#Lightless Expanse

[onlyhurtforaminute]

GLACIAL TOMB-VOIDWOMB

[gbhbl]

Album Review: Glacial Tomb - Lightless Expanse (Prosthetic Records)

Unleashing a cacophony of ugly and brutal noise from the very start, Glacial Tomb set out the goal of this album, and it’s a painful one.

Sludge-infused death and black metal band, Glacial Tomb will leave their mark on 2024 when they release their second full length studio album, ‘Lightless Expanse’. It will be unleashed on September 20th, 2024, Prosthetic Records on September 20, 2024. Photo Credit: Frank Guerra Unleashing a cacophony of ugly and brutal noise from the very start, Glacial Tomb set out the goal of this album, and…

[biggest-geo-oogami-enjoyer]

Somnophilia smut with Sol? Reader doesn't wake up (Tʖ̯T)

No Rest for the Wicked (Sol x MC/Reader - Somnophilia Smut)

LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, PRESENTING TO THE STAGE, YOUR FAVOURITE TKATB WRITER !!!

SKY FORTRESSES AND BURNING CITADELS, WITH A LONGTIME-AWAITED, PROMISED SOLIVAN BRUGMANSIA S.M.U.T.!

*bows*

Anyway, just a reminder this is rape, non-consented, probably slightly OOC, and I'm a (slightly more than) tad rusty in writing. I've also never written smut before, so do give feedback if you deem it necessary. Toodles, my sexy motherfuckers.

You could even say I came back with a bang. ;)

P.S. Also the M/C is written as a virgin in this, if your character isn't then congratulations! They hid their previous sexual escapades impeccably well, for Sol to not know.

- Signed by biggest-geo-oogami-enjoyer

Wicked: evil or morally wrong.

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The room was pitch black, so heavily ensnared in the gaping shade of the darkened night that even shadows disappeared under its tarlike veil. Any ordinary, random burglar would be blindly stumbling about like an idiot, if they happened upon your apartment with…impure intentions.

Sol wasn’t a burglar, and he was definitely not ordinary. He wasn’t a mindless passerby on the streets, with a forgettable face and unassuming nature. Sure, he acted the part well, played the weak-minded shy kid well. But that act, that mask? It’s for the faces that litter his vision, that plague his sight and try to distract him from his goal, his mission, his messiah.

Faces that exist as a way to try and deter him from his forever, from his life and his bride, from his venerant Annabel Lee.

You.

He’s saving his true, adaptable, self for you. He’s willing to morph into anyone for you, alter himself, hurt himself if you so merely asked!

You could ask him to kill for you and he wouldn’t even blink until said soul was eviscerated; and their body exsanguinated and dumped in an outskirt lake.

He was the only one for you, your only soulmate, your only lover, your only.

So why did you always neglect him? Ignore him; spend time with him as a last resort, all in favour of that insignificant bastard-born slug?!

What did he have that Sol didn’t? Hmm? 

The queries began to flood his mind, onslaught his body. He barked out a laugh, a cold, brisk sound that reverberated across the walls, before cruelly biting the skin of his knuckles.

Hush, can’t have you wake up now darling, not when you’re so serene and at ease.

He didn’t want to do anything bad to you, of course not, he loves you…! But even the best of lovers need to be taught a lesson…or seven.

Boots softly thud against your floor, their path marked by years of memory and intuition, and like normal, he makes his way to your bedside.

Sol might not be able to see you, but he doesn’t need to. He already knows how you sleep, he remembers the precise dosage of medication he needs to do this…he’s all set…

Yet the longer he stands there, the more time ticks by him, gently ageing you both second by second closer to a fated death, he was struck by an epiphany:

Why the fuck should he settle for this? He’s been in the darkness long enough.

The kid at the back.

The afterthought.

The forgotten face of the world.

If Jericho Ichabod gets to see you…then so shall fucking he.

In a bout of ornery, he ditched his boots and marched into the lightless expanse of your lounge. He knew you had a torch hidden somewhere, might as well finally make use of it. 

Like he will of you.

Most people would’ve already ditched or aimlessly clambered around; but Sol wasn’t most people. He knew your residence inside out, all of them.Each place, grandiose or minimalistic, apartment or house. No matter where you go, he’s always watching, tonight’s just a little more…intimate, a touch closer than his usual escapades.

His hand softly searched the drawers, each soft click sent a thrilling chill down his spine, his body shuddered as he tactfully manoeuvred his way about the room. His fingers casually map each surface, fondling for anything remotely cylindrical…until, after what felt like millenia, he finds it. How lucky.

A lava lamp. Bright enough to see you, dim enough to not awaken you; and look at that…it’s red, like his eyes, like his lips…like his cock.

Were you thinking of me, beloved?

With methodical steps, silent as the grave, he strode back to you, placed the lamp in the closet door…and by God’s holy grail was he once more rendered stunned.

The soft crimson rays paint your frame in a way he prayed to one day replicate, with his own blood, perhaps? Paint wouldn’t be enough to perfectly capture your divine essence. 

Your lips look so fucking good. 

He wanted to have you so damn badly it hurt.

And he would’ve…until something crossed his peripherals.

A small photo, about the size of his palm, lay tucked away on your bedside drawer.

To say Sol was intrigued by this was an understatement, and his bubbling wonder continued to froth as he took in the details of this quaint square and halted. 

All intrigue turned to rage, white and hot like his flesh and it pelted his mind like hail on an abandoned car; before an idea, comical as it was repulsive, crept into the depraved depths of his mind.

What better way to avenge himself than make the whore see? See how much better he is, both in appearance and in bed?

A lifeless grin moulded into his face, Sol positioned the photo to ensure it stared right at him; The slug isn’t worthy of seeing the pretty things you’ll do; he thought.

He bored his eyes into ones of disgusting cobalt, before turning down to the grandest feast of his life.

Slender fingers, corpse-like in colour, caressed your face, measuring once more the map that is your body, his eyes hungrily raking over your sleeping form.

Against his better judgement, he lowers his head and drags his tongue, languid and unhurried, across your neck, his teeth softly rubbing across your zen pulse. 

He swiftly rose up, his face burning and his breaths stuttering; all the while his cock —  like the night before, and the one before that — began to fucking ache, straining horribly against his pants, almost begging to be allowed freedom from its constant confines. 

The urge to tear off your clothes and piston himself so deep inside you that your body would refuse any other dick was so tempting. The mere thought made a small wet spot appear, yet Sol would take his time, after all, this was merely you making up for teasing him, right?

Fuck it.

In one swift motion, he’s at your side, his nose buried in the crook of your neck as his hand casually dived under your shirt, worming its way towards the mounds that lay atop your angelic heart; but you couldn’t possibly blame him, they’re so malleable and beautiful; just like you!

He inhaled sharply, before closing his eyes and stifling a pathetic whimper.

You smell so fucking good.

His whole body was like a bomb, ticking away until either his time runs out and he leaves to care for himself elsewhere, or until he allows himself to… indulge.

If Ichabod got to revel in your presence, then so shall he.

“Mhh??”

Shit.

He froze, his body arched over you, his hoodie half off, exposing his burnt abdomen, carmine circles and purple dots peppering him like seasoning. 

Ahh…you told me I was beautiful in your eyes once…but I won’t risk you rejecting me from these, darling.

Another reason why he loved you oh-so much. You’re so pristine, so pure, so perfect that it stung. He didn’t deserve you, he wasn’t remotely close to reaching the bar of whom someone like you should have; but he didn’t care anymore. You were here, beneath him.

And he was going to have you if it’s the last thing he ever does.

Soon enough, his mouth returned to your pulse, suckling on the throbbing flesh and his teeth cautiously caging the arteries, until a mark — angry red like the burns that paint his skin — started to blossom.

His hand inched up your breast, the pads of his chilled fingers encircled your areolas, the nips hardened and prodded at him, begging to be pleasurably satiated — and satiate he inevitably would.

He swiftly moved to straddling you, this time in entirety, careful to avoid putting too much pressure on your torso. When you’re lying so prettily before him it was almost too easy to forget how much bigger than you he was, how small and dainty and delicate you were compared to him.

Using his other hand to lift your nightshirt to your collarbones, Sol redirected himself fully to your breasts, his teeth grazing over the buds before rapidly digging them into the warm fat, his nails clawing at your sides like they were pencils upon a blank canvas and the artist had the eureka of a lifetime.

His face felt torrid, his whole body felt like it’d been set ablaze and he’d barely started.

Look at what you’ve turned me into, but I’m not complaining, how can I?

Sol suddenly wished he was a snake, so he could coil around your body forever, his fangs lodged in either your neck or tits, while his tip would remain buried so deeply within you that you’d forget what it meant to move normally.

But hey, he could still do one of those things. The drugs are significantly stronger this time.

As if to test the waters, he delicately shifted your blouse off of you, tossing it somewhere else on the bed whilst he — perverted as he knew he was — admired your figure, his hands mellowly brushing your arms and kneading your curves, wanting to ingrain this image of you for the rest of his life.

“Fuck, you’re so pretty. How are you so pretty?”

His cock was shrieking now, hell, he was struggling to contain himself. But he could hold off a little longer, right?

No. No I can’t.

His hands weren’t even his anymore, by the time he’d ceased gazing at you, his belt was being yanked out and he was aggressively tugging his pants down, a sharp slap! bouncing off the walls as his dick emerged from its confines, dribbles of translucent white steadily seeped out the shroomy head. 

He inched closer to you, deciding to fully ditch his clothes as he tenderly brought your hands into his. He covered them each in kisses, suckled on your fingertips, before guiding them towards his throbbing crotch, your fingers tightly clutched onto it; it’s like you’ve wanted this as much as him!

Shit. Fuck. Fuck you’re so pretty.

Blanketing your fingers with his longer ones, Sol slowly pumped himself into your palm, his whole body almost falling on top of you with how violently he shook at the sheer magnitude of carnal pleasure that coursed through his veins.

A pitiful whine emitted from his tongue as he commenced vigorously propelling himself into your hand, the drastic change in speed and temperament making the sensations nearly overwhelming. 

It forced him to hold his weight up over you; like his arm was a pillar to a divine shrine, one that he deems you more than worthy of. But he supposed this is the best way to be close to a god, to worship a god.

Shit, I love you. I love you so much, you don’t know how crazed I get when it comes to you.

Sol turned to the small picture of Ichabod, before looking respectlessly at the view under him, and smirked.

From his nigh-omniscience when it comes to you, Sol knows you’ve never had sex, and he’d be damned if your first would be Crowe.

He continued to piston himself into your palm, contemplating whether he should move on…elsewhere, while he could. 

Your hands weren’t gonna be enough, he wanted Ichabod to see him fucking you, making love to you; you didn’t have to be conscious, you’d still love him either way. 

Sol relished in the thought, as his thrusts grew erratic and variable, his abs clenching and his arms locking in as he prepared to release, to paint his magnum opus — to paint you white with his cum.

I love you, I love you so much, I want you so much, you’re everything to me IloveyouIloveyouIloveyou.

He moaned, gripped your hand and placed a messy kiss to your lips, using his other appendage to pump faster and faster, until his body physically stuttered into it —  until his whole being shattered, and a fountain of his sperm splattered onto your skin, leaving your body glistening under the vermillion light of the lamp.

But Sol wasn’t done this time, for how could he be? He had to make sure nobody got to you before he did.

He kissed you again, his tongue diving into your mouth, exploring the wet cavern, his hand — the one that formerly served as a buttress — coming down to the band of  your shorts, his fingers gently prying them down with your panties, and judging by its appearance, it was one of the few he hadn’t touched — how cute. It’s like you wanted him to gather every garment that’s pressed against your core, that felt your slick as you touched yourself.

Gah, the thought of your fingers buried inside you, toying with your clit, playing with your tits.

Anything you do arouses him, but the thought, oh fuck him, the thought of you using yourself whilst thinking of him — like he about you — makes him feral.

Without even thinking, he plunged two digits into your pussy, silently (s)creaming at how smoothly they entered. 

Your body knows it’s mine, hahah! Fuck…you’re hot.

Pressing a thumb to your clit and his other hand over your mouth, Sol feels himself going sexdrunk, watching in slick satisfaction the squelches and pretty little Os your hole made around him, trying to crush his bones and slurp them into its warmth, as if it wanted him there forever. Not that he mind, he’d curl up inside you and live as your sentient sex toy if he had his way.

He sighs, his cock turning a brutal shade of red as his eyes observe the beauty that lay within how well cocooned he is inside you, and that’s with his fingers!

Repositioning your wrists so that he could comfortably hold them in one of his own, he redirects his attention to your pussy, thrusting with vehement pleasure into your depths, feeling your wet rapture on his skin, and his pace only increases; like fire on drywood.

The flames of his lust for you, the burning pyre of his love for you, it wasn’t enough in his eyes to see you so shortly each night. It shouldn’t be normal for him, he wanted to take you, to have and hold and love and worship and admire and caress you each day and night, for all his life until both of your ephemeral existences fell by the threads and you both lie in a shared sepulchre next to the sea.

He goes faster, his thumb circling the fleshy nub with affection, a small whimper stirring from your lips.

“Mh…C-crowe?”

Sol ceases, ears alert, eyes widened as he realised whose name you uttered.

Hah. Hahahahah. That motherfucker.

He was gonna go nice and soft on you, gonna be loving to you; but clearly, clearly you needed a little…reminder, of whose thick, fat, juicy cock was inside you.

Removing his sticky fingers, Sol tore apart your thighs, his nails etched so callously in your flesh he barely registered the groan that slipped past your mouth.

Crowe huh? My gorgeous darling, you’re so beautiful but you should know you can’t say such vile things.

He moved his cock with a tenderness towards your gaping entrance, the head brushing against your labia, a waterfall of gasps tumbling out of his mouth as the contact — evasive yet so direct — sent rushes of cold adrenaline down his spine, making him arch himself into you, searching for the closeness he’d wanted for so long.

Cupping your hand in his, he forced himself deep inside you, an onslaught of euphoria surging past any potential despondencies he might’ve had and he slammed his lips onto yours, the slapping of skin and the popping of each entry and exit his cock made out of you left him dazed in the sensual chorus of a symphony built upon ecstasy.

Even in all the times Sol’s touched himself to you, fucked himself into your undergarments or clothes, he’s never thought how immaculately well you fit around him, as if you were the warm, tight nut to his aching, etched bolt.

He was in pain, a beloved pain that came only from first love and lust, his heart screaming as he kissed your lips again and again, squeezing the life out of your hands as he muttered an obsessive, possessive manta:

I love you. I love you. I love you. 

He spent so many years waiting in eager anticipation for you to be his — to feel this sick love that he felt for you — like he was yours, and now, now he had you, claimed you. He wished Crowe was here so he could spit down his stupid throat. The idea felt tempting, maybe Hyugo could help him one more time.

But that’s for later, he’s with you now, and nothing is more invaluable to Solivan Brugmansia than you.

He couldn’t cease his gratifying motions, his suppressed moans, or the blitzes of unfiltered joy that rained down his face as he cried; fell apart both bodily and soulfully. His lips fell to your neck again and he marked you, tainted your priceless flesh with his teeth, contaging you with the plague that long since infested his mind.

His thrusts grew sloppier, his body was boiling as he stuttered out a hushed whimper:

Shit, I love you, I’m cumming, I’m cumming, I love you so much-

And with a sharp bite to your shoulder, a callous bracelet of bruises to your wrists, and blood seeping from your swollen lips, Sol came deep within your heat — oceans of his desire-fueled suspension tumbling about inside you, painting you in white, his dove-white passion. For you.

Only you.

Yet as the waves of his lust left him spent and empty, he rose his sweating body above your form, tears running down his pallid face, and cupped your cheek.

He knew he should clean you up before he loses himself once more, but whilst he remained buried within you — his kingdom, filled with the seas of his undying adoration, he turned to the photo of Jericho Ichabod, yanked it off the wooden surface — and tore it to shreds.

[hottpinkpenguin]

The Best Pupil - Feyd Rautha X Fem!Reader

A/n: this is absolutely nothing but pure, depraved, toe-curling smut. MINORS - keep it moving, this is not the fic for you! 18+ only! this is my first time writing for Feyd, also probably my most explicit oneshot yet - happy to do more if anyone has requests :)

Tags: Dom!Reader/Sub!Feyd, breeding kink, curvy/plus size reader, praise kink, oral sex (f. and m. receiving), anal play, orgasm denial, student/teacher vibes, non-canon stuff, soft!Feyd, angst turn to fluff, smutsmutsmutsmuttysmutsmut, plotless smut Word Count: 4160

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You strode into the na-Baron’s bedchamber, pulling back the hood of your rain-soaked cloak. You couldn’t see him in the lightless room, but you knew he was there.

“Feyd.”

Nothing but silence. No bother. You knew how to draw him out. 

You began to pull at the line of clasps that ran down the front of the cloak, locking it like a vice around your silhouette. One by one, the clasps sprang open. The gown you wore underneath was strapless, and you let the cloak fall off your shoulders to reveal your skin to the light of Giedi Prime’s moon. You could practically smell Feyd’s excitement, even if you couldn’t see him. You knew his eyes were drinking you in from the darkness. You tilted your head back, your eyelids fluttering closed as you undid the final clasp, letting the cloak pool at your feet.

This time, you heard an audible inhale as Feyd slunk towards you out of the shadows. You wore nothing but a sheer gauzy black gown underneath, putting your ample curves on full display for your na-Baron. Your nipples were already hard and chafing against the barely-there material of your dress.

“Come out and play, Feyd,” you simmered. He was on you before his name fell quiet off your tongue. 

“Priestess.” He exhaled as he said your title, the way he lingered on the s’s sending a shiver up your spine. Your hands found his face easily - smooth, soft skin pulled taut over the hard lines of his jaw. You let your fingers dance small circles across his cheeks, lips, and brow. He was panting but perfectly still in front of you. Just like you’d taught him. You smirked as you found his lips, trembling with anticipation, and plunged two your fingers inside his mouth. 

“Suck.” Feyd, ever eager to please you, obeyed. His lips closed in around your digits and you felt his tongue dance over your fingertips. Delicate and restrained. 

“Such a good boy for me.” Feyd whimpered in ecstasy at your praise. You saw his eyes close as he doubled his efforts on your fingers. You moved them around his mouth, reaching back to touch his molars and running them along the inside of his cheeks. He was vibrating, his hands desperate to touch you, to rip the layers of your gown off you and lose himself in your body. But years of training had left him completely under your control. Feyd-Rautha, the brutal heir to the blood-soaked Harkonnen legacy, was putty in your deft hands. 

“Good job, na-Baron,” you cooed as you pulled your fingers out of his mouth. His greedy mouth tried to follow your fingers, desperate for more of you, all of you, any part of you that you would grant him. You thought about smacking him, making him kneel, maybe punishing him for being so needy by retiring to your private quarters and leaving him hopelessly unfulfilled until the next lunar cycle. But your body was keening for release, desperate for him inside you, pounding into you until you couldn’t breathe, couldn't talk, couldn’t think.

“Patience, my love. Patience.” Feyd bit his lip as his eyes poured into you, waiting for your next move, his next command. 

“Watch.”

Only the simmer in his eyes betrayed his frustration at being denied the satisfaction of your skin. He nodded with a lovesick pout as you walked past him, over to his expansive bed. Black silk sheets were strewn like pools of water over the bed. You sank backwards onto the mattress, hiking the delicate fabric of your see-through gown up over your thighs. You leaned back, exposing your pussy to Feyd. His eyes devoured the sight greedily as he bit down hard on his bottom lip, trying to control his desire for you.

“Come here. Kneel.” You pointed at the smooth, marbled floor in front of where your legs were propped up and spread open. You could feel the cool night breeze hitting the moisture already pooled in between your thighs. Feyd obeyed, moving with restrained strength as he came to kneel before you. The muscles in his neck and jaw were locked tight, every fiber of his concentration bent on restraint. 

“Closer, na-Baron. Close enough to smell me.” 

Feyd’s eyes flicked over your face as he obeyed your torturous commands. He sidled closer to your wet slit, so close that you could feel his heavy exhales on your thighs. 

“So obedient,” you purred, letting your fingers - still damp with his spit - begin dancing over your sensitive clit. You gasped at the sensation, your free hand coming to cup one of your breasts. Your cunt shuddered, clamping down on nothing. 

“It’s been a long time since I’ve let you have me,” you commented idly, your eyes locking with Feyd’s. He held your gaze, knowing that’s what you expected of him. He nodded once, a nod of pure agony. “I wonder, na-Baron,” you paused as you slid two fingers inside of you, your breath hitching in your throat at the sensation. Feyd fidgeted where he knelt in front of you. Your knuckles brushed the tip of his nose as you began working in and out of yourself. “Are you ready to please me after all this time away? Or will you give in to baser instincts?” 

You cocked an eyebrow at him, inviting him to reply. The sight of him, kneeling and stockstill between your spread-eagle legs, sent a shockwave of delight sprinkling over your skin. You threw your head back as you gave him permission to reply: “Speak.”

“Your pleasure is always my sole concern, Priestess.” Gods, he really meant it too. You were hardest on Feyd because he was your most gifted student. Endowed with impressive physicality and astounding stamina, you’d taken great care to shape his will to your needs over the years. And he always satisfied you. Always. 

“Then show me, na-Baron. Eat until I can’t tell you not to anymore.”

His eyes glittered with anticipation as he waited for the word that set him free. You pulled your fingers out of your pussy, licking your moisture off of them with a throaty moan, and settled into a propped-up position so you could watch the show. 

“Begin.” 

Your command sent Feyd into a frenzy. He dove into you like a predator, his mouth clamping down on your already twitching cunt with primal ferocity. He growled against you, arms hooking around your thighs and locking you in place. You cried out instantly, back arching off the bed as his tongue found your sensitive bud and he slipped three fingers inside you with force. 

Your first orgasm crashed against you fast and hard. Your thighs shook with pleasure as Feyd lapped and sucked and stroked you with his tongue, moaning at the sight of you coming on his mouth. You collapsed fully back to the mattress, your hands coming to his head and dragging him harder against your mound. He practically roared into you as he curled his fingers upwards inside you, pressing and pounding in and out. Your first orgasm hadn’t fully receded before you felt the coil deep within your core snapping again. Incoherent words and splinters of his name spilled from your lips as you screamed out loudly. The sound drove Feyd-Rautha mad. You knew others could hear you, and it didn’t matter. You were his Priestess, and he was your na-Baron. Let them listen.

Your entire body was shaking from the force of your pleasure when Feyd pulled back from your mound, wrenching your hips sideways to flip you 180 degrees over onto your stomach. You slammed down on the luxuriously soft sheets with a grunt of surprise. Feyd’s mouth was back on you in an instant, greedily digging at your cunt from a new angle. His fingers pulled back from your slick slit, moving upwards to your other entry and pressing inwards. 

The initial gasp of surprise turned into a chuckle, and Feyd that further coaxed into a gurgled moan of pleasure as he stretched your ass. His fingers were sopping from your orgasms and his spittle. They slid in and out of you easily. He knew your body better than his lungs knew air, and he showcased his skill with relish. Another wave of pleasure crested inside you, turning your muscles to jelly as you buried your face in the sheets, crying out his name in ecstasy. Liquid gushed from between your legs and onto his face. He groaned at the taste, lapping up every last drop as he shook his face against you, elongating the pulsing of your climax. You tried to scoot away from him, out of his grip, but you’d trained him too thoroughly to let you escape now. Your body felt like it was on fire, your oversensitive clit pounding in time with the flicks of his tongue. 

“Stop, Feyd, stop.” He only chuckled and kept going, remembering your command: eat until I can’t tell you not to anymore. 

Your fourth orgasm wiped your mind clear of any coherent thought. You were too weak, too undone to even protest. You simply closed your eyes and let Feyd guide you through. He sensed the change, his attention becoming less feral and gentler. He danced his mouth over your clit in a delicately decrescendoing pattern, letting you settle back into your body softly. When you finally reared up, hair mussed and your gown completely twisted around your midsection, he pulled off of you. He’d done well, followed your commands exactly. You clumsily flipped yourself back over, spots dancing in your vision. He was stripping off his black fighting leathers at the foot of the bed, his smooth, muscled skin shining in the dim moonlight of his chamber. 

“Priestess. I trust you’re not disappointed with my performance?” A lesser man would have smirked with smugness at that question. Evidence of your satisfaction was literally dripping off his chin. But not Feyd-Rautha. His voice was devastatingly sincere, his eyes drinking you in, waiting, begging, for your praise. 

You smiled at him, running your tongue over your lips as his erect cock sprang free of his trousers. 

“Your Priestess is never disappointed when you’re so obedient for me,” you replied. You saw Feyd shiver. He moved involuntarily to fist himself, but stilled, remembering that you had yet to allow him. 

“What would my Priestess have with me next?” he asked quietly. A dark quality to his voice, a deepening wont. The game was heating up. This was the part Feyd loved: putting aside his imminent pleasure for you. He’d done it a thousand times for you. Fuck you right up until he was shuddering with the first waves of his own finish, and then pull back from the edge at the very last moment. You’d hold him in limbo for hours, sometimes days, before you’d let him release. 

But tonight wouldn’t be like that. Tonight was different. Tonight you had news. 

“Before that, na-Baron. We have business to discuss.” You motioned for him to join you on the bed next to you. His eyes widened in anticipation, wondering what you had in store for him. He did as you bade and sank onto the silken sheets next to you. His cock bounced beguilingly as he sat, and you smirked, leaning over and taking his length in your mouth in one smooth motion. He moaned, his head throwing back, as a hand twined itself in your hair. No pressure, no guidance or demand in the touch. Just a need to feel you, to hold you. You allowed it.

You slid your mouth up and down his shaft a few times, the salty tang of his precum staining the back of your tongue. With your lips sealed shut around his member, you let your tongue trace patterns up and down the shaft and across the head as you pumped up and down. You knew just how Feyd liked it, and you felt his dick twitch appreciatively at the attention.

“What is this business, Priestess?” His voice was breathy with lust. You pulled back, letting his girth spring out of your lips with a little pop. He gasped softly and let you push his torso backwards onto the mattress. 

“I received a message from the Emperor’s Rite, the head of my order.” You guided Feyd’s feet upwards off the cool stone floor until he was lying prone on his back with his knees bent upwards against his chest. You moved yourself below him, kneeling off the edge of the bed, his backside and balls exposed to you. 

“The Rite, as you remember, makes decisions about mixing bloodlines.” You were dragging this out, and you could sense Feyd’s confusion. Determined not to let him think too far ahead, you let a dollop of spit drip out of your mouth onto his thick cock, and using one of your hands coated his length with it. 

“I remember,” he replied hoarsely. 

You licked a stripe from the base of his cock down over his balls and below, to the soft spot above his ass. He gasped - eyes rolling back in his head in ecstasy - as you applied pressure there with a finger, your other hand pumping up and down on his shaft.

“The Rite has bidden me to conceive a child,” you continued. The words fell heavy on Feyd’s ears, and you felt his breath still in his chest. Feyd-Rautha hadn’t taken another woman to his bed in over six years, nor you another man. The na-Baron was dangerously jealous, and even if you were to command it of him, you knew it was beyond his ability to restrain himself from killing any man who had you in the ways he did. 

You continued your ministrations to his cock, applying pulsing pressure to the soft skin behind his balls in time with your strokes. Despite his obvious distraction at your words, his body responded with delightful predictability. His breath was growing huskier, his focus drifting.

“Conceive with who, Priestess?” he managed to choke out. Even through the fog of sex, you heard the low tone of threat in his words. You smiled, glad he couldn’t see you spoil the moment in the darkness. 

“With the na-Baron Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen.” 

Feyd’s head snapped up just as you attached your mouth to one of his balls and sucked, drawing forth a moaning cry of pleasure from him. You felt Feyd’s core muscles grind down on themselves as he shook with the force of an orgasm. Years of your careful training had shown him how to crest in pleasure without spilling his seed, something that had always been of paramount importance for the two of you. Preventing a pregnancy was your chief concern as the na-Baron’s Priestess. Until now, that was.

You continued the carefully orchestrated dance between your two hands and your mouth to coax him through his climax, his legs quaking around you as you tested the limits of his release. You loved him like this - totally vulnerable, totally trusting of you. No one else in the galaxy knew this Feyd-Rautha. No one else had this power to break him down and put him back together. And now, with what you’d just told him, no one else ever would. 

When he was coherent enough to speak, he sat upright, grabbing your chin between his forefinger and his thumb. His gaze was probing as he captured your eyes with his.

“Don’t jest, Priestess. Please.” His speech was sloppy with a mix of apprehension and longing.

You chuckled, grabbing the hand that captured your chin and pressing a kiss to his trembling knuckles. 

“Am I to assume you’re not up to the task of fathering my child, na-Baron?” You gave him a wicked smirk, your eyes glimmering in the moonlight. Much to your surprise, tears of sincerity pooled at your lash line. One slipped out, sliding down your cheek until Feyd - uncharacteristically gentle - swiped it away. His hands came to frame both sides of your face as he stared into you. Feyd had never seen such a vision, never dreamt of this moment. His consorts with you had been sanctioned by the Emperor’s Rite, of course, but it was typical for nobles in the Great Houses to take sexual instruction from the Priestesses. He’d always known that you’d be tasked with conceiving a child for the furtherance of a chosen bloodline. He hadn’t let himself dare to hope that it would be his bloodline. 

For the first time since his training with you had begun over six years ago, Feyd-Rautha leaned forward and captured your lips with his. Kissing was strictly forbidden between Priestesses and their consort-pupils. It was considered too intimate, too familiar. He’d seen your lips wrapped around his cock a thousand times, but he’d never tasted them with his own mouth. He was encouraged that you didn’t pull back or toy with him. Instead, your lips met his with a matched neediness. The two of you found your rhythm easily, your tongue darting over his lips coyly. He smiled against you, his hands cupping the back of your head and pulling you deeper into him. He could taste the faintest trace of himself on your tongue, and it drove him wilder. Only until he felt close enough to swallow your heartbeats did he pull back ever so slightly, holding you still a hair’s width away from him. You looked up at him through thick lashes, your breath warm on his skin. 

“When have I ever disappointed you, my Priestess.” This time, it was his turn to smirk. He leaned in for another kiss, deep and passionate. You murmured against him the only word he needed - “Begin” - and he felt his restraint tear loose from six years of carefully constructed ritual. 

He leaned back, pulling you on top of him until your bodies were melded together in a long line. He loved the way you felt on top of him - soft and full and womanly. Warm and soft and totally fucking his. The gauzy fabric of your gown left too much skin inaccessible to his touch, so he ripped the material with ease, sliding the torn fabric out from between you and casting it aside. You kept your mouth locked on his, his mind fracturing under the weight of so many distracting sensations. He felt you reach down for his cock, steadying it between you as you shifted your hips and placed him at your entrance. 

He exhaled throatily to feel how wet you were - how ready. Normally, he would have taken his cue from you, but the news you’d just delivered had changed something. Feyd-Rautha was no longer simply your pupil. Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen was to be the father of your child, he was to be your breeder. 

His hands found your hips, holding you still as he thrust upwards into your folds, sheathing himself inside you with a merciless ferocity. A gasp of shivering pleasure fell off your tongue. Feyd repeated the same motion - withdrawing from your cunt completely before thrusting back up into you with a strong, hard stroke. Your tits bounced eagerly as you held yourself up above him, the entirety of your body on display for him. Feyd’s gaze raked over your curves, imagining how your breasts would get heavy and your belly swell with child. His child. The thought drove him mad. 

With a roar of desire, he flipped you over on your back, throwing your legs up to your shoulders until he had you bent completely in half. He pounded into you over and over again, coaxing another fast, brutal orgasm out of your fluttering cunt. He felt your walls convulsing around him, watched your face as you gasped out his name. Your hands grabbed at him, dragging nails down his back and pulling at his ass. As if you wanted to pull him into the very center of you, beneath your skin. If such a thing were possible, I would do it, he thought with blazing possessiveness. He leaned forward, muffling his name on your lips. You were too gone, too blissed out, to kiss him back with any dexterity whatsoever, but he didn’t mind. He wanted you broken in half with the force of him, absolutely shattered in a million little pieces of fucked out pleasure. And then, only when you were completely undone beneath him, would he loose himself inside you. He’d never spilled his cum inside your cunt. He’d painted your tits, your backside, your face, your hair with it. He’d emptied himself inside your ass before, but never inside your perfect, pounded out pussy. Goosebumps pricked across his back at the thought.

“Going to fucking come inside you, Priestess,” he moaned, feeling his release approaching. Seeing you bouncing wildly beneath him, tears pricking at the corner of your eyes, was sending him hurtling towards unraveling. “Going to breed you with my child. Breed you until you can’t breath. My beautiful Priestess, my only Priestess. So fucking good to me. Say I can, Priestess. Let me come inside.” 

He didn’t know whether he was speaking out loud anymore, but you understood him. “Breed me, Feyd,” you gasped, eyes locking with his. Feyd let his mind splinter into a white fog as his forehead connected with yours. He felt your breath fanning across his face as you whined his name, felt your body slick with sweat bouncing underneath him as his movements became sloppy, felt your pussy squeezing around him as pumped himself into you. He felt like the very core of his body had become unlaced, deliciously undone. He managed to hold his weight off of you until he was utterly spent, and then collapsed on you. You didn’t seem to mind, your hips splayed open underneath him where the two of you were still connected. He could feel wetness seeping out of you - his wetness, he realized - but even that didn’t rouse him. He listened to the sound of your heartbeat matching his, let the feeling of your breath on his ear lull him in and out of the fog like a dream. Moments passed by slowly. Inch by inch, Feyd felt blood flood back into his hands, his legs, his arms. 

He pressed himself upwards enough to look down at you. Your eyes were shut, a dreamy smile on your full lips. Your hair was splayed around you like a halo - no, a goddamn crown, he realized. 

“Marry me.” 

You chuckled at his words, one of your hands coming to the skin of his back, lazily dragging back and forth across his skin. 

“Marry me, Priestess.” More insistent this time. His intention was clearer, his future beginning to lock into place in his mind. Nothing made more sense than to bind you to him.

You turned to look at him, your brows furrowed. Your lips were puffy, your skin glistening with the results of your mutual exertions.

“Marriage?” Feyd wasn’t surprised you were skeptical. Priestesses - even when they were bred - were rarely proposed to. Their purpose to the Great Houses began with tutelage and ended with child-bearing. Marrying a Priestess didn’t convey any political advantage or advance the interests of the Harkonnen household. But Feyd-Rautha would burn Giedi Prime and the entire galaxy for you. He’d always known that, but never before allowed himself to acknowledge it. 

He slid sideways off of you, propping his head up on one elbow. His eyes traced down the lines of your body as mirrored his position. He couldn’t help but thread a hand between your thighs, feeling the warmth of his cum mixed with your juices there. You were oversensitive and moaned in protest at the intrusion, but he shushed you gently. 

“Marry me, Priestess. I’ll give you the galaxy. I’ll pluck every star from the sky for you.”

You considered his words carefully, your expression serious as you held his gaze. He felt one of your hands land on his cheek, your thumb running across his lips. 

“I don’t need the galaxy, na-Baron,” you replied after a few quiet moments. “But I will marry you.” 

Feyd captured your lips in his, a soft and gentle kiss. He’d never known this type of feeling before. A soft, fluttering lightness in his chest. Joy, he thought. This is joy. 

You pulled back from him gently, merriment dancing in your large eyes. “Although, na-Baron, since you’re offering… I will take a warm cloth.” 

For one of the first times in his life, Feyd-Rautha - heir to Harkonnen house and all its bloodied riches, one of the most skilled assassins in the galaxy - laughed. 

“Anything for you, my Priestess,” he murmured, rising from the sheets. He strode over to the washroom attached to his bedchamber, glancing back at you, draped like a goddess over his bed. This, I can get used to, he thought with joy as he set off to fetch that cloth for you. 

[izvmimi]

cw: reader has a curse that confers disabilities. hurt/comfort. nanami and reader are roommates and friends from high school. pregnancy mention.

your alarm goes off as it does every day, 9 am sharp, and before your eyes creak open, you prepare for the consequences of your actions the night before sucking in a deep breath. the thick sensation in your throat is familiar - the cloud that shrouds your lips is as familiar to you as a sudden, annoying pimple on the morning of a date.

but when you open your eyes and are greeted by nothing but pure darkness, the realization that for once you bit off much more than you could chew sets in, guiding you into a silent scream -

because this time, not just your speech, but your sight is also gone.

your heart thumps frantically in your chest but the rest of you is frozen stiff as you try to comprehend this new reality. the lightless expanse before you is more like an unmoving static when you force yourself to concentrate, and you can still move your eyeballs, you can blink, if you pinched yourself, and you are pretty sure you could cry if you tried, but waving your hand in front of your face gives you nothing. you sit straight up, and exercise the remainder of your muscles, trying to determine the extent of what mirai-shourai took from you this time. you can still move. you can still hear the rustling of your over-starched bedsheets as they rub together and the sound of your work computer humming; you can still feel the edge of your mattress with your fingertips, the soles of your feet planted on the ground as you try to make your way off your bed.

you can still feel your orientation in space.

you try to get up to standing, and you trip over your own two feet. you need to smell something, taste something, make sure that you haven't been deprived of anything else, but you crash to the ground instead, and you find that you can feel that, blooming pain in your face and jaw as you hit the ground instead of breaking your fall, your hand slipping on fuzzy slippers. you can taste blood trickle from your split lip; the thud is loud but you can't call for help.

it's just past 9 am and nanami is probably long gone.

your heart is racing again, panic impending. how long will it be? where is mirai-shourai? it whispers the severity of its punishments usually within just moments of you waking up but you haven't heard any sign of it or the familiar pressure of the spirit (demon really) on your shoulder. will this be forever, you wonder?

the durations of your sanctions have been getting longer recently... but this, being blinded, is new.

it's terrifying to you.

how long can you sit here? you wonder. stumbling around your home until nanami returns from work. what if he decides not to bother you tonight? what if he's preparing for a mission and won't return home? what if your phone rings and you can't find it?

your head spins as you crawl on the floor of your bedroom, your face still stinging and throbbing, until you find the wheels of your desk chair and carefully pull yourself up. you need to sit, and mercifully you make your way onto a chair without further falls, managing to steady yourself, palms pressed to your desk.

the cloud swells in your throat as your anxiety mounts and it gets harder and harder to breathe.

was it worth it?

you think of your friend's smile as you presented her with a sketch of her yet to be born child. electric blue eyes like her father, round cheeks like her sweet mother, deep dimples you could practically stick a finger in - the picture of health and joy.

it was worth it. it was worth it, you tell yourself again. your fingers tent on the desk surface. this too shall pass, this too shall pass, you chant to yourself, and yet the crushing fear is starting to set in.

what if your eyesight never comes back? what if the inability to speak is permanent?

what if, what if, what if-

"___?"

nanami is still here.

you turn, but again you can't see, and you're unsure where your gaze is directed. eyes probably unfocused as you move your head in the source of the sound, you can hear his footsteps approach, soft thumps on hardwood floor. if you call out his name he won't hear you; you have to wait until he reaches you, instead.

the door creaks open, and you can hear him stand still in the entryway. you can practically feel him hold his breath as he takes you in - you must look awful.

he doesn't ask you if you're okay, just moves, and soon, you can feel the roughness of his palms on your face, even if his touch is gentle. you can imagine his perpetually serious look, concern softening the angles of his face.

what if you never see him again either?

"what happened?" he asks.

you sign, i can't see. you can tell your hands shake as you communicate, but try to hold it together. what do my eyes look like kento?

you hear him breathe through his nose, but he's let go of your face by now, and you realize you miss the grounding sensation of another set of hands.

"they look wrong but they're there," he says. his voice is quiet, tense. "how long?"

i don't know.

you can hear his frustration. you wait for him to scold you but he doesn't.

do you have work today? you ask, hopeful.

"when i make a couple of phone calls, i won't."

you swallow, shame starting to consume you before you even ask for his help.

i don't want to inconvenience you.

"you already know i hate that job. you're giving me a reason."

this somehow makes you laugh, and although you make no audible sound, you hope he can tell that you're laughing, but then tears just as quickly stream down your face.

you rub them away and his hands return to cupping your face, thumbs lightly pressed on the space just below your eyes. you imagine he's trying to look at your face, study the curse like he's always tried to, to figure out the answer to your sudden blindness.

i'm sorry, i'm so needy.

"don't be sorry yet, i haven't promised to do anything for you," he hums.

it's true. he hasn't made any promises to you yet. with that statement, you can feel his presence shift.

"what do you want for breakfast?" he asks.

you shake your head, even though your stomach will probably start growling just a few moments from now.

"don't be difficult," he replies. "i'm hungry, make a decision so i don't have to make more than one trip."

yogurt. vanilla, you decide.

he pauses.

"how confident are you that you won't make a mess?" he jokes.

you pout, and you actually hear him chuckle.

"i'll be right back."

---

hours pass. nanami has helped you make your way onto your bed. mirai-shourai has been merciful, and you'll be able to see by the time the sun sets, to speak by tomorrow morning. soft music plays, and you're thinking about the things of the glimpses of the future that you know, and those that you don't know.

your friend's baby will be happy and healthy. you don't know when you doze off until you wake up, and the fact that you still can't sleep is still jarring, but you remember just as quickly that it will be temporary. you are thankful.

hopefully one day you'll be free of this curse, but at least you can dispel the worries of your loved ones in exchange for this inconvenience. for that, you are so, so thankful.

Ken? Are you still here?

he probably is long gone you think, and you are signing to no one, but you can hear him again from your left side, the turn of a book page reminding you of his presence.

"Yes."

something swells in your chest.

thank you for putting up with me.

you can hear him exhale from his nose sharply.

"Where else would I go? it's not like i can't afford to live anywhere else."

you smile, turning to your side and reach out a hand aimlessly. you expect him to ignore it, but you can hear the roll of the wheels of your desk chair, and your hand finds a place to rest on his shoulder, lingering for a moment. your head moves to replace it, and he guides you there in kindness.

you don't have to ask him not to leave.

[feeblescholarmyass]

"To Whoever Is Dicking Around on a Motorcycle in the Middle of the Night..."

in which your neighbor, Chuuya Nakahara, stays up too late messing with his motorcycle and it keeps you awake

tags: pre-relationship, pining stage, excessive use of the word "motorcycle", reader does not like riding a motorcycle, ooc? Chuuya (I tried my best babes but I am soo early in the series), this was beta read (rare) so it shouldn't have too many mistakes (ty @ratty-rat-toot 💞), vague hints that reader works in a bakery, I lost motivation at the end so the sections got shorter

a/n: this will not be part of a series, but expect more Chuuya fics in the future!!!

You tossed to your side for the fifth time in the last ten minutes. You'd been attempting to fall asleep for hours. No matter what you did, it just wouldn't happen. You took your medication, made sure to soothe yourself and prepare for bed. Yet, you just couldn't seem to get any rest at all. The grueling summer heat combined with your normal insomnia was not doing you any favors.

You peeled your eyelids open and groped around in the dark to find your phone and check the time. At first, your fingers found nothing but your own bedsheets. Only after a more thorough and frustrated search did you find what you were looking for. You winced as the screen flashed a blinding light when you turned it on, and it took your eyes a few seconds to adjust to the invasive light before you could read the time. It was only a few minutes from midnight, meaning you had about six hours left to attempt to go to sleep.

You groaned into your pillow, wishing for summer to be over already. Once the days were shorter and the temperatures lower, you had much higher hopes for finally finding some sort of sleep schedule besides an attempt. Unfortunately, the days were only going to get hotter from there on out.

You rolled back onto your side, wrapping your arms around a blanket and struggled to find a comfortable position that wouldn't cook you in your sleep.

Just as your eyes fluttered shut and the weight of your cat against your legs began to lull you into sleep, the loud sound of an engine revving startled you back awake. You were no engine expert, but it sounded like a motorcycle.

(More UTC)

Is someone really taking their motorcycle out for a ride at this hour? That's ridiculous. Just go away, already! I'm trying to sleep, god dammit! You thought, stuffing your head under a pillow.

However, the noises from your neighbor's garage did not get any quieter. The longer this persisted, the more irritable you grew.

"Oh, for fuck's sake," you cried, throwing off your light blanket (much to your cat's protest) and shoved on the first jacket you could find to cover yourself a little. It was too hot for proper pajamas, so you had been in bed wearing the tiniest pajama shorts in your possession and some decently comfortable undergarments.

You marched to your front door, pulled it open, and followed the sound to the mystery individual who thought it was a good idea to play mechanic in the middle of the night. It was dark, but the moon was almost full, so you had plenty of light to find your way around the street. It helped that your eyes were used to the dark from hours of staring up at your ceiling in the lightless expanse of your bedroom.

Just down the street, two houses east and across from yours, you found the culprit, kneeling on the concrete of his open garage, tuning up his expensive looking bike. The motorcycle itself was hot pink, and from the looks of it, a decent model. As much as you appreciated good taste, it didn't excuse the noise at such a late hour.

"Hey, idiot!" You shouted. Was the name calling a little unnecessarily rude? Yes, but it was also unnecessary for him to be so loud at practically midnight, so you didn't feel any remorse.

The perpetrator looked up at you from the task at hand, red hair tied up loosely against his neck, and grayish blue eyes reflecting the moonlight. It would have been pretty, if you weren't so pissed off. Actually, even through your vision that was blurred from exhaustion and blind, sleepy rage, he was incredibly attractive. It was unfortunate that you had to meet like this.

"It's the middle of the night! Don't you think you should keep it down?! Some of us are trying to sleep!" You readjusted your jacket, realizing you must look a little crazy standing in a stranger's yard in only your undergarments, some very tiny shorts, and a very thin jacket. In your defense, you hadn't been expecting to make any late night visits to crazy neighbor boys to make complaints.

He frowned for a moment before his expression relaxed. "Sorry," he called back. He got up from the ground and dusted off his knees. You took notice of his grease covered forearms. He had been messing with the bike. You hoped he knew what he was doing and wasn't just an amateur trying a hand at such expensive upkeep.

"You'd better be," you muttered under your breath. You turned on your heel with a huff and stomped back to your house, all the while attempting not to flash the frustratingly pretty boy who was watching you leave with a dumbfounded grin on his face.

Embarrassing lack of clothes aside, it had felt good to yell at someone. Maybe now you'd be able to sleep with some peace of mind, knowing the sanctity of the night was once again just as quiet as it should be.

After that, there were no more motorcycle engine noises keeping you up in the night. Once again, only your poor habits and unfortunate circumstances prevented you from getting a full night's rest.

It seemed that motorcycle boy had taken your complaint into consideration and decided not to do any more impromptu repairs at all hours of the night.

Sadly, that didn't mean you slept any better. You were an absolute wreck today. One night of poor sleep had turned into a week of hardly getting any rest at all. Currently, you were waddling around like a zombie, hardly able to think as your body performed on autopilot to get all the necessary tasks done. You couldn't even remember what you'd eaten for breakfast that morning, or if you'd even had breakfast at all.

Last night had resulted in a total four hours of fitful sleep, accompanied by the strangest dreams you couldn't even remember. Something about weretigers and detectives, but it was all so intelligible that you didn't bother attempting to unwind the mystery of whatever your subconscious had cooked up for you this time.

You had made your coffee with an extra shot of espresso and hoped for the best. You took another sip, realized it was too sweet for your tastes, but didn't care enough to do anything about it. It may have been the first cohesive thought you'd had all day.

You gave your cat a scratch between its ears and slipped on a pair of shoes so you could go out and check on the garden your father had reminded (read: demanded) you to take care of, since he couldn't keep an eye on what ingredients you were using in meals anymore. As much as you struggled to remember to care for the plants properly, you found you didn't hate the responsibility. It made you feel productive whenever you were able to harvest the results of all your troubles. The fresh taste was an added bonus.

As you watered the flowers that served as ground coverage used to shield your precious darling fruit bushes and vegetable garden from nasty herbivore vermin, you heard the sound of an engine starting up from down the street.

Ah, motorcycle boy is up, you thought. A strange thrill coursed through your veins as you remembered how he had looked in the moonlight. Bad Y/n, now is not the time to get giddy over some stupid neighbor boy. You've got to get to work soon and can't afford time to daydream.

Despite the stern talking-to you were giving yourself, you couldn't help but want to catch another glance of such a beautiful man. You turned and shielded your eyes from the rising sun, glancing at your neighbor. The view did not disappoint.

He straddled the bike as he put on his helmet. His hair was long enough you could still see it peeking out from underneath and curling around his shoulders. Red shone gold in the early morning sunshine, creating a glow around him that made you forget what you were doing just to watch him prepare to drive away.

You set down the watering can with as much care as you could manage (which is to say, very little) and pushed your hair out of your eyes to get a better view. You caught him glancing at you before he started the bike. The look he gave you sent shivers down your spine. Only once he had disappeared from your view were you able to return to fretting over the poor leaves of your radishes. It seemed some bunnies had decided those were the yummiest, and trampled your flowers just to get to them.

Oh, well. You would just have to take more care to try and prevent them from making it that far next time. Luckily, your newest plot to save your garden involved a more forceful method of keeping herbivores out of your plants.

The next time you ran into Motorcycle Boy, you were picking up some seeds to begin your new garden protection strategy. It had been a month or two without any interactions, much to your pleasure. It was a hassle to try to wrangle the butterflies he sent tumbling in your stomach back in their cage.

This time, he seemed to be fussing over the location of some wine. He was small, not much taller than a young teenage boy. For someone with such an unfriendly scowl, he didn't seem all that intimidating at the moment. You held back giggles as you watched him strain to grab the bottle he wanted, hopping up and down and cursing under his breath in frustration.

You decided not to say anything and passed him wordlessly, sticking to the opposite side of the aisle and hoping he wouldn't notice you, or at the very least he would leave you alone. You didn't have the time to play the small talk game at the moment; you had a friend on their way to visit you, and you were keen on being home before they arrived.

"Hey, you!" He called. You winced at the sound of his voice and bit back a sigh. He had noticed you and not chosen to ignore you. It seemed luck was not on your side today. "C'mere," he called.

You turned towards him and put on your best customer service smile. "Do you need something?" You asked him.

"You're the girl who showed up in my yard wearing practically nothing, yeah?" He lifted his head so he could look down at you. You felt your face go hot. Did he really have to bring that up in public? You mentally whined. "Grab this bottle for me and I'll forget about the whole thing."

All embarrassment you had felt previously turned into anger as his words registered in your brain. "Huh?!? Why should I? You really should learn to get better at asking people for help, if that's what you're trying to do here."

His eyes widened as he seemed to realize his mistake. "Hold on," he called, putting his hands up in defense. "I didn't mean it like that. 'Just thought it must have been pretty embarrassing, you know? Let me try again. Would you help me over here?"

You took a second to cool down, then took a deep breath. "Fine, since you asked so nicely," you huffed.

You reached up with a little bit of a struggle and got down the bottle he had been trying to grab, then glanced over the label. He's got good taste in alcohol, too. This is getting ridiculous.

"There, now don't mention that ever again. Please," you muttered, handing the bottle to him.

"Gotcha," he replied without another glance in your direction,, looking only at the wine bottle in his hand. He turned it over and read the labels, then tucked it under his arm and headed for the register.

"Wait!" You called, immediately cursing yourself for acting before thinking. What am I doing? I was almost free to go back to ignoring him!

He turned, raising an eyebrow at you. "Huh? D'ya need something?" He asked.

"Your name," you said before you could lose your nerve. "I've been thinking of you as Motorcycle Boy and thought I should probably learn it."

He threw back his head and laughed. Your face flushed hot again and you hoped you hadn't made a fool of yourself, especially in front of the cute boy you had been thinking about constantly for a month straight.

When his fit of laughter subsided, he grinned at you and gave you what you'd asked for. "I'm Chuuya Nakahara. And you? What name should I attach to 'Crazy Motorcycle-Hating Neighbor?"

"I do not- ugh. Y/n L/n, and I am not crazy. If anyone is crazy here, it's you. Seriously, who thinks it's time to play with a motorcycle at midnight?" You folded your arms over your chest and frowned at him. He only grinned at you again.

"See ya around, L/n. Hopefully fully dressed next time," he teased. With that said, you parted ways, each playing with the feel of the newly acquired name in your mouth.

"Y/n L/n, eh?" He muttered, twirling the stem of a lily of the valley from your garden. It was a pretty little flower; it was a shame that it was dreadfully poisonous.

He leaned back until his head hit his pillow. He wondered if you were up or if that had been a one-time incident. He hadn't touched the bike in his garage past ten p.m. since you'd marched so boldly over to his house and chided him for the noise. He briefly thought about getting it out just to see if you would come back.

You'd been running through his mind non-stop for months now. The sight of your bare legs and glimpses of the rest of you from under that jacket had him worried that damned Dazai had rubbed off on him. He couldn't help sneaking looks at you every morning as you tended to your garden before he left for work. It felt dirty every time he looked at you, because every time he would get a vivid image of you giving him a death glare while half naked.

He was no womanizer, unlike that ass. However, he had to admit that he wouldn't mind seeing you in a state of undress again.

He sat up with a start at that thought. What am I thinking? Gross, I am not getting hot and bothered over my neighbor's legs. It's just legs. Pretty, deliciously bare legs. SHUT UP.

He shook his head, trying to get rid of the increasingly unwelcome thoughts of your legs and how your skin would feel on his fingertips, or how cute you looked when you were pouting.

"Shit," he muttered under his breath. This was not good.

"Turns out he'd been having an affair the whole time. I felt so bad for her! I can't say I didn't expect it, though," your coworker said, waving a hand at you. "I mean, he just seemed like the type, y'know?"

Listening to Raina talk about other people's relationships had gotten boring after the first hour, but today had been a slow and boring day, and she didn't expect you to add very much to the conversation.

"Speaking of types, what's yours?" She popped a sucker into her mouth. She'd quit smoking about three years ago, and she'd started taking them everywhere so her mouth could be occupied whenever she felt the urge. Since then it had become a habit to have a sucker in her mouth at all times.

"I dunno, I don't think about it very often." It was a lie, but you didn't want to get into that just minutes before the day was over and you could finally go home. "I haven't really cared much about boys since I was a kid. It's not that big of a deal."

Even as you said it, you realized that wasn't true. Thoughts of a redhead on a hot pink motorcycle crossed your mind too often for it to be not a big deal. He'd even started showing up in your dreams because of how often you thought of him.

"Liar!" She slammed her hands down on the counter, grinning at you. You jumped at the sudden movement, suddenly feeling too warm for your liking. "You're all flustered and nervous! Who's the boy? Spit it out," she ordered.

"Wh-what?! There is no boy, I don't know what you're talking about!" You felt your blood rushing to your face and put your hands up in defense, but it was too late. Raina has you backed into a corner, and judging from the mischievous smirk on her face, you wouldn't be leaving until she drained every last drop of information from you like a gossip leech.

"Oh, come on! It's written all over your face. Tell me about him! Is he cute?" She clapped, way too excited for a conversation that would make you stay even later for work than necessary.

You looked around desperately for an escape. The ring of the front door's bell gave you that out, even if it didn't help you leave any quicker. Not having to tell Raina about Chuuya was all you needed.

You turned with the biggest smile you could manage on your face to greet the customer. However, the second you saw him, your smile fell. Speak of the devil and he shall appear, you mentally sighed. Even just thinking about him seems to make him appear. And now he knows where I work. Fantastic.

Chuuya stopped in the doorway, taking in the strange situation he had walked in on. His eyes caught on how Raina's arms had caged you in and how obviously out of sorts you looked. "Am I… interrupting something?"

Raina jumped off of you and cleared her throat, returning her sucker to its place on her tongue. "Not at all! What can we help you with?"

Her professionalism once a customer stepped in scared you just a little bit. You followed her lead and dusted off your knees, looking away. The last thing you needed was for him to start teasing you as well.

"I was actually here to pick up an order. I know it's late, but-"

"I'll get it for you! Nakahara. I thought the name was familiar," you commented. Actually, you'd been wondering if the order was his all day long. You hadn't placed him as a red velvet guy, but here he was.

While looking through (hiding in) the back, you tried to think of an escape plan. Anything to stop Raina from teasing you for the next few months. She was already insufferable about boys, and if she knew that you had a stupid crush on that stupid redhead with his stupid motorcycle, she would never let you live it down.

"So are you going to tell me what about you made Y/n hightail it out of here, or do I have to make a guess myself?" Raina leaned forward against the front desk, pointing her sucker accusingly at Chuuya.

"Hey, I didn't do anything!" Chuuya raised his hands in mock self-defense, trying not to grin. He'd seen how flustered you'd gotten the second you recognized him. He hoped it was more than just embarrassment of seeing someone you know outside of work walk into your workplace.

"Mhm, sure. How do you know them? Boyfriend? Relative..?" She watched him carefully for his reaction. She was nothing if not good at pulling gossip out of thin air, and your love life was her current muse.

"Neither," he chuckled. "I'm their neighbor. They got pissed as hell at me for being too noisy in the middle of the night and mouthed me off in my own yard. Ever since we seem to be running into each other everywhere."

Raina hummed, sizing him up. After a moment of thinking, she decides you two are obviously in love and she will be involved no matter what the costs. "You know, our shift is about done for the day. Autumn has been coming in quickly and it's been pretty cold lately. Y/n was complaining about walking home in the cold just yesterday. It's a decently long walk to their house from here. Like a whole 40 minutes, right?"

She watched as the gears started moving in his brain. Thank gods, he's not dense. This guy knows what I'm getting at.

He seemed to come to a conclusion just as you reappeared from the back, looking suspiciously more put together than you did just seconds ago. Raina almost wanted to laugh at how obvious you were.

"Your shift is almost over, right? It's pretty cold. I could take you home if you want," he suggested as he took the box from you.

"You would?" You asked, seeming almost stunned by the offer. You blinked at him a couple times before muttering, "I guess that would be nice."

"It's not like it's out of the way of anything." He waved a hand at you as he spoke. "I'll be waiting for you outside."

You nodded and hurried to gather your things into your bag. You carefully avoided answering any of Raina's enthusiastic questions before escaping the building and arriving in the small parking lot.

Your favorite part about the location was how much attention was put into the surrounding scenery. Shrubbery and other assorted vegetation provided scents and colors you didn't get in busier parts of the city. Even walking home, there was very little open area that made you feel like you could be seen from miles away. It was comforting to feel so grounded by your surroundings.

There, in the tiny parking lot that was usually empty, stood your neighbor, who was busy strapping his newly acquired box to the back of his motorcycle.

"You ever been on a bike before?" He didn't spare you a glance as he asked.

"No," you said. "Should I be worried?"

He grinned and didn't respond. He handed you a spare helmet and motioned for you to join him on the motorcycle.

You hesitated for a moment, thinking through all the decisions you had ever made, and after ultimately deciding that this was not the stupidest one, took the helmet from his outstretched hand.

The fact that you would get to hold him had no sway on your decision at all. You swore.

The second you heard the engine start up and felt your weight shift as the bike prepared to move, butterflies erupted in your stomach. The kind that you get before you fall down the stairs or trip on the sidewalk. The, 'oh fuck this is bad' kind of butterflies. But it was too late to get off.

Chuuya tried not to notice how nice it felt when you squeezed him tighter. He could feel your heart racing from where your chest pressed against his back.

He laughed, he couldn't help it. He heard you grumble something from behind him, but couldn't really make out what you were saying. It didn't matter; he had a pretty good idea of what the message was. He bit his tongue to keep from laughing harder as he merged onto the highway.

"Stupid Chuuya, stupid motorcycle," you muttered against his back. Feeling how fast you were moving was not helping the dizziness you had developed. You closed your eyes and held on tighter to the man in front of you, trying to focus on something else, like the texture of his jacket or how nice his hair smelled. You didn't care if it was stupid crush behavior, you needed anything to distract you.

Your heart was beating so fast that you could beat a hummingbird for the world record of beats per minute. Every little movement of the vehicle beneath you brought a fresh wave of panic. You couldn't understand why people would do this for fun.

Eventually you grew used to the constant panic and closed your eyes, blindly trusting Chuuya to get you home without killing the both of you.

When you finally felt the motorcycle stop, you fell off and shakily removed the spare helmet Chuuya had given you. He looked down at you with a crooked grin, obviously struggling to hold back his laughter.

"So, how did you l-like it?" He snickered. The look you shot at him only served to make him dissolve into a fit of laughter.

"Never… again…" You huffed, pushing your hair out of your face and curling up on the ground in front of his house. "Next time, I'm walking. I don't care how cold it is."

"Good luck with that," he grinned. "Oh, and thanks for the cake." He grabbed the box, waved goodbye to you, and went inside.

You stood and watched him leave, placing a hand on your chest. Your heart was racing. You wondered if it was from the terrifying ride or… something else.

reblogs and comments are much appreciated!!!

[chimerahyperfix]

YAAAAYYY MORE IN CRAFT AND CAGES CONTENT!!!! YIPPEE WOOHOO!!!! Ive been meaninf 2 do one of these 4 a while (shoutout 2 the handful of drafts for these lost in the vast expanse of my Drafts) Time for The Horrors smile.

(content warnings - self harm, suicide + idealation [both simply mentioned but. It’s pretty obvious what’s going on], short but relatively graphic depiction of death/injury - this one is heavy)

There are many ways for you to end a loop. You don’t like any of your options, but you have them. The House is tall enough to jump from. Messing up crafting the bomb works, but it takes longer than you'd like it too-- and Change forbid someone finds you. The tears are nice enough, better than anything else you have access to. The King; well, the less he kills you the better.

The EASIEST option you have is in your room.

Easiest. Not the kindest- just the easiest.

It’s not hard to see how many… extremely dangerous chemicals you have. They litter your desk you should have cleaned it you should have cleaned it you should have cleaned it.and fill your closet. Spilled over and swept up and hid in all the little nooks and crannies of your shared room. Mirabelle knows not to bother using them for anything - and thank Change, because you're not sure what you'd do if you hurt her because you were careless. Yeah, you two have your little squabbles; but in the end it's all fun and games to you. You don't want to hurt her.

You don't want to hurt anyone, actually. Barring the King, of course. That was never your intention. Every now and then, your mind wonders to all those cut-off loops, and you wonder if they continued without you. It's something you've started to manually block out.

They are the fastest the quietest the lonliest an avaliable option. And it sucks, because they hurt. They hurt so, so much. But it’s the fastest way out and you don’t have to make others watch.

The first few times; they were all accidents. Back when you couldn't make the craft bomb fast, back when it took you hours to craft -- it's hard work, making a bomb from scratch! -- you'd always eventually mess up trying to take a drink of your water.

The first time was the worst. You don't remember all of it, not really, not anymore -- blotted that one out as much as you possibly can. You do remember the pain. It was basically acid, so it absolutely tore your throat up.

Everything after the realization point is blurry. You remember screaming, maybe, and blood spilling everywhere. A hand smacking your back. Choking to death. Waking back up at the very same desk with the lingering feeling of gore mashed against your mouth.

Even now, you can still taste it. Like the blood and toxins have seeped into your very being, coating your teeth and your throat. If you bit something you'd probably poison it, too, like a snake, or a scorpions tail.

It's... not that bad, now. You can hold down the sounds that scream in your chest, and simply lay down and die in a puddle of lightless, and that's fine. You've gotten the whole ''look like your sleeping at your desk'' shtick down too. It still hurts, crab does it ever, but you must've burned through all the nerves in the area recently, bevause the pain just gets further and further away. Smaller. Quieter.

Eventually, there's a possibility someone will find you. It happened the first time around. It's not a thought you'd like to entertain, but every hypothesis has a line of reasoning behind it, and eventually the variable will pop up. You very well could be running on a tightrope of when the other side will drop, or a coin flip or something. Until that actually happens, you swear off thinking about it.

For now, you close the door behind you and make your way to your little glass bottle-ridden prison. You need to loop back.

[yonemurishiroku]

Hiya yone! Recently my brain has been infested with bugs that want me to make a Circe Nico AU (Nico is Circe?? Kinda.) You are the glorious fanfic writer who can conjure up anything from anything, so please do your magic.

I'll try my best, however I only know like. 2 stories about Circe at best? So please don't put too much trust in me lol 😅😅

The first one is when Odysseus visits her during his return voyage to Ithaca. I forgot most of it (typical me) except that she turns his crew into animals, which Odysseus managed to convince her to undo and if I'm not mistaken, they live together for a while?? Let's just go with it.

As for this story, I think it would fit best with Jasico? Mainly bc they have that sort of enemies-to-lovers air (Jason distrusted Nico at first). Jason is best fit to be a returning hero, too. Though the Cupid debacle is like heaven and earth with mere convincing on Odysseus' part, I reckon we can work around it with enough maneuver. Why does Nico accept to turn them back? - Maybe he's feeling generous, maybe he's a petulant lonely witch who wants people to stay but never knows how to voice it, and ppl often run at the first sight of him, so he just turns them into animals to keep them by her side.

In the end, Odysseus leaves Circe. This aligns well with the fact that Jason just dropped dead shortly after he and Nico became friends. Which is a funny (and depressing thought) if you put thoughts into it. Which I can't atm lmoa.

Anw. think of it as a piece of quiet Jason has given Nico in the expanse of his loneliness. That, though he was swept away by the natural order of things at the end, Jason did try his best to alleviate Nico's pain. So I reckon there should be a little bit of affection - if not love - in there.

The second story is, well, Circe and Scylla. And the male lover whose name I forget.

This is a classic case of jealousy - so who fits it better than Percy, the canon epitome of every jealous trope in the history of fiction?

sorry that was my pettiness talking. Anywayyyyy, I suppose I don't need to talk about this... I mean it's pretty clear who is who and how the story transpires: Circe is in love with that-something-sea-god, who is in love with Scylla, so Circe turns her into a monster. The only difference between Circe and Nico in this is that he doesn't do anything to Annabeth (even refuses to hate her still. gosh).

But that wouldn't be Percico, is it? So I say just say fuck it and make Percy a sea monster or something Idk. A witch living secluded in an island with his beloved sea monster? I'm in.

Another choice would be to make Annabeth the bad one but I'm in no position to make that propose.

If you still want to keep the story, and if you're any of an unhinged person like me, just make Nico the villain. Well, Circe is the villain in this story, yeah? Embrace it - Nico as the powerful witch, whose loneliness-induced jealousy wreaks havoc on even a sea god. What's left is not love - because love is the last thing Yone needs in fanfics srsly - but an impression of terror, of how disastrous Nico's love can be.

The concepts mix well in this case btw. I remember a painting of Circe pouring a plate filled with poison into the sea. Just imagine it - a blinding blackness spreading rapidly across the lapping water with just a touch of Nico's dainty finger. The shadows overlap with the roaring waves - the black undercurrents raging all the same - and darkness swallows all those whom he call enemies. If Percy's the sea and Nico's the lightless bottom, dark, mysterious, and full of threats.

That's everything I have atm, I guess. Sorry for not being able to help much :(((

[golvio]

The best things to come out of TotK for me, so far:

The Depths

Ganon’s bioluminescent prehensile tentacle hair

Ganon starting off as this circa-Mesopotamian (in terms of relative history) mage-adept who eventually became this Ereshkigal/Nergal-like chthonic deity who reigns over the vast, lightless expanse of the Depths and frequently threatens to hold the doors to the Underworld open to let all kinds of monstrosities out if people break his house rules/don’t give him what he wants

Literally everything with the Gloom

Ganon not being a dum-dum and actually making smart choices, even if he’s also frequently waylaid by his own feelings and self-centeredness, like most interesting characters in myth

The sheer potential for mythic high fantasy worldbuilding once you jettison all the Imperialist Japan Creation Myth baggage

There’s actually stuff from the Valiant comics I could reimagine to make it way cooler now that Ganon is varying degrees of eldritch as opposed to an asshole wizard squatting in some underground ruins (which he still technically sort of is, but in a less pathetic, goofy way)

The Yiga Clan and various enemy factions trying to eke out a living in the Underworld, with varying degrees of success/direct aid from its resident demigod

[nemo-me-impune]

Ghosts and their fear entities based on their deaths

Captain - The Ceaseless Watcher - obvs, they turned their gaze upon the wretched thing

Mary - The Desolation - also obvs, nothing lightless about that flame lol

Patrick - The Slaughter - give a child a weapon and they will immediately use it without thinking

Fanny - The Dark - she was kept in the dark by her husband and then shoved out into the dark by him as well

Thomas - The Lonely - I was also thinking the Spiral or the Web because he was lied to and manipulated, but Thomas was most upset about the fact he died alone

Robin - The Vast - also a candidate for the Hunt since that's technically what got him, or the Spiral since we know lighting is associated with the Spiral, but I agree with Mike Crew and think it has much more to do with the Vast and also Robin's been stuck in the vast expanse of time as well

Kitty - The Web - losing her young, healthy life to a completely accidental spider bite no one could possibly have any control over and no one could have stopped

Julian - The Corruption - Pretty clean death for the Corruption but it is all about unhealthy expressions of physicality, and while Flesh would be the funny answer it's not quite as accurate

Humphrey - The Stranger - his wife was a stranger to him, she wasn't who he thought she was, and he ultimately became alienated from even his own self

Annie - The Buried - she couldn't breathe under the suffocating weight of her oppression, literally

And Alison is an avatar of the End, obviously.

[urlyngendary]

TLDR: The Dark Future

The Dark Future was a lorebook introduced in the Beyond Light expansion. It covers some of the anguise The Exo Stranger faced in the future she has returned from, the one we need to prevent. Here is the shortened version of the pages, so you can know what we were fighting to prevent in Beyond Light!

• Somewhere along the way, Humanity lost, an event called The Bombardment happened (assumedly House Salvation hit us using the warsat network) and Savathûn as well as the forces of Darkness are at large. The Traveler left us, we were left in ruins.

• Elsie Bray, also known as the Exo Stranger, is found by her sister Ana Bray, who is now lightless. Ana wants Elsie to teach her Stasis, Elsie doesn't want to in order to keep her safe. Ana says that with Stasis and what remains of Rasputin, they can beat Savathûn, and Elsie reluctantly agrees.

• They go to the Deep Stone Crypt, still intact, albeit sieged by House Salvation, to make an Exo Frame for Rasputin. Ana sympathizes with Clovis Bray for a moment, and they find the corpse of The Drifter¹ in the production room. After conversing about what Clovis has done, the exo frame emerges and Rasputin is reborn.

• Elsie and Ana return to a demolished Last City, and they argue about their past as a family. Zavala finds them and holds them at gunpoint, he is lightless, deteriorating, and missing a leg. Ana asks Zavala if Ikora is here, and Zavala responds by telling them that she's been buried underneath the Tower. Zavala is hopeless, it's heartbreaking, he says that whatever Ana has planned it will get her killed, and whatever she's looking for at the City isn't here. It is revealed that in this timeline, Elsie never helped us destroy the Black Heart³, and it corrupted Guardians. Zavala is impressed that they have Rasputin, but he reveals a large twist, that Savathûn, The Witch Queen, is pawn to another, that being Eris Morn.

• Rasputin finds the blueprints for Ghaul's Traveler cage in the Almighty's computers, and Zavala finally agrees to assist. Rasputin can track the Traveler, but they need numbers in order to build the Traveler's snare to bring it back, and Zavala points to one Mara Sov.

• On their space-voyage to find Mara Sov, Ana asks for Stasis again, and Elsie once again turns her down. Zavala overhears that Elsie is using Stasis and asks her to consider that it is not for the better to control a power alone, and she should consider what her sister asks of her. They finally make it to Mara Sov's new headquarters, aboard the Leviathan.

• Mara has Eliksni² and Cabal working alongside her Awoken, and Ana asks about the Vex. Mara answers, she says that Eris holds them under her control, they are trapped within time itself until summoned. Zavala and Mara has a conversation about how they do not trust Ana, and they soon capture the Traveler.

• Elsie asks Zavala about the conversation he had with Mara, Zavala confirms that she doesn't trust Ana, and her previous conversation with Elsie about her was to test her.

• They make landing on the moon and fight off Hive and Dark Guardian alike, and Zavala begins to siphon Light from the traveller as Ghaul did during the Red War. He advanced to the Scarlett Keep to kill Savathûn. Eris summons her Techeun turncoats that are defeated by the Warmind, but there's been a liar. Eris thanks Ana for bringing all of her enemies to one place, and with that, Ana stabs the Awoken Queen in the chest. Elsie fights Ana, and ends up killing her, but Eris has won, and the Traveller as a last resort encases all in it's light.

• When the Light fades, Elsie is back in time, she is in The Tower on the day that Cayde-6 is appointed Hunter Vanguard all those years ago. She laments about this scene, she's tired of seeing it over and over again, this clearly isn't the first time the Light has lost. Elsie believes she is being tormented, but makes a vow to save her sister.

¹ It is assumed that the Drifter did something big in this timeline. In ours Drifter and Ana don't have much of a connection, but Ana goes as far to say that Drifter got what he deserved. We cannot trust Ana as she is corrupted, so we do not know if the Drifter acted for good or for evil.

² For those who don't know, the true name of the Fallen is the Eliksni. The term "Fallen" is somewhat of an attack, saying that they have "fallen" from grace because of the Whirlwind.

³ We now know that the Black Heart was created as a replica of the Veil with Lightfall, this fact could imply something chilling about the Veil.

[pennesloppy]

the magnus protocol is so good i cant

second episode's statement feels both like an expansion on the slaughter and its ties to music and arts / wild passion but it's also very focused on the flesh and the perfection of self and i'm not even at what I assume to be the big twist yet but this feels like mastery over your series' concepts. also martin and jon being the TTS is unspeakably cool but the fuckn Implications. like I'm pretty sure it's because they've opened the floodgates in MAG300 and they're like. a part of the eye now? maybe??? but I feel like it makes sense. I hope they show up in reports or something. and in person ofc

idk if sam trying to piece together the system hints to a gertrude equivalent of shtick being misfiled on purpose? colin definitely knows more about it though (hes got my name!!!!). lena definitely hits the elias vibe but feels very much less insidious. i feel like drawing parallels might be a reckless move but I can see so many of them. like, alice has the willingly skeptic vibe that jon had.

oh also I love the character focus. the original is definitely more of a slow burn in that regards which makes it very difficult for me to not gush about to the friends i'm introducing TMA to, but this is wonderful.

it feels significant that teddy is allowed to leave in the first episode. makes me think the OIAR isn't affiliated with the eye/ not as much as the archives, might be because of the lack of jonah magnus? also gwen wanting to take lena's place and stuff definitely foreshadows SOMETHING and I am scared as hell.

im still on the 'the archives failed their ritual due to the lightless flame' theory train but i'm very intrigued by the archives still fighting back against intruders.

canaries should stay above ground is very fucked, i love it, i think it's interesting the eye actually made someone STOP seeing for once though. also the dates of the posts built tension so efficiently I loved that so much. the different report formats and the heavy breach of privacy add so much flavor to the horror. also that box redcanary took is absolutely the web box thing right?

speaking of the web, the listening devices are so good. i doubt they're web-related this time, especially if the archives are not as important this time around, but the fact they're just following you is horrible.

i don't know to what extend the eye is 'stronger' because of the TMA ritual or if it's even canon to the TMP series but I feel like the eye is much more insidious and I don't know if it's because it's desperate due to the destruction of the archives or if it's a manifestation of it's dominance over the other fears? I do hope the TMP universe is one of the many made to be consumed after the fear in TMA world dried up completely though, that would be very cool and that is personally why I think martin and jon show up as text-to-speech.

i think I should do more unhinged rant posts tbh, i'm sorry it's disorganized to any hypothetical readers though, it's very much hastily typed thoughts I haven't exactly very much expanded upon. i've got doubts anyone is gonna actually see this but i do really wanna talk about it so if anything is confusing ask me about it or something. might clean this up later anyways

[skyeventide]

When I, jittery with fury, came to her, she sat me down by the far expanse of the sea. She took my hair, unmade my plaits, she took my hands, unmade their fists. She took my face, unmade my spirit entire. She did not say, my wife-to-be, set aside this jaw-clenching anger, rather word by word she took it, shed light on it, and like the retiring tide it retreated, newly insignificant. We kindled a fire on the shore, warmed our fingers, roasted the crabs. We built castles in the sand for the water to take. We built castles in the air for the ages to ruin. But when I came to her and, gazing in her bright eyes, forgot my fury, I knew that Eru makes many, yet when He made her, my wife-to-be, there would not be another. When He made her, He broke the mould.

— Feanor/Nerdanel for @aipilosse

I sang the winds, and I sang your breath. The sparrow and the hunting hawks, the morning trills and the shriek of the eagles. And you who marvelled at the stars, I sang your lungs to call, your eyes to see, your throats for words. And light air to feed the flames, and the lightness of the ashes, which I carried on a breeze. Scattered as your children in a cold lightless night, I carried you on a breeze past the veil of the world, as I never could carry my own brother, and you were the mirror of his ruin, most cruel of his crimes. To spoil what he could have been, and spoil it twice.

— Manwe on Feanor (and Melkor) for @nyarnamaitar

Kneeling next to Nelyo, I held my father burning. I must confess, while the night came apart, with my nose full of the stinging smell of overheated metal and melted flesh, that I knew despair. I must confess, as I was left with smoke and scorched fingers, that I knew defeat long before it came. I must confess that I knew our approaching failure intimately, even during the years when we held true that we could cheat doom. I must confess that spite, love, and duty kept me living more than breath. Tonight, Nelyo kneels next to me and holds me dying. I do not burn, but that comes as no surprise.

— Curufin and Maedhros for @bleuarte

No such thing, I say, as taming the hawks. I call them, my fist sky-raised, and they perch on my hand, their talons puncturing me through my glove, the ghost of a caress. We enter in a bloody covenant, the hawks and I: they the hunters, I the hunter-lord, and we share in the meat of the trophy. Would I have the heart to hood their heads, shield their eyes, clasp their ankles, and call them mine? Would it that I could. But I lack the heart, the will, the strength. Irisse, thou art the hawks.

— Celegorm/Aredhel for @nailsinmywall

[pathoscleaved]

@ashenwinds sent:

it's all a game now , but once i'm in the world it's lost . ( from Flameheart because yes )

↪ 𝑹𝑬𝑰𝑵𝑪𝑨𝑹𝑵𝑨𝑻𝑰𝑶𝑵 ; ᵀᴼ ᴮᴱ ᴿᴱᴮᴼᴿᴺ . ( a collection of lyric starters from ᵐᵉˡᵃᶰᶤᵉ ᵐᵃʳᵗᶤᶰᵉᶻ'ˢ 2023 album , 𝔭𝔬𝔯𝔱𝔞𝔩𝔰 . adjust phrasing as necessary . )

BLACK BOOTS CRUNCH INCINERATED BONE. The warehouse floor is littered with the shards of bleached marrow, and Albert stalks forward, minding the larger piles of dust and debris. Evidence of candle wax, some sand and seashells, and a carnelian stone scatter among the bone shards, and it is only when the tyrant steps back that he can see a rough outline of a skull. It smells of burnt flesh, singed hair, and decay, of the salt of the sea...

Scorch marks somehow darken the cement, leading to a curious object that seems to shine in the almost-lightless expanse. A cutlass, sticking into the flooring, is surrounded by a moving arc of flame, and then he finally notices that there is something up and moving. Uroboros shifts inside of him, slow, gathers into his palms beneath his gloves, and he shifts into a defensive stance.

Orange-gold eyes flicker to stare into the face of a skeleton. With embers blazing in the sockets - must be the being's eyes. The same flame seems to animate the creature, and Wesker tilts his head. Though his lenses reflect no emotion but the skellie's own appearance, there is a slight curiosity found in how he regards the other.

"Is that so? Hm. I thought you were a myth - then again, so did these pitiless fools."

He kicks at the dust and bone -

"Is it you who killed them, or did the ritual?" Logical to assume the impossible when no other facts remained.

[hirazuki]

Me, harmlessly doing fic research: :)

Tolkien Wiki: Eol had "servants similar to himself."

Me: ......................... okay, I know this almost certainly means similar in demeanor (published Silm says "silent and secret as their master") but I'm a slut for the former thrall version of Eol's backstory, so what if we take it to mean that they were other escaped thralls of Angband?

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What if, whether through genuine escape (a rare occurrence) or by Melkor intentionally letting them "escape" to sow distrust and discontent among their kind with their mere presence, even if they do not prove to be his spies, they find their way back to their original lands and homes, only to be shunned and persecuted, just as Melkor had forethought?

(^ which is canon, the text actually goes into it but for the life of me I can't remember where, right now).

What if, through endless wandering thereafter, trying to find a place where they can reside, their footsteps lead a few of them past Nan Elmoth?

What if the primordial night of the world that was, which still resides in this isolated stretch of woods, nestled in safety and secrecy among the roots of ancient trees hidden away from the sun, calls out to them, offering refuge from the sunlight to them, too?

What if Eol, travelling back from the deep mansions of the dwarves in the Blue Mountains, chances upon them: lost in the forest, tangled in the enchantment that had been laid on it in the twilight of Middle Earth when all was young, and that lingers still?

What if, in looking upon them, he immediately recognizes the marks of thralldom -- the scarring, the burning, the bowed backs; misshapen or missing limbs; hollow stares and cracking skin, of a degree more severe than his own, that cannot conveniently be explained away as a result of smithwork, that make it impossible to eke out an existence in even the mildest of conventional society -- and decides to take them in?

What if, quietly, word somehow spreads -- borne by beast or trickling stream or on the chill of northern wind -- that there is a place for the survivors of Angband in the sunless woods, and more start to appear; sometimes in twos, rarely in threes, but mostly alone, ragged and haunted and fever-eyed?

What if Eol, who had been ill at ease within the Girdle and fled from it -- choking, strangling thing that it is -- right into the hungry, snatching all too inviting embrace of this lightless forest, a recluse and his forge, nothing more than a fading echo of the twilit world, suddenly finds he has near-silent footsteps in his hall and low voices in his kitchen and the space that seemed superfluous for a single occupant is now, altogether, not enough?

What if, with every expansion of his abode, his anger at the Noldor for what they brought upon this land -- initially a dim, philosophical thing, that snarled when prodded but, all in all, rather easily fell back into slumber -- also magnifies, until it produces fangs and claws that won't retract, and, in growing large, grows sleepless, too?

What if, with every arrival seeking a position in his service -- Avari, skin shining with sweat, hunted from within and without; Sindar, who can no longer recall the play of starlight upon leaves; even a Noldo, whose shattered eyes render them more alike than not -- his fury grows blacker, unchecked in his isolation from all else, until it matches the shadows that swallow the forest floor?

What if, with every soul he saves from the ravages of daylight, he forfeits a piece of his own?

WHAT IF

[eventiderookery]

taketaketake

Artemis knows this has been coming for a long time. She’s felt it in the marrow of her bones since they slew Oryx and sent his corpse adrift; a silence that nags at the very back of her mind. The mantle is hers. All she need do is take it. 

With eyes closed, she dips a hand into that vast expanse calling to her. Her Light buffers against it, shielding, heavy. The truth slices through it into her fingertip; she bleeds stars. 

“It is ready.” Eris’ voice rings through the desolate throne room of the Dreadnaught. An empty court awaiting its king.

Circles upon circles ring Artemis where she stands. Soulfire burns green in braziers placed where the circles end and begin in endless spirals. Runes and sigils will siphon the power towards her when she calls upon it, binding it to her. She does not spare a glance towards Eris and Lune hovering just over her shoulder. What will happen is done, she has made this decision and will bear it without regret. She hopes her Ghost can do the same.

She hefts the wicked blade wielded once by the King of Shapes and stabs it into the floor at her feet. The words that pour forth are such:

“I have slain Oryx, the Taken King, and by the many-edged truth I take his mantle! 

By the truth of blades I assume the power to take life and make it my own! 

I stand before the Deep as the end to which everything bends. I am the logic of swords wielded by heretical undeath.

I am Telos, Master of Shapes! Blade of Finality! The Taken King!

Henceforth will it be! Aiat!” 

The question that is its answer echoes a chorus over and over. Her connection to the Light snaps, a clean break of bone. There is something waiting for her in the space between infinite moments, she reaches a dagger-clawed hand forth and cuts it for herself. A weave of impossible stars, beautiful in their finality. It drapes over her eyes and slips between her fingers like water, but she holds firm. The Deep will not claim her will so easily. Blind she cups her hands and lifts them to her mouth. She is devourer of secrets; she will make this power hers. She drinks and drinks and drinks. The black fire stars make home in her belly, in her lungs, her heart that now beats with the attention of thousands. 

She is ascendant.

Existence returns to her in a flash of lightning. Light courses through her nerves, retracing the paths it has run a thousand times over. It crackles alongside this newfound power, sparking between her fingers like she’s grave fresh once more. 

She scuffs the ritual circles with a step forward, she needs to find Eris… find…. The world tips, unbalanced, as though she’s seeing it with more eyes than before. Then Eris is there, a brace beneath her shoulder to keep her upright. 

“Careful,” she admonishes. “Our success has yet to prove itself.”

Eris leads them over to the half dead thrall they brought. The first test of the new king’s abilities. It writhes against its rune inscribed bindings. 

Take… whispers a voice in the darkness. Take it...

With a hand wreathed in abyssal flame she does. Palm laid flat against its eyeless skull she pushes the tide of her will into it. It shrieks like rending marrow as the physical is unmade. Darkness and lightless flame consume it from the inside outwards, leaving only a glowing, twitching shell. 

Buoyed on the power rushing through her, she raises that same hand and cuts a wound into reality. Her inherited army is smaller than it would have been had she taken the mantle sooner, but all the same dozens more thrall flood through the gash. All awaiting her command.

“How is this for success?” Telos’ voice booms across her court. Laughter follows on its tail. “I am now master of death and the shapes it takes. A thrice dead god. Guardian and King!” She looks back to Eris, hand extended. “Our sister of War stands no chance.”