it was perfect as is.

He was wrong, obviously. 

Hermione knew that while orange, almond, and pistachio florentines were indeed delightful, there were only so many bites one could take before the flavors were just too much. Her favorite, however, could be enjoyed by the handful until the plate was empty with nary a crumb left behind as evidence.

One dozen of her gingerbread men were the more traditional snappy type, the sort of biscuit every proper British citizen would nod approvingly over as they sipped their tea. The other dozen followed her preferred style of biscuit, one those same good citizens might have found appalling.

They were soft and chewy with only the edges just crispy enough to provide the necessary contrast in textures. They were perfection. 

Draco didn’t stand a chance.

“Why do half of them look like they’re winking?”

“So I can tell at a glance which ones are hard and which ones are soft.”

He nuzzled into her neck, lips trailing along the skin. He was pressed so close to her back that not even a hand could have wiggled its way between them.

“Guess which one I am right now.”

“Draco.” His huff of amusement jostled her arm, sending a crooked line of frosting down one biscuit’s center. “Now look what you made me do!”

He paused to look over her shoulder once more. “Oh, dear.”

“‘Oh, dear,’ he says,” Hermione mocked in her best imitation of his haughty voice.

“I fail to see how your inability to focus is my fault, love.” Keeping one hand on her waist, he slid the other around to her front, down, down.

She dropped the piping bag and bucked against him to try and dislodge the offending appendage, only to realize that was probably what he expected, no, wanted, her to do. The instant she pushed away from the counter, his hand slid into place, cupping her sex, and she felt an unmistakable hardness pressed against her back. Hermione struggled to keep her mind on task. She had biscuits to decorate, a wizard to disprove, and the beginnings of a demanding throb between her legs.

“As if you could in my place.”

“I bet I can do it better.” He flexed his fingers as if to prove his point, and she nearly whined at the torture.

“Go on, then. Show me what you can do.”

Hermione nearly stumbled as he let go and stepped to the side. Before she could say another word, he’d picked up her piping bag and hovered over his side of the cooling rack.

“Any particular requests?”

She’d meant for him to tear open her pants and slide those long fingers of his inside of her; he’d certainly done it often enough in nearly every room of their home. Hermione hadn’t literally expected him to show her up in biscuit decoration. 

“No. Just make them look smart.”

“So, Slytherins, not Gryffindors? Ouch.” He rubbed his side after her swift jab, his lip jutting out in a pretend display of injury.

“Their clothes, Draco.”

“That doesn’t mean I’m wrong,” he replied in a sing-song, and she nearly murdered him right where he stood.

Instead, she waited until he started piping, the tip of his tongue sticking out in concentration the way it always did when he brewed potions. Watching his progress, she had to admit that his attention to detail translated well here, with each gingerbread man turning into more stylish versions of themselves. He muttered under his breath as he worked, transforming the color of the icing to accentuate details like little chains leading into the waist pockets of each gingerbread man.

“That’s a lot of green,” Hermione mused, trying to keep her tone inconspicuous.

He grunted in reply, too focused to even come up with a verbal response.

Draco only had himself to blame, really.

Hermione silently stepped behind him and hooked her thumbs into his belt. He froze for a brief moment, then continued what he’d been doing without comment. She palmed his arse, still tight from playing pick-up games of Quidditch, then moved up against him so her breasts flattened against his back.

“Granger…” he warned, his arms still moving from one biscuit to the other.

“Hm?”

“That isn’t going to work.”

“Shhhh, just concentrate on what you’re doing.” She held back a giggle at the look she imagined on his face. Chances were it was twisted in indecision on whether to finish what he’d started, or finish what he’d started.

This time it was Hermione who boldly slid her hand down around his front with unwavering accuracy. He groaned as she stopped over the heated length of him and stroked suggestively from tip to root.

“You’re going to get yours here in a minute,” he said, dark promises heavy in each word.

And she did, but not until after he’d dotted the last waistcoat button, swallowed a mouthful of biscuit, then proclaimed her a baking genius, for which she rewarded him by licking every speck of leftover icing off of his quivering body.

WC 1002

Twitter prompt from @DramionePrompts

Cross posted on Tumblr and [eventually] AO3

I may or may not be writing a one-shot featuring gingerbread cookies, which is why this particular treat was on my mind while I wrote this prompted work. I, too, prefer my cookies soft and chewy, not snappy or brittle.

[draw-you-coward]

i mentioned roza's glow is a slightly different, more ghostly colour - here it is! aligning to his spirit-adjacent necromantic focus

i'm trying to work on simplicity, gesture/mood through pose, and focus on overall completion rather than detail! i quite like the shape language here :) would love to know what you think!

[nemo-in-wonderland]

Hi hi everyone <3

Am still alive, and still working a lot, which is the main reason why I am kinda MIA and not uploading as many artworks as I wish (tbh, I am not even working on as many artworks as I want, but hopefully I will have some free time soon enough and will be able to be more productive. fingers crossed for that).

Well, anyway. I have been spending what little free time I had at hand watching some old movies and cartoons that have shaped me as an artist (two in particular that I *absolutely* adore), and today during lunch time I really felt an itch that I needed to scratch.

I have wanted to try to draw in this style for many years now, but never truly had the confidence in my skills to be able to do so. I remember spending so much time combing through my artbooks from those movies just to be able to try and understand how the character designers managed to put on paper their creations. How to give them fluidity and movement and personality.

But today I wanted to try. I wanted to give it a shot.

And I adored it.

Lunch break never went faster, but the moment I was back home, I HAD to finish this.

And of course, I went with my favourite brainchild, Dorothea, in my MonstersMash!AU setting.

ngl, It was challenging for me to just focus on simplicity rather than hyper details and kinda realism, trying to figure out where to put the lineart and where instead let the colours do the job, but dear gods, I had fun. so much fun, I cannot even start to say.

I hope you will like this <3

--Nemo

[thefirstknife]

I have a question regarding the Witness' motivations and emotions, particularly in response to Byf's interpretation of them (not to be derisive of Byf, I enjoy his content.)

In two of his videos regarding the Witness and its goals, Byf discusses the idea that the Witness is obsessed with control, with dominating both its enemies and its own forces, imposing its will on the universe. However, I feel like this has ignored some of the points that have been raised by other lore analysts, mainly the idea that the Witness seems to view suffering itself as a cruel fate, and that through exercising its will to conquer and either destroy/subjugate species, it is leading to the endgoal of either reducing existence to lifelessness, or escaping the universal cycle of life entirely.

What is your opinions on this? I lean more towards the idea of the Witness being disgusted with the 'cruelty of living,' which has some basis in the rage that Mara felt in the Inspiral entry dealing with her encounter, and it is trying to impose its own 'Final Shape' of universal simplicity in order to try reduce all living things, thereby in its own view reducing suffering. The idea that the Witness simply seeks to control everything seems somewhat reductive.

Apologies if this question appears vague or fragmented.

Yeah, I agree that it's probably more complex than just control. Control is definitely a part of it and a very big part, but I also feel there's more to it. The single-minded focus on achieving the Final Shape, to me, seems like more than just the Witness trying to simply be in control. I feel like it genuinely believes into what it's trying to do. The kind of a bad guy who think they're correct and that they are making things better sort of thing.

Especially with how it talked to the Traveler, or rather the Gardener. Saying "be free." That's the opposite of control. As you said, the bit about the cruelty of living seems to be a huge point for it. It said something about it in WQ and it said it again to the Traveler in Lightfall. A bit post-Lightfall, I believed that the Witness' Final Shape is to revert or remove the rules of the game placed into the universe by the Gardener. Return to how things were before the universe existed, possibly start anew. It's still an interesting theory to me! It would mean that the Witness genuinely just wants to start over and thinks everything and everyone would be better for it. More than just wanting to be in control of the universe. Again, control plays a part 100% but I feel there's more to it than that. Especially given the whole "rage" thing.

Hopefully we'll get to learn more about the Witness soon!

[mandowifey]

The Start of Something

Chapter 2.

Ellison Oswalt can't remember the last time he had a break this big. A cult survivor who made national news, a secluded compound quartered off from the public eye, an entire town of folks gone over night. This is the opportunity to become the best seller once more, to tell the story of a young woman who survived against the odds.

Previous Chapter

-

Pairing: Ellison Oswalt x Fem!Reader

Warnings: NSFW. Reader is afab, and a cult survivor. Reader has trauma, suicidal ideations, depression, anxiety and PTSD. She has gone selectively mute. Mentions of infidelity, marriage trouble, unhappy relationship, guilt. Masturbation, regretful thoughts.

X - X - X - X - X - X

The first thing Ellison did when he met you was lie. As a writer he had bent the truth numerous times for information, he typically never felt guilty for it. Sometimes the pursuit of the truth required hurt feelings.

However, the way your eyes met his when he explained how he found you made his pulse quicken. Something about that glance made him think you knew better, that you weren't so easily fooled like some. Yet you opened the door and welcomed him in. Though you hadn't spoken yet, he found it a relief. Your selective mutism had been talked about on a couple shows before. 'A response to extreme psychological trauma' they said. His heart hurt for you, to be so young and have gone through what you did, to bear those scars forever. It was something he wouldn't wish on anyone.

What happened in Chatford would haunt him until he died. The kids and Tracy had made it out though they were not unscathed. Things were tough now, he hoped that learning about you would inherently help him learn about himself. You two shared common ground after all, not everyone survived occult practices.

Walking inside, he placed the bag on the table and looked around. There wasn't much decoration or flare, you must not have lived there long. Putting his attention back on you, he smiles. "Your place is lovely." Your eyes focus on him, having kept your distance. Ellison noticed how tense you were and made an effort to move slowly and mindfully. The silence made him smile a little, a knee jerk response to feeling uncomfortable.

"I have heard about your - well, your-" he was trying to find a tactful way to phrase it. "-condition. I brought something that might help us communicate, if you're open to it of course." He watches your face for a reaction. You press your lips, then nod. You weren't certain what he meant. A lot of folks tried to find ways to have you speak, nothing worked, your voice as of now was gone and you weren't sure you would ever find it again. You were still open to the idea of trying, which was why you sat down at the table, folded your arms and waited.

Ellison opened the bag and pulled out his notepad, pen, laptop and a small white board with a red, blue and black marker. He placed each item down carefully before smiling towards you. Your eyes drift to look up at him, suddenly understanding what he wanted to try. It was simple, not incredibly innovative but that felt charming to you. You reach and take the 12 by 12 board and look it over, unable to fight the upwards tilt of your lips. Ellison picks up on your amusement and he chuckles.

"I know, I know. It's not too terribly exciting. I figure we can start simple, go at your pace. I do have questions planned, however long you're able to answer we can keep going." He opened his laptop and sat down to the right of you. Fishing out his glasses, he put them on and leaned to look at the screen. "If you don't mind, I'm gonna additionally write everything here, to make it a little faster." You nod without looking, still entranced by the simplicity of this whiteboard.

Once settled, Ellison looks over to find you playing with the markers. He could see the small doodles of hearts and shapes you tentatively placed in the top corner. He found that charming. Smiling, he nudges his glasses up his nose and reclines to get more comfortable.

"I'd like to start with you. How are you doing?"

Pulled from your trance, your eyes found his. Most people dove straight into the bad things, wanting the 'best parts' of what you went through. Ellison Oswalt was not most people. Your hand lifts the black marker and he watches as you write, then flip the board to show him.

'Alive.'

He smiles a little softer, then nods. "How is your mental health?" He rests his elbows on the table. Flipping the board, you erased and then wrote.

'Not great.'

It felt silly to be so blunt, you only had so much room and didn't feel comfortable telling a stranger how unwell you really were. Your eyes lower and teeth graze your lip, cracking open the tender flesh. You picked that habit up long ago, maybe even before the compound, before Joseph-

"I know you're tired of hearing it, but I am sorry about that. Really. No one deserves to go through what you did." He observed you starting to withdraw inside yourself, and knew he had to do something. "Could you tell me about things you like? Books, food, animals? I'm a big fan of dogs, black coffee and investigative journalism."

It worked. Your eyes unclouded and instead of chewing, you press your lips together in thought. He notices how you write faster this time, because you aren't guarding the words you put down. His eyes skim the board as you turn it.

'Wolves, sweets, fiction. I have a copy of your book.'

His brows lift, you point at the shelf where Kentucky Blood lay. His cheeks felt warm, nearly glowing in the realization you knew of him. Unable to stop the blossoming of his pride, Ellison cleared his throat as you watched him. The way he smiled was contagious and you found yourself smiling as well. The two of you continued back and forth for nearly five hours. He asked about places you wanted to go, colors you liked, hobbies you were interested in and much more. Ellison was trying to get an idea of who you were as a person, figuring that was the first step in understanding who you were now after everything. Suddenly aware of the time, the older man shifts and takes his glasses down.

“Wow we really have been at it awhile huh?” He smiles. “You know we don’t have to go the whole day, you’ve been great so far. Maybe if you’re interested, I could come back?” He looks at you with those sparkling blue eyes of his. You felt compelled to agree, your head nodding quickly. The other writers and journalists you’d briefly been around had never given a damn about anything aside from the occult stuff, something about Ellison was really speaking to you. “Oh, that's great.” He was grinning as he closed his laptop. “How would you feel if we exchanged numbers?”

Your smile faded and you started to pick up the marker before he held up a hand. “I came prepared.” Digging a hand into his satchel, he pulls out a cellphone. It was old and used and previously belonged to Tracy until she upgraded.

“Everything I know is you’re completely off the grid, so I assumed you wouldn’t have a phone. The number is listed under my name so no one can look you up with it.” He continued. “There’s only one person on the phone and that’s me.” He slid it across the table towards you. “I’ve got unlimited texts, data, all the fun stuff. Feel free to browse the internet or whatever you need.”

Your hand reaches and gently takes it. It was a little small, but you didn’t mind. This was such a significant gift. The church had wifi but you had no devices of your own to utilize it. Ellison had given you a means of seeing the world from the safety of your home. Eyes dampening, your lip quivers as you look up. As a father, Ellison saw briefly before him, a scared young woman, alone and vulnerable. He was taken aback and his eyes fluttered a moment before he clears his throat.

“Alright, all I ask is you text me with anything you need, okay? You and I will be seeing one another quite often so I wanna make sure your needs are being met. Even if you wanna just chat about the weather, don’t hesitate.” He pauses a moment. “Or if you are worried about something, can’t sleep, those sorts of things.” He stands up after packing his bag. It was a generous offer. Blinking the wet from your eyes, you stand up as well and leave the phone on the table. There was a part of you that wanted to reach out and hug him, but you don’t. You do not know this man well enough to embrace him. Picking up on it, Ellison smiles and slings the bag over his shoulder. “You have a good night, Y/N.”

A smile flicks across your features, watching him step out the door. Stood motionless in the kitchen, you listen to the car start and pull away. Picking up the phone again, you hold it close to yourself and feel another smile tug your lips. There was a giddiness building within you that you couldn’t remember ever experiencing before. You practically dance out of the kitchen, floating on air as you get changed to go help with the food distribution for the evening. You think about all the things you want to tell Ellison, all the secrets you kept guarded for so long. You wonder if he’d really believe you.

-

It was nearly 8 by the time Ellison pulled in to his drive way. Tracy hadn’t called or texted him so he was on his own for dinner. Picking up his things and a bag of take out, he slid out of the car and dug for the key. Letting himself inside, he closed the door and called out that he was home. No one called back. He puts his keys in the bowl on the kitchen island and heads to his office. Putting the food on the desk, he puts his bag down and stepped out of his shoes. Today had felt successful, he was certain he started off on the right foot with the young woman.

“Ellison.” He looks to see Tracy leaned in the doorway. “How’d it go?”

Does she actually care? Ellison smiles slightly. “Well it went great, actually. I gave her the phone and she shared a lot about herself with me. I’m hoping she invites me back over the next couple of weeks I really think she is gonna be forth coming with everything.” He sounded eager, he was eager. Tracy folds her arms under her chest and lays her head against the door frame.

“That’s great.” Her smile holds no sincerity. “I found a job in town. I’m gonna need you to get the kids to school on Wednesdays and Fridays. Hope that doesn’t get in the way of your play dates.” Now her smile holds malice. They look at each other for what felt like hours. Letting out a breath, he holds his hands up. “Tracy, seriously I don’t-” “I don’t care. Just make sure you do what you need to for the kids.” She pushed from the door frame and stepped down the hall. The icyness of her words left him feeling hollow.

Sinking back into his chair, he pushed his face into his hands and sighed in frustration. Trust the process, she'll come around in time. He swivels in the seat and opens his food, not going to let it go cold. As he ate, his mind wandered to you. The way you smiled at him and how genuine your reaction had been to the simple white board. He felt appreciated, and a sense of warmth spread in his chest. Gratitude... he hadn't been on the receiving end of that in a long time. Smiling, he chews and thinks of all the things he wanted to ask you tomorrow. Half way through his meal, his phone buzzes. Quickly, Ellison digs it out of his pocket and checks. His expression sprawling into a broad grin, and his chest swelled with pride.

New text message, from Y/N: Thank you for your kindness today. For the first time in a long while, I feel heard.

Ellison finished his bite, considering what an appropriate response would be. By the time he decided, you had sent a picture. Opening the message, he stares quietly. It was you standing in front of the tiny bathroom mirror, holding the phone facing outward and the other arm propping up the white board against your stomach.

Written in fine letters the board read: 'See you tomorrow :)'. He chuckles, however his eyes drift to take you in. You werent in the modest dress and sweater you had worn earlier. Instead, your body was being clung to by a tanktop, and your hips hugged by some pj shorts. It was showing a lot of your skin, and annunciating the swell of your breasts. Your lips looked so soft, tugged into that shy smile, like you didn't know what you had just done to him-

-Stop.

He quickly puts his phone down. This was unusual for him. In the early years when his book had sold well and he had his time in the spotlight, women had thrown themselves at him by the dozen. Of course he had briefly considered his options, but had ultimately been the better man and loyal husband. Tracy was the love of his life, being married gave him stability and bliss. That of course is what he told himself.

That being said, since Chatford, Tracy hadn't spoken much, let alone touched him. It had been nearly 14 months. He tried not to keep track, but he could not help it, he ached to be wanted, to be needed again. Without realizing it, his hand had drifted between his legs, palming the swelling outline of his cock through his pants. His eyes opened, looking down at the picture of the young woman, innocent and broken. His breath caught in his throat and he stands abruptly, crosses the room, then closes and locks his door.

Stumbling towards the bed, Ellison snatched his cellphone before falling onto his back. One of his legs dangled off the bed as he hastily opened and nudged his pants down. He sprung his hardening length out and wrapped his right fist around it. His eyes closed and he let out a soft breath, stroking a couple times before bring his hand up and spitting into his palm. Fisting himself once more, the older man arched slightly, focusing on the drag of his hand. His thoughts went to Tracy, to the first night of their honeymoon, how beautiful she was under the the setting sun. He thinks about when they conceived Trevor, during a get away in Montana, their hasty fucking outside their cabin-

-It isn't working. His cock is starting to deflate and his jaw is tight. He felt pangs of frustration and a little desperation. It had been so long since he had cum. He wanted it, he needed it. Amidst his tumultuous thoughts, your picture hovers behind his eyes. Soft, delicate lips and your eyes, so gentle and unassuming. His hand began to stroke faster, dick fully hard and aching in his grasp. Your hips, hugged tight in those shorts, and your breasts, barely fit inside the tank top. Pre cum began to dribble from his head, causing him to slick easier now.

Ellison let out a strangled grunt and gasp, his other arm over his eyes as he worked. Rutting his hips upwards, he felt a tightness in his abdomen. You were so grateful, so appreciative of him. He imagined you on your knees, lips parted and tongue out, begging for him to cum inside your mouth. Your eyes were glossy, pleading, your fair skin flushed in embarrassment- Ellison chokes and swallows down a groan. His stomach tightened and his balls drew up, his cock throbbed as his hand pumped himself desperately. Your mouth so wide open, so desperate- he cums. His jaw clenching and veins showing in his neck as he spills hot ropes across his knuckles.

Slowing his fist, he released himself and moved the arm from his eyes. He gazed up at the ceiling, shame washing over him the moment his cock stopped throbbing. He closed his eyes and drew in a deep breath, trying to steady his pounding heart. He reminded himself he loved his wife, that she was being distant because of what happened, that things could change. Rising from bed, he grabs an old shirt and cleans his hand before tossing it into the hamper. Putting himself away, he picked up the remnants if his food and tossed them in the bin, still troubled by his thoughts.

It was just one time, he promised. Tomorrow, he would go to you like a professional. He would smile and be polite, ask questions while taking notes, and try to not think about how he came imagining you on your knees for him.

[bettathanyou]

I don't know if you are doing requests currently (if not then just ignore this). Would you mind doing a Cedric from stf x reader, where the reader is under the control of one or maybe several of the villains ? The reader has the ability to switch between human and dragon forms and is skilled with fire magic. Maybe Cedric could be the one to free them somehow and once they regain control of themself he helps them adjust to living in enchancia? Hope that makes sense!

First off, thank you for the request anon!! Requests are ALWAYS open, it'll just take me a while to get them done since I just work very slow and have ADHD. So send any requests whenever you need Cedric content! I'll be your fish! 🐟

Also, while I do appreciate your ask, it has quite a lot of content (which is a good thing!) But I feel like in order to answer this fully, I'd have to make it into at least two parts, so keep an eye out for part 2!!

For simplicity sake, the first portion of your request will be told through bits and pieces of flashbacks- with the main focus being on the rehabilitation of the reader. I hope that's okay, and you understand where I'm coming from.

Thank u sm for the request! I do hope you like it!!

Show Me How To Live With You

(Part 1 of 11)

A Fic with gender neutral shape shifter reader X Cedric the Sorcerer!

This fic is gonna be gender neutral, with gender neutral pronouns.

TW for loss of autonomy, loss of home/family that type of angst, imprisonment, wound descriptions, not graphic, but blood and burns mentioned)

Enjoy, anon! Hope this fic meets your expectations :3

Your eyelids flutter- once, twice; then slam open with a jolt, followed by a choked gasp. Your vision was blurred; that was the first thing you noticed. Then, it was the darkness of the room you occupied. You tried shifting your eyes to take in your surroundings fully; but any movement made you feel as if the world was tipping off its axis, and your body was helplessly slipping through the earth.

You manage to let out a pained groan, nausea immediately making your stomach seize. Clamping your mouth shut, you close your eyes as your fingers gripped anything to anchor yourself from the ceaseless dizziness.

You had expected hard stone, or packed earth- akin to your cell, the one that you rotted away in for months against your will.

Instead, your finger pads met the slippery fabric of silk sheets. The shock of it momentarily snaps you out of your dizzy spell- just long enough for you to sit up. You feel a dull stabbing in your abdomen, and your head protests against your sudden movement with another bout of vertigo.

"Where the fuck am I...?" You thought, trying to gulp deep breaths to steady yourself. The worst of the vertigo passes, but you quickly give up on trying to control it. Forcing yourself to turn your head, you finally take in the room you currently occupy.

You can only make out the vague shapes of furniture, which was already sparse to begin with. A tiny nightstand is tucked next to the bed you're propped up on, with a meager dresser of sorts fit against the wall opposite of you. From the texture of the walls, you figure it was made of stone.

Your eyes drift to the end of the bed, and your eyes rest on the silhouette of a chair at the foot of the bedframe. It was turned in a way that if anyone were to sit in it, the would be staring directly at you.

Your heart leaps into your throat, and you feel sick at the thought of someone watching you while unconscious. Your eyes scan the room again, frantically searching for an exit. The room however, was too dark to discern any door.

Cautiously, you extend your hand and mutter the ancient words that you've known since birth. A tiny ball of fire now dances on your palm, it's flames licking at your skin. You feel somewhat comforted by the small flame, and seeing it's light cut through the long shadows gives you the courage to move.

Inching your legs over the plush mattress proved more difficult than you initially thought, but you manage to stumble out of the bed. As your bare feet touch the cold stone floor, it sends shivers through your whole body.

After collecting yourself for a moment, you search the room again for the exit you seek. Extending your arm, you guide your flame along the walls, expecting to find a door.

What you didn't expect, however, was the drastic change in color and texture as a single satin curtain was draped along the stone. You inch forward, a viotile mix of dread and curiousity edging your body forward.

You now stand in front of the curtain, and you reach out to grab the fabric between your fingers. Inhaling a shaky breath, you silently push the satin aside.

It takes your mind a moment to register what you were seeing as you crane your neck to peek behind the curtain. As you're still processing the foreign room in front of you, the dark shape of a humanoid person drew the breath from your lungs in a sharp gasp.

The figure had their back to you, but the sound of your gasp alerted them. Your mind screamed at you to move, but it felt like your limbs were locked in place by an unseen force. As the figure turned to meet your eyes, it was like time was going in slow motion. Every nerve ending on your skin felt like it was set ablaze, and the only movement you could make was a full body shiver of terror.

The two of you locked in a stare, standing eerily still as a beat of silence passed. The room was only illuminated by weak moonlight, and while his form was shrouded in shadow, the reflection of moonlight through his silver bangs was just enough to betray an equal look of shock on his own face.

The tension in the room was suffocating, as neither of you dared to even take in a breath. You realized you were locked in a stalemate- and one of you inevitably had to break it first.

With that thought now at the forefront of your mind, your body reacts of its own accord. Your feet spring from your idle position, throwing the curtain behind yourself as the ancient dragon fire that resides in your veins bubbles up towards your skin.

Uttering your spell once again, flames burst through your skin, engulfing your arms and hands in a hot blaze that lights up the room. The man cries out in protest, shielding his face from the sudden explosion of flame.

"What in Merlin's name are you doing?" He shouts, his voice hoarse and garbled from panic. The man's reaction makes you hesitate instinctively, as you were expecting him to be more... hostile. You stare down at the man curiously, your eyes studying him with a cat-like gaze.

In the light of your fire, you now got a better look at him. You noticed he was all sharp edges and angles, with not much muscle mass you could discern underneath the dark purple robe he wore.

He's far too weak to overpower me physically, you thought, your eyes lingering over his frame. Even so, you already knew the consequences of letting your guard down before- and you'll be damned if you made a fool of yourself to anyone ever again.

"No questions from you until you answer mine." You growled, stepping forward as you will your flames to rise higher around yourself. Sparks fly from the crackling flames you emit, and you can see the waves of heat coming off you in droves.

"If you keep using your magic like that, there won't be anything left of me to answer your questions!" The man shoots back angrily, his teeth flashing against the amber glow of the fire.

"Explain." You commanded, taking half a step back- just enough to signal your acknowledgement. However, you refuse to lessen the barrier of fire that protects you from the stranger in front of you.

"Look around you-" the man sneered, his cowering position straightening to his full height. Your muscles tense, but slowly you scan around the room. It was messy, to say the least, but you noticed that every crevice held trinkets, books, various foreign equipment and glass bottles that caught in the dancing light of your flames.

"This workshop is full of potions and chemicals that react to heat. Any one of them could be set off this very second, and with the flames you're making-" the man stops, laughing humorlessly as he shakes his head.

"It would cause a chain reaction; until you, me, and this whole tower is completely obliterated into dust." He finished gravely, his eyes glowing like embers as they lock onto yours.

"Is that a threat?" You asked, but the question came out less intimidating than you had hoped.

"It's a warning- and I highly suggest you heed it." He responds stoically, his face blank- but you can see something in his eyes shift.

Almost as if he was pleading.

Reluctantly, you take in a deep breath, exhaling as you extinguished the fire around you. With the light and heat from your magic gone, the chill and darkness of the night rapidly took its place. Sickly pale moonlight scattered the workshop again, casting more shadow than anything.

The man visibly sighs in relief, his body sagging as the adrenaline wears down.

"Thank you, I-" he responds, but you quickly cut him off.

"Where am I, and why?" You pressed him, your voice creating a small echo as you spoke.

The lanky man looks at you in disbelief, with a raised brow and his mouth agape, and you can't tell if he's more shocked or somehow insulted by your question.

Regardless, it pissed you off.

"Why are you looking at me that way?" You snapped, your voice rising in anger. You ball up your hands in the fabric of your clothes, fighting the urge to call upon your flames once more.

The man wipes the emotion from his face, almost too quickly for your liking. He swallows thickly, fidgeting with his robe sleeve in a nervous manner. He stands in silence, lowering his head as his grow furrows in thought.

While his previous reaction pissed you off, this new reaction made you feel- scared.

"... What do you remember last?" He asks you slowly, his head rising up again to eye level.

"That's not an answer," you protested, but your voice came out shaky and weak. You bristled at yourself for losing your nerve so quickly- why was this happening?

"I'm only asking so I can answer your questions in an efficient manner." He replied calmly, waiting for your response.

"I..." You started, hovering where you stood as you tried to dig your brain for answers.

"I remember- being in an evil woman's control. Her name was Vor. She- she captured me, and-" you start, the memories flooding through you as you continued to speak.

"She saw my powers, and wanted to use them for-" you pause, your train of thought coming to a halt. You squeeze your eyes shut to concentrate, but the memories keep slipping through your grasp before you can speak on them.

"Well, whatever the hell she was planning." You muttered under your breath, glaring at the dark stone floor beneath you.

"Is that all you remember?" The man asks tentatively, as if the question would somehow shatter you.

You shake your head no, then continue speaking.

"I don't- I don't remember the things she made me do. Not much, anyways. Everything- everything felt like a blur, and it felt like I was... Not really, there. Like my body and mind were separated from one another." You feel your heart beating quicker as you hear yourself talk.

"I'd blink, and suddenly I would be in a cell, waiting for Vor. Then... I'd be in dragon form- flying somewhere, or-" you stop again, suddenly finding it harder to catch your breath. Your chest tightens, but you force yourself to keep talking before your thoughts escape your grasp.

"Or... there would be fire. My fire... everywhere on the mystic isles." You speak the last sentence in a hush, the shame and dread of the truth gnawing at your insides. The pain you felt earlier in your abdomen claws its way back to your senses, doubling down with the swirl of emotions settling in the pit of your stomach.

"Do you remember princess Sofia and I rescuing you?" The man asks finally, and through gritted teeth you shake your head no. Not because you didn't remember- but because it was getting too hard to even think. Your head was pounding again, in time with the shooting pains that swelled along your stomach.

Draping an arm around your midsection, you feel the feverish heat of an aggravated wound you didn't realize you had- until now. As you slide your hand towards the apex of the pain, the silver banged man spoke again, but you didn't process what was said.

All concentration at this point was on keeping a straight face as to not alert him. Taking a step back, you try to regulate your breathing to calm yourself. Swallowing thickly, you detect a sharp, metallic tang at the back of your throat.

Blood.

"Damn.." you muttered under your breath, glancing down at your stomach. Peeling your fingers away from your side, a dark slick streaked across your digits. Your bloodied hand twinkled in the moonlight, almost mesmerizing you.

Almost.

"...You don't look well; are you alright, (y/n)?" The man asks with worry, closing the gap between you with shockingly good speed.

"Stay away-!" You spat, clumsily moving your body backwards. However, your feet don't land on solid ground- instead, the heel of your shoe got caught up against the flimsy curtain you emerged from previously.

Instinctively, you fling your arms out to catch yourself on anything, but to no avail. Your body was already off the ground, with fabric the same shade of blood that flowed from you, now filling your senses. Your mouth was caught frozen in a silent scream, and all you could possibly do now was brace yourself for the impact of your fall.

You managed to twist your body to the opposite side of your wound before landing with a heavy smack on the cobbled floor. The wind was instantly knocked from your lungs, leaving you choked and wheezing for breath.

Your head that was already pounding before, now felt like it was being split open; and hell- maybe it was considering the fall you took.

The sorcerer was beside you instantly, already asking if you were alright. Your back was to him, and you made no effort to signal that you'd heard him. While you knew your state was dire, you'd rather lay here like a pathetic, wounded animal than expose how weak you truly are right now.

"(y/n)!" The man repeats, louder and more panicked this time. You clench your muscles tightly, trying to anchor yourself to the floor somehow. He repeats your name again, his voice cracking.

You almost want to believe he's.... concerned, for you.

But even still, you wouldn't take the bait. A long beat of silence passes, then you feel a hand grazing your wound. Your body reacts autonomously, body twisting as adrenaline and magic flows through your veins to provide you a defense. Shooting your arm out, a ball of crackling fire erupts from your palm.

You expected the man to react the same way he did before, caught off guard and cowering. It would at least buy you enough time to get on your feet, maybe giving you the chance to run once the adrenaline starts pumping.

However, you could only watch in shock as the silver banged man swiftly pulls a wand from his robe sleeve, his voice strong and clear as a spell leaves his lips that evaporated your ball of flame into a pitiful wisp of smoke.

You stare, slack jawed with your heart skipping multiple beats. The man now stands before you again, his wand now aimed at you.

"If you keep trying to set me on fire, I'm going to lose my patience with you!" He yelled, agitation seeping from his voice. His face was scrunched up in a menacing glare, his brows knitted tightly together and his lips forming a thin line.

You stared at him in silence, until the realization finally hit you.

"You can use dragon fire..." you whispered, almost accusingly at the man before you.

"Of course I can, I'm the royal sorcerer for Merlin's sake." The man snapped back, his eyes boring into yours like hot coals. "But unlike you, I don't go around galavanting with dragonic magic to threaten people on a whim!" The man says, flicking his wand in your direction for emphasis.

The comment made you visibly flinch, hitting a crack that was buried deep in your heart. Images of your dragon fire spreading in hot, unforgiving waves across the bountiful fields of the mystic isles flashed across your mind.

Remembering the smell of smoke and charred houses caused by your destruction makes your eyes water, and you dip your head in shame as your tears drip onto the stone floor beneath you.

Regardless of whether you did it under someone else's control, you knew the people and magical creatures that inhabit your home would never be the same after such devastating attacks. Dragon flame is one of the most powerful forces in the known realms, and while normal fire is capable of bringing forth new life from its ashes, dragon flame will consume everything until there's nothing left but dust.

"...I'm so sorry." You replied in a broken voice, your shoulders sagging from the weight of shame, guilt and grief of your actions leading up to this moment. You weren't sure if your apology was directly for the sorcerer, or for every person who's been affected by your fiery devastation.

Either way, you can't deny the way every cell in your body screams for repentance against the wrongs you've committed.

"I'm so sorry," you mumbled again, quieter this time. Those same three words were now looping endlessly in your brain, blocking out any other forms of vocabulary. You keep your head down, studying the grooves between the stones so you wouldn't have to look your rescuer in the eye.

The man shuffled awkwardly, his feet scuffing against the floor. Your eyes dart quickly to him, and you see his hands fidgeting with the sleeve of his robe. It seems like he wasn't sure what to say, and to be honest, neither did you. You both stay in a heavy, awkward silence, that was almost as painful as your bleeding wound.

He suddenly sighs deeply, breaking the self-loathing trance you put yourself in.

"Now, now- enough of that. You already apologized once." He mutters nervously, dismissing you with a wave.

"Let's take a look at the damage you did to my handiwork instead, shall we?" He asks in a half joking manner, trying to awkwardly lighten the mood if you could guess- but you don't have the energy to laugh. Instead, you give him a weary glance, followed by a tiny nod of approval.

The slender man dips low to your level, conjuring a mysterious case of what you assume to be medical supplies. He knelt down beside you, and in turn you weakly lift your hand away from your bleeding side.

The man reaches into the bag, and you hear the chilling clink of metal taunting you as he digs through it. You swallow your nerves, trying to ease the fear that was settling in your stomach.

Then, he suddenly stops. You wait for a moment, then wordlessly turn to him with a questioning look.

"Ah- um... I ju-just realized this. I need to-" the man trips over his own words anxiously, his eyes like saucers. From the corner of your eye, you see him trying to gesture at your clothing in a pathetic attempt to tiptoe around the obvious.

You roll your eyes, letting out a giant huff of frustration. Cursing under your breath, you dip into your energy reserves to evoke your powers; elongating your nails into sharp talons. With a few expert swipes, you cut away the weak cloth around your wound. Your body shivers at your skin being exposed to the cold, but you motion him forward to continue.

"Thank you..." the sorcerer mumbles, avoiding your glare of annoyance.

"Just get it done already," you snarled, digging your claws into your palm. You felt beads of sweat trickling down your forehead, and your entire body felt hot and cold at the same time, making you shiver and sweat moreso.

The sorcerer snaps his fingers, and you wince as the darkness of the room evaporates into light. Squeezing your eyes shut tightly, you try to focus on the sorcerer's light touch as he tends to you.

"Good news, your stitches aren't completely ripped! I only need to replace a few, then you'll be as right as rain." His accented voice cuts through the silence, with an oddly excited tone.

"A few... loose stitches caused this?" You raised your voice in anger, mind reeling at how weak your body has become.

"On the surface, maybe- but you... you were in rough condition." The man speaks lowly, as if he was afraid of jinxing you.

"I've lived through much worse than this," you laughed dryly, shaking your head in disbelief.

"I don't doubt it." The sorcerer replies calmly, his demeanor turning somber for a moment.

Feeling his eyes on you, you turn to catch his gaze. You both stare at each other with a complicated look, neither of you knowing how to breach the subject of your circumstances.

Before you open your mouth to change the subject, the man breaks eye contact to grab the suture needle.

You watch tiredly as the man works, silently observing his handiwork. You felt somewhat impressed at the deft hand that made light work of your bleeding gash.

"So... sorcerer and surgeon, huh?" You hummed, trying to talk to distract yourself from the pain.

The man hesitates for a moment, his hand stopping momentarily.

"The latter is a little... generous," he man snickered, his eyes never leaving your wound.

You stare at him silently, waiting for any elaboration. As if on cue, he begins to speak as he continues working.

"My mum taught me to sew because my sister, Cordy, was dreadfully bad at it- she'd sew her hand to her dress before learning a proper running stitch." He says with a sniff, his brows wrinkling in a light frown.

That got you to laugh, but you quickly regret it as you wince in pain. Even still, a small smile twitched on your lips. The sorcerer flashes you an apologetic smile, his eyes quickly scanning you to make sure you were fine.

"Sorry, darling; I'm almost done, I promise." His voice audibly softens, smooth like velvet in your ears. Your heart rate picked up at the sudden pet name, and you feel your cheeks heat up before you can stop it. Something in the way those words were spoken felt like deja vu- like you heard him speak those same exact words before.

Following that feeling of deja vu, you bore into your shoddy memories again to see if you can grasp anything. Suddenly, a word manifests itself on your tongue- like a long forgotten magic spell that popped in your head. In fear you might forget it again, you hurriedly speak aloud.

"Cedric...?" Your voice wavered with uncertainty, small and questioning.

The man's head instantaneously snaps up to meet your eyes, his own caramel brown eyes flickering with recognition and surprise.

"Yes?" Cedric answers automatically, a strain in his voice as he processes what you said.

Your eyes grow wide, and you don't fight the wide smile that blooms on your face in triumph. You can't help but let out a chuckle, your cheeks hurting as your smile grows.

"I remembered... your name is Cedric-!" You said with a giddy hum, eyes shining as you finally felt clear headed for the first time in ages.

Your smile proved to be infectious, as Cedric's face wore an amused smirk of his own. He quickly nodded in affirmation of your decree, his smirk now widening into a full fledged grin.

"It seems you catch on quick- that's good. You'll be back to your full strength in no time."

You stare at the sorcerer as he finishes up the sutures, which he was already tying off with practiced hands.

"Alright- just about done." Cedric nods in satisfaction, rising to his feet. You move to do the same, but your sore muscles protest against it. Your body sways as you try to stand on your feet, and for a second you're afraid you'll fall again.

However, Cedric was ready this time- his hands automatically grasping for your arm to provide himself as an anchor. He feels your body flinch at the sudden contact, and for a moment his breath catches in fear as he stares you down for a reaction.

Likewise, you found yourself drowning in Cedric's wide stare, his honey colored irises full of trepidation. You find yourself unable to look away, even though Cedric's fearful expression was just another reminder of the guilt you carried for your behavior.

"...Thank you." You spoke slowly, clearing your throat as you break away from Cedric's grasp. Draping an arm across your newly stitched side, you finally tear your eyes away from Cedric and back to the bed you woke up in.

"You're.. welcome?" Cedric replies, his brow raised in surprise at the sudden change in your composure. Cedric studies you with a tilt of his head, confused but somewhat relieved that you have seemed to calm down.

"If you'd like, I have more medicine to help with the pain. I'm sure what I gave you before has since worn off." Cedric offers, holding his breath as he waits for your answer.

Your gut instinct is to decline- help is usually never freely given in your case, and this whole situation is an anomaly to you. But yet, you find yourself unsure about an answer- something in the way the sorcerer looked at you as he asked made you pause; like Cedric was silently pleading with you to accept his offer.

"Okay." You nodded towards Cedric in response, and with a flick of his wrist a bottle appeared in his gloved hand.

"Take no more than three drops on your tongue- the effect should kick in within five minutes." Cedric instructs clinically, and you hum in acknowledgement.

"I will warn you- part of what makes this potion so potent is that it's partly a sedative." Cedric goes on, locking eyes with you as he passes the bottle from his palm into your hands.

"You could sleep for a few days straight at the maximum dose- I just wanted you to be aware so it doesn't shock you." Cedric finished gently, taking a step back to glance over you once more.

You nod towards Cedric in thanks, eyeing the bottle carefully in your palm.

"I'll leave the rest to you, then." Cedric mutters in dismissal, bowing his head towards you in parting. Tearing your gaze away from the potion, you silently watch Cedric's back as he exits the room.

You carefully listen to Cedric's fading footsteps, waiting until you are surrounded by silence again to finally let go of the breath you've been holding.

Your eyes settle again on the small bottle the sorcerer gave you. The murky contents of the bottle made you feel uneasy, as did the side effects Cedric warned you about.

Your mind replays everything you had just experienced thus far after waking up- mentally weighing the risks of letting yourself go unconscious again in an unfamiliar land with a strange man you barely remember.

Your eyes shift nervously across the room again, and once again you find yourself fixated on the chair that was angled towards the bed. You suddenly feel a little embarrassed looking at it now, recalling the feeling of dread and paranoia you felt at the idea of someone watching over you.

Now, for some reason, the idea didn't sound so bad anymore. At least, not if that someone was Cedric.

You hand grazes against the fresh stitches Cedric sutured for you, and your heart flutters for a split second. Heat rises to your skin, and you feel your cheeks start to burn. Immediately your hand leaves your side to swipe at your cheeks, as if you could scrub the blush off your skin somehow.

"Ugh, grow up. I have no time for this," You muttered angrily to yourself, propelling your body forwards and into the bed you woke up in. Your side burned wickedly in retaliation at your sudden movement, but you didn't care- you needed to get rid of this weird, restless energy you felt towards the sorcerer.

Popping the seal on the bottle you possessed, you open your mouth and let the dark liquid drip, drip, drip on your tongue.

Three drops, just like Cedric had said.

You entend your arm to place the potion on the nightstand next to the mattress, your body already feeling weighed down by an invisible force. The softness of the silk sheets and the warmth of the blankets felt like anchors keeping your body in place, and you feel your head sink deep into the pillows.

Your eyelids flutter as you fight to keep them open a moment longer- it seems Cedric wasn't exaggerating about the potency of the potion.

Despite your vain efforts, you feel your consciousness slipping through your hands like fine grains of sand. As you blink up at the ceiling one final time, the last thought that flashes through your mind is of silver bangs, a plum colored robe, and tender hands that managed to piece you back together.

[anhed-nia]

BLOGTOBER 10/1/2022: YOU WON'T BE ALONE

Not all folk horror movies are horror movies.

I don't usually like to wade into the mire of arguing about what is and is not included in the horror genre, because there is rarely a sound motivation for the argument; the not-horror accusation is usually levied by either gorehounds who expect a narrowly predictable set of thrills, or snobs sneakily trying to acquit themselves of having liked a horror movie by proving that said movie "isn't really horror". As per a recent Miskatonic Institute lecture by Tony Burgess on holocaust narratives within the horror genre: "If you have to say it's not a horror movie, it's because you know it is." But all that said, things are a little more slippery with folk horror. I'm thinking of the Australian coming of age story CELIA, which I couldn't recommend as a horror movie, but whose particular use of magic realism earns its place in the indispensable All Haunts Be Ours collection. Similarly, the grim Italian drama IL DEMONIO is more a study of time and place than anything legitimately demonic, but its setting and focus on occult traditions make it fine folk horror fodder. Last year's heartbreaking Icelandic fantasy LAMB also isn't likely to satisfy someone asking for horror recommendations, but if you've seen it, you know why I'm bringing it up in this conversation. With his feature film debut (!) YOU WON'T BE ALONE, writer-director Goran Stolevski provides us with another exercise in dividing horror from folk horror, although there is a little more of something for everyone in this outing.

The denizens of a 19th century Macedonian village are haunted by rumors of Old Maid Maria, a shape-shifting, blood-drinking "Wolf-Eateress" with a hankering for babies. This rumor becomes a sad reality for Nevena (Sarah Klimoska), whose mother is forced to donate her to the the terrifying old hag (Annamaria Marinca as sort of a fabulous cross between Grýla and Freddy Krueger). Feral and mute, Nevena roams the woods with her adoptive mother, but never quite gets the hang of their spartan and solitary existence, and Maria eventually spurns the young woman when she won't stop making pets out of their food. Luckily, Nevena learned Maria's shapeshifting talent—a spectacular trick that involves tearing a hole in one's chest with one's long black witch talons, and inserting the entrails of whatever one wishes to become, in what I'm going to call an exciting new form of cannibalism. This way, Nevena adopts the form of a series of villagers, and learns about life from a variety of perspectives.

Þrándur Þórarinsson's Grýla, just for fun.

It may not surprise you to hear that YOU WON'T BE ALONE is all about responses to loneliness. The title refers to Nevena's mother bargaining for her child's youth: She promises to give Nevena away as a companion if the witch doesn't eat the baby, but returns on her sixteenth birthday. The reprieve is not so pleasant for Nevena, who is stowed away in a barren cave for the next 15 years by her terrified mother, who so fears her inevitable loss that she doesn't even enjoy the time she has bought. The peaceful and lonely Nevena makes lousy company for the Maria, but the witch haunts the girl as she shapeshifts her way through the village, insisting that she will never find happiness in human society. Admittedly, the humans aren't often impressive: Nevena learns the hard way that life as a poor farmer's wife (Noomi Rapace) is often brutal, and as a handsome young stud (Carloto Cotta of the extremely fun DIAMANTINO) life is more fun (and sex more consensual), but he doesn't enjoy greater fellowship from the other men, who disdain his simplicity and pretty face. Nevena finally finds some semblance of happiness when she starts life over as a young girl, discovering that idyllic childhood is a real possibility, as is a happy marriage later on (to Félix Maritaud, late of KNIFE+HEART). Of course, Maria is never far behind, and in the meantime, Nevena learns her origin story, which is predictably appalling. The young woman may have found her own way to hold on to hope in the face of deprivation, but to be totally fair, she didn't get the same rough start as Maria.

So, back to my argument about folk horror: YOU WON'T BE ALONE is probably going to be too horrific for those who Don't Like Horror Movies, with its grisly series of disembowelments and reembowelments, but it still eschews feelings of fear and revulsion in favor of an innocent questing for one's own humanity. In a sense, the folk horror label does the film a great service by admitting to its darkness, while allowing it to pursue purposes other than terror and doom. Nevena's shapeshifting technique may require her to become a sort of serial murderer, but the film forgives her that, focusing instead on her journey through a lovely bucolic setting where humans are often treacherous, but not beyond salvation. It's a funny moral trick to play, but it works, offering an uplifting viewing experience—as long as you can handle all the rape, cannibalism, and violence against babies, of course.

PS I love that the witches have dewclaws in this.

[adarkrainbow]

Disney fairytales: Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs (1)

Let’s jump into the big subject... Disney. Disney movies shaped the American perception of fairy tales : even more, Disney movies actually shaped the MODERN view of fairytales itself. As a result, to under the reception and evolution of fairytales, it is important to understand what Disney actually did to these tales. 

Let’s begin with Disney’s first animated movie, the first of its fairytale classics, THE beginner of it all : “Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs”, 1937. 

# A point often overlooked is the fact this story is actually framed as a fairy tale being told to the audience. The movie opens with the literal opening of a book, and closes with the same book closing - the prologue and epilogue both being texts written in the book. It is often overlooked but for a very long time when fairytales were written, they were explicitely described as fairytales being told to someone, in a “mise-en-abyme” : from the Italian fairy tale books taking place in a “One Hundred and One Nights”-like setting, to the French fairytales explicitely being shown as stories told by one narrator to an audience character... The Brothers Grimm broke this trend by trying to just collect the tales directly, not putting a “narrative frame” around them anymore - but Disney here took back this classic system again. 

# The birth of Snow White and the reason she was named as such was cut from the movie (I know a lot of things were planned to be added to the movie, but I will focus here on what is actually present in the picture). However a specific element was added: a “Cinderella” type of situation where the evil queen, fearing Snow White’s potential beauty, forces her to wear rags and act as a scullery maid in her castle. As you will later notice, this movie actually adds lots of elements from other fairytales, as Disney couldn’t know they would adapt a lot of other fairytales later. In the original story, the queen actually didn’t seem to care at all about Snow White until the magic mirror explicitely pointed her out as more beautiful than the queen - and as result, the original Snow White does seem to have grown up like a regular princess. In fact - even when the Mirror points out that Snow White is more beautiful than her, the Queen does not act. She actually waits and just tries to accept this fact - but the narration precises that anger and envy grow so much in her heart day after day that she ends up snapping out of jealousy and hatred. 

# The ritualized sentence the Queen asks her mirror each time has been changed for the movie. In the original story, it goes along the lines of “Mirror, mirror, on the wall / Who is the fairest of all?” (or in its longer version, “Looking-glass, looking-glass on the wall / Who in this land is the fairest of all?”  ; while the actual Disney movies uses the line “Magic mirror on the wall / Who is the fairest one of all?”. 

# Let’s talk about the evil queen first: interestingly the movie proper actually opens with her, instead of with their main character, Snow-White. A choice that coincidences with the removing of Snow White birth, which framed the story as the one of the princess’ life. Inspired by numerous great actresses and morally ambiguous royal characters, Disney chose to depict the Queen as, like the story says, a great beauty (thus fitting her title of “fairest of them all”), but also a cold, aloof one, rigid and unpleasant, “like ice”, dressed in great capes and formal covering royal regalia - all the better to oppose Snow White’s joy, kindness and simplicity. Similarly the Queen wears makeup to enhanced her beauty, where Snow has a “natural” beauty with her birth colors. But despite this main difference, it is even more interesting to note that in truth the two girls, the Queen and the Princess, look a lot like each other... The Queen, just like Snow White, has pale skin, red lips and dark hair: in fact, you could say she is an older, mature mature version of Snow White. This not only drives the beauty canons imposed by the very story, but also serves to highlight the main difference that makes one more beautiful than the other: the good nature that makes one appear in a much lovelier way. While some people can choose to frame it as a story about aging and the turn of generations, here I think the Disney movie rather pushes for a story about the beauty of kindness, humility and generosity in front of the “ugliness” of pride, ruthlesslness and cruelty. 

# An important fact when it comes to the movie is the main themes driving Snow White’s character - and beyond that the movie itself. One is the power of wishes: Snow White hopes that her “dreams will come true” and for that uses a wishing well at the beginning of the movie ; and later she gets tricked by the Queen into believing the poisoned apple is a magical “wishing apple”. Later the whole “wishing gig” would become Disney’s unfamous “irrealistic naivety” and over-reliance on fantasy over reality... BUT in this movie, when you actually look carefully at the whole picture, you realize the wishing thematic is linked to something else: hope. It is another theme carried over by a segment of the movie: “With a smile and a song”. After running away terrified in the forest and crying at her fate, Snow White meets cute animals, asks them how they can stay cheerful in all conditions, and realizes she can do that “with a smile and a song”. Of course on the surface this was criticized as being overtly simplistic, because just smiling and singing won’t always help you feel better - but if you listen to the lyrics, it takes a whole new meaning. “No need to grumble when raindrops fall, remember you’re the one who fills the world with sunshine”. The theme of the song is that you can be happy and joyful even when the world around you seem to go wrong or when bad things beyond your control happen - its message is that bringing joy and happiness is the duty of people, not of the world, and that if you make yourself or your setting miserable, it won’t help you in any way. And the ultimate conclusion of this song is that Snow White is convinced she will go “through” somehow and find a way to survive her ordeal. Mixing this element to how she uses the wishing well when she is just a slave in her stepmother’s castle - it gives the clear meaning that Snow White is a character driven and preaching about hope. She keeps wishing and believing that things can change and that even in bad situations good can come ; in the midst of hostility or unpleasant things she keeps on through dreams and hope ; it is all ways to make her actually “go forward”, quite literaly. She accepts her situation and tries to make the best of it while also never stopping to dream for a better future or her wishes coming true. 

# Now, the actual “wish” of Snow-White isn’t to have a better life: she doesn’t care for better living conditions or riches. Her main concern is with love. This is the only thing she dreams and wish about: love. And in this way, Disney actually makes the final ending of the tale, by a marriage, more satisfying to the character, whose hope always was to find someone loving her. To also make the “surprise happy ending” of the prince from the original tale more “believable” and “satisfying”, Disney worked heavily on extending the role of the prince: instead of arriving at the very end of the movie, he actually appears at the beginning and first meets Snow-White when she sings by the wishing well (bringing to mind another fairy tale, Rapunzel, in which the prince is attracted by the singing of a princess kept locked away by a mother figure). After a first fright (because the prince LITERALY JUMPED IN THE CASTLE’S GARDEN), follows an actual courting sing where the Prince declares his love for Snow-White while she stands on a balcony. A scene that can remind people of “Romeo and Juliet”, but which in truth is just a recreation of typical scenes of medieval romance - the “kiss exchanged by a dove” equally plays in this medieval “courtly love/chilvary romance” aesthetic. Not only does the Prince fall in love at first sight with Snow-White (and her in return, which explains the final wedding), but he also explicitely falls in love with her despite being in rags: a subtle way to show that the Prince does not care about looks or superficial beauty, like the vain evil Queen. (Mind you Snow White is STILL beautiful in rags but you get the idea). 

# In fact, contrary to what people believe, the prince here is not called “Prince Charming”. Well not per se... He is evoked by Snow-White in the dwarfs house, and he is described there as a “prince” and as “charming”, but it is never officially spelled out as his official title... (Even though there IS a character called “Prince Charming” in French fairytales, per the convention of naming Princes and Princesses with positive or negative traits). A small thing I will note is that the Queen looking with fury at Snow-White being courted, in the movie proper, is just shown as a confirmation for her of the mirror’s predictions: Snow-White is still beautiful despite being a dirty scullery maid. But in the original draft of the movie, the Prince was going to be another object of conflict between the Queen and Snow-White - an aspect that was taken over later by other Disney movies. A final note for the Prince: Snow-White dreaming hopefully of a future romance in song while being dressed in rags is EERILY similar to the “Poor Cinderella” short of the Fleischer Studios... I don’t have enough proof to call it “plagiarism” but the similarity to the product of one of their concurrents is eerie. 

# In this movie, the huntsman is explicitely referred to as the Queen’s personal huntsman (while in the original tale it is just “a” huntsman she invokes). There are more differences when one compares the two scenes of the huntsman. In the Disney movie the huntsman at first refuses to murder the princess, but the Queen threatens him with “penalty” if he fails - and when it comes time to kill her, he actually stops himself on his own, unable to kill her. Finally, he is the one who tells her to run away and hide in the forest, to flee for her life. In the original story? Things went quite differently... We have no discussion from the huntsman who blindly obeys the Queen - and he only snaps out of it when Snow-White actually starts weeping and begging for her life. It is also noted that it is the begging, tied to Snow White’s beauty (that touches deeply the Huntsman) that manages to make him stop. Finally, in the original story, it is Snow White herself who offers to run away in the wood and never come back again: the huntsman just agrees to that.

# Small note: it is very significant that the Evil Queen is seen sitting on a peacock-shaped throne, as peacocks are symbols of pride and vanity. On another detail side, Snow White’s outfit was specifically designed with in mind an American color logic that was applied EVERYWHERE, from comic books to cartoons: primary colors VS secondary colors. In this logic of colors, heroes and good guys will always wear the “primary colors” that are blue, red and yellow. Meanwhile villains will always wear secondary colors (green, purple, orange...). And lo and behold! Snow White’s dress is blue, yellow and red, where the Evil Queen (beyond the black and white) is dressed in purple... And again we can note a difference between the two outfits showing the opposite point of view of the characters: both women have a cape, but where Snow’s is short, the Queen’s is long and big ; Snow White has bare arms and uncovered head, where the Queen has a covering outfit framing her face while hiding her hair... 

# One major element of this incarnation of Snow-White (that will become another major trait of “Disney princesses”, beyond the singing) is her friendship with animals. She is kind and gentle with all the animals around her, seems to understand them the same way they understand her, and both help each other regularly. This shows, as I said before, the power of Snow White’s love and kindness which is able to make her literaly “one with nature” and thus gathering more and more friends as she goes along the way... But it is also a play or twist on a part of the original tale. In the original Brothers Grimm story, the main tool and “power” of Snow White relies in her beauty. The hunstman leave her be because of how beautiful she looks ; the dwarfs are amazed at her beauty which prompts them to leave her sleep quietly ; and the prince falls madly in love by her mere beauty. This movie actually tries to avoid that by showing that it isn’t just her beauty that manages to have her gain the heart of people: it is also, if not even more, her innocence, her kindness and her pleasantness. I think the scene with the animals highlights this: at first they are scared of her, because she is a human, and they do not actually care much about her “beauty”... But she wins them over by speaking gently to them, by apologizing for making a fuss in their territory, and through the action of a lost little bird she helped previously. This movie really wants to stress that beauty on its own won’t actually help you - but that you must mix it with sweetness, politeness and gentleness to gain the good favors of the world. 

# As I noted previously in my Silly Symphonies series, the nightmarish chase through the woods, an iconic sequence of the movie, is actually a reimagining/remake of a similar scene from “Babes in the Woods”. The movie was made with all the experience and knowledge gained by the Silly Symphony shorts, and it shows: for example, when designing the hag persona of the Queen, Disney insisted to have a “Big Bad Wolf” feeling from the Three Little Pigs short (where her Queen persona rather lied with Lady Macbeth). Not that the “scary chase” doesn’t exist in the original tale though: the Brothers Grimm tale explicitely says that Snow White runs away terrified through the wood, and that she hurts herself over sharp rocks and thorns, only stopping when she is too tired/when evening arrives. She is also noted to meet actual wild animals, that go past her without hurting her. The whole “helpful animals bringing her to the dwarfs house” sequence was entirely invented by Disney. 

# There is a very interesting change when it comes to Snow-White cleaning the dwarfs house... In the original tale, when she arrives at the house, Snow-White actually eats and drinks a bit from every plate and cup in the house, and then tries every bed (some are too long other too shorts) before choosing the right one and falling asleep on it. When she later meets the dwarfs, they make a bargain with her: due to them being kind and touched by her story they agree to let her live with them, but in exchange she will have to do all the chores of the house while they are gone. In this movie? Things actually go full reverse. Snow-White herself does all the chores and cleaning of the house before the dwarfs arrive, in hope that the owners will be so pleased they will let her stay - and this is what happens. This change has to be tied with how in this version Snow White is already used to a life as a domestic - but let’s also not be blind to the appliance here of the gender norms of 30s America. Good women have to clean the house and take care of the home while the men are away at jobs: there is clearly an image here of Snow White as a “perfect” housewife. It even becomes funny when you realize that in the original tale the Dwarfs are disturbed by finding their house in disorder with things missing, whereas in the Disney tale the Dwarfs are rather stupefied to find their house cleaned.

# Another interesting thing lies in the relationship between the dwarfs and Snow-White. Here, their relation is clearly placed as one between mother and child. It is a double-inversion, as here Snow White is the youngest girl (daughter) to elderly bearded bald men (fathers), but her first mistaking them for children, doing their chores for them, the dwarfs behaviors and how Snow White teaches them how to clean and have proper manners, tied with their innocent and goofy love for her... it all makes it blatant that Snow-White fills a “mother” role to these seven “sons”. A true reversal of the original tale where the dwarfs rather have a parental role to the foolish Snow White: they go away at work, they give her warnings to protect herself when they are away, and when she is in danger they help her the best they can. Just like the mother in “The Wolf and the Seven Goats”. 

# A minor change (oh, accidental pun): while the dwarfs are miners working in the mountain in the original story, they actually are ore miners searching for gold and copper - not gem minners with diamonds, rubies and emeralds like in the movie. 

# Speaking of dwarfs, we HAVE to talk about them and about what Disney did to them. Because this was THE major turn in Snow White adaptations, and what gave this movie such strength and force. The dwarfs. Disney was the first person to actually decide to give individual personalities and traits to the dwarfs, who before were treated as just a group of identical individuals. Even more: by giving them unique features and fleshing them out as characters, Disney gave them much more screentime and took time to explore and deepen their relationship with Snow White. They are so involved in the plot and do so much that you could actually argue that they are not side characters anymore, but main ones: an interpretation pushed forward by the very title of the movie. The original tale of the Grimms was “Little Snow-White”. The Disney title is “Snow White AND the Seven Dwarfs”. They are clearly here put on the same level of importance as the main “heroine”, and it is something a lot of people forget. This movie isn’t just the story of Snow White, it is the story of the Dwarfs just as much. They make the bulk of the humor and almost all of the action in the movie - and they are the only ones to engage in a direct confrontation with the villain of the story. Yes, you could argue the Dwarfs are somehow the true “heroes” of the movie. 

# Another interesting thing to point out: the Dwarfs leaving their beds to Snow White in the movie while they sleep downstairs is a reinvention of an actual episode of the original tale. When they discover Snow White sleeping in one of their beds, they are so stricken by her beauty they decide to let her sleep, and so the seventh dwarf just sleeps with his “companions” in each bed (one per hour of the night). So Snow White only meets them when waking up in the morning. A sequence quite different from how things go in this movie...

... Also, speaking of the beds, you might wonder why she can fit in a dwarf bed. Well, it is because I forgot to mention one tiny little detail... IN THE ORIGINAL TALE SNOW WHITE IS SEVEN! YES, SEVEN! She is a literal child. It is the story of a young girl: the Queen is jealous of a seven-year old child, and the Prince wants to marry a kid of the same age. Disney, clearly understanding the problematic consequences of such relationships, decided to age up Snow White into a teenager/young woman. But it explains why in the original story Snow White could fit in the bed of some dwarfs, while others would be “too long” for her. 

[narrators-journal]

Stolas and Blitz, Creampie and Voice kink

So, this is gonna be my one and only helluva boss writing. I find I do not really enjoy writing for these characters despite liking them. I also didn't stick to canon, bc Cloaca's make me uncomfy in sexual contexts. Other than that, I had to get hella creative with the definition of 'creampie' bc I couldn't work in both kinks cleanly otherwise. Sometimes a bitch just aint that creative lol.

After such a long day, all Stolas wanted to do was watch tele novellas and drink enough alcohol to wash away the bitter after taste being around his wife always seemed to leave in his beak. However, Stella had the television remote, so that was off the table. Instead, the tall owl demon just went to their room and locked the door behind him. He didn't care if Stella threw a fit, he didn't want her to bother him until bedtime.

For now, all the demon wished to do was flop face down on the massive bed and groan into one of his many pillows. Whoever said marriage was the best part of life was on meth. He thought bitterly. Reaching up to try and rub some of the stress out of his shoulders. When that didn't work, he resorted to more involved tactics.

Getting up, the tall owl crept over to one side of the fancy bedroom and dug a toy out from the depths of his personal closet. It was a phalic thing, shaped like an imp's dick with a system of tubes that allowed the piece of silicone to produce artificial jizz.

Granted, Stalas had the power to summon something much more realistic and imaginative, but the simplicity and thrill of having a physical toy to hide made his dick twitch as soon as the demon had kicked off his pants. So, he double checked that the door to the hallway and balcony were locked, and the curtains were drawn before he set up the dildo and pulled his cellphone from his pocket while slathering his toy with lube and positioning the tip just at his entrance. At first, using general imp porn to fuel his imagination while he pushed the toy into himself.

Of course, the owl demon didn't actually focus on the pornstars in the pictures. They were plenty attractive, but Stolas only used the images for inspiration in his own fantasies of his childhood friend and crush Blitz. So it was himthat he imagined filling him up. Angling his dick to hit that special spot that made the owl's claws curl and his eyes fill with stars.

Though, the  owl couldn't quite decide which fantasy he craved to relieve his stress. Did he want to picture Blitz ravaging him like a wild animal? Taking his breath away and biting into his feathered kneck without mercy. Or did he prefer the fantasy of his childhood friend taking his time with him? Going slowly, finding all of the small spots that made the goetia puff up. He couldn't decide.

To make his situation more complicated, Stolas found that his searches were pulling up fewer and fewer enticing images. So, the fire he'd worked so hard to nurse into being was beginning to burn to embers in his belly, earning a frustrated groan. There's got to be SOMETHING to keep me going. He told himself, pausing his thrusting of his toy to rummage through his phone for any explicit photos of Blitz, or maybe any recordings of their phone calls.

Sadly, the hunt came up fruitless. Somehow, the owl demon hadn't a single recording of his spicy phone calls with his childhood friend, and he'd already examined every inch of the photos Blitz had sent him. He was jonesing for something a little fresher than those same pictures.

Not that he was complaining. The pictures were still quite appealing to Stolas. But they only provided small sparks of lust for the needy bonfire burning in him. It was more teasing than satisfying, which the owl demon hated.

So, in his desperation for anything to satisfy himself to, Stolas went digging through the saved recordings of their general calls. Rooting around in their non-sexual conversations until he found a recording of a call he'd made to the imp where Blitz sounded sleepy. That sure did it.

The husky mumble of his voice struck a chord in the bird demon. Reminding him of how growl-y his old friend got when they were meeting up for their monthly hook-up. Which breathed new life into the restless heat burning beneath Stolas' blue-grey feathers. In turn, drawing out more needy moans while his thrusts of the silicone toy into his ass grew quicker. Taking advantage of the heat before it could fade again.

So, Stolas happily used that recording of Blitz's sleepy, slow voice to push himself further into bliss. Angling his toy so it hit that one specific spot deep within him until he could feel his orgasm building. At that point, he paused his actions to make sure the toy could 'cum' with him before returning to thrusting the dildo into himself with another slew of moans.

Nothing beat the feeling of the real Blitz filling him to the brim with hot seed, but the faux-cum that shot into him would have to do for now. All he really needed was the friction the toy gave to ensure the bliss washed the owle away and his member gave one final twitch and thrub before splattering his own load onto his feathers. And while the recording of Blitz's alluring voice made Stolas crave his touch all that much more, for now, he bit back the urge to call his childhood friend.

Call him tomorrow, Stolas.He told himself while he began to clean himself up. It's far too late to call him over. Stella would find him and ruin all of the fun. The thought of his bitter wife made the owl audibly groan, but he shoved the thought of her away. He'd just gotten himself to relax, he couldn't risk ruining that by letting himself focus on her. She could sleep in a guest room tonight. He instead pulled his bottoms back on and just laid down to dream of his charming imp prince.