#Something something how the difference between light magic dark magic is more about how willing much each reality changes you

[summertimemusician]

Linktober Shadow Day 6

Shadow Beast

The Twilight Princess fan in me really came out on this one huh? I blame the sleep deprivation. We never quite addressed the effects of the Twili Magic on Twilight and how it's only sheer force of will and the fact he's so darn kind, Midna's influence and Time teaching him the Song of Healing first being the main factor in making sure he doesn't fall huh? Even more so than the One Cutscene. We also need to talk more about the fact we technically kill Midna's people and how by the end of it all Twi is so changed by the Twilight Realm who's it's own can of worms that, much like Time he can't quite go home as himself me thinks, as a treat to myself

Mostly Twilight x Reader, this goes out to all of the folks who never quite recovered from Twilight Princess and the fact we never got that sequel (I mean it gave us BOTW and TOTK and Wild, but at what cost?), but can be read as Link x Reader either on the platonic or romantic.

Don't think there's any warning this time but might edit later if needed.

Actually yeah there is one warning

TW:

References to body horror typical to Twilight Princess, though I recommend not reading it I'd you're squeamish period.

Even after so long, you and Twilight could still remember the beauty and solemnity of the Twilight Realm, with it’s zircon skies with clouds of trapped fire and rains of viper obsidian.

The silence of the infection upon the realm of light broken only by the echoes of the howling elegy of the Twili and Interlopers who came before creeping over the land like rot and wither over flowers, the lament of the lost spirits of the people and animals of Hyrule falling over your spirit like a shroud, a shared hymm from two worlds reality had been twisted, only both of it’s princess, one filled the luster of empyreal sorrow in her mind and one with the scorch abyssal fury in her heart knowing to see the reflective tragedy befallen to their people. With Link as the one who restored the memory of what once was in both worlds as divinity and calamity sang in his bones and you a witness to the restoration of harmony to the discordant symphony, the two different songs of light and shadow refusing to let go of either of you in an eternal duet.

(Once touched by magic, it shall never leave the one if holds onto Twilight may have been the one with the Beast in his soul, with the howl of a wolf, the bite of shades in his veins and the lament of innocents taking precedence over anything purely because he learned how to silence the whispers of the one’s who made a grab for heaven’s throat and we’re pushed in the cracks of reality for their prideful vánitas even as he could taste it in the back of his tongue, twining around his ribs and overgrowing into his shattered mirror heart like vines, flowering with the divinity and eternal nature of the Hero’s Spirit, already having the hunt of the Fierce Deity in it’s veins and the remains of cursed divinity welcoming the new aspect merrily so he could bear it. The song of the innocent wrongly punished among the sinners rang into your mind, scratched at your skin and dug it’s claws around your throat, chocking you with sorrow and regret, more willing to leave gouges than to let go of someone’s who’s looked into the reverse side of the sacred realm and wept with grief for it’s people and the curse of it’s beauty.

It would never leave you, Link or Zelda, who learned who love the darkness the way Midna did, madness and unsightly delight and all.)

While the people of Hyrule merely became trapped as observers at best, if they were lucky, Midna’s raging grief and resentment quickly became obvious, once she revealed that rotten Zant had done to her and her people, twisted into a new form, distorted in body and trapped in mind like the animals and beasts of Hyrule, their pain driving them in becoming feral attack hounds for the usurper, their howling screams as much sorrow, wailing in an attempt to let their agonized, tortured souls to escape from it’s mouth, a futile attempt to flee from the strain of reality forgetting their true form in favor of Zant’s twisted design, of being used as sentient canvases for cruelty and ruthlessness, of their will being stepped over in favor of corrupting recreation.

Of how it only didn’t quaff down at Midna’s mind because of the nature of her ephemerality, fully beloved by the Realm of Darkness, of how she loathed him for it and wouldn’t wish her fate of that of her people’s on any living or dead soul, once she came to love the Realm of Light through Zelda’s sacrifice.

Which was why, when you saw three of the victims of the telltale twisting from darkness utilized with the intent to drive one insane, a familiar looking plate of stone engraved on the remains of ashes from their identity, the curling of distorted, solid darkness making crooked mishapen manes, bent out of shape from their too long torso and long, long arms adorned with twitching, deformed claws, you feel very justified in way your blood froze, holding onto Wild’s arms and yanking with all you had so his shot will miss, his yelp of surprise swallowed by the bone cracking, blood curdling screech from one of the beasts as a Skyward Strike grazed it’s petrified flesh.

You feel something warm drip down your ears, taste the promise of violence and the cry of lost souls on the back of your tongue and swallow it down as the memory of the Twilight Realm attempted to bite and crack your ribcage to quaff down your heart, to devour it bones and all, calling out in desperation, “Don’t! That’s a person!”

Sky freezes, as still as a statue, Legend curses the heavens crimson in a way you are so glad Wind isn’t around to hear as he retreats Twilight snarls, the wolf in him revolted and disgusted, you wonder if the Twilight is singing in his mind too as he restrains himself from reaching for the crystal as nails just a tad too sharp invite droplets of blood to one hand, grimm as a graveyard “We need to get them together anyway, felling just one won’t be enough.”

You grimace, releasing Wild, keeping your eye on the Shadow Beasts and another on your group, pointedly not mentioning the twitch in Four, amethyst clouding his gaze and the prism of his eyes turning gray with memories you and Twilight both knew all too well, of the grimace in Time’s otherwise stony countenance, you’d wished to avoid bloodshed of whoever was turned against their will, but you and Twilight both knew that might not be possible, death, unfortunately, might be the greatest mercy you can grant these poor souls.

(The Twilight is harmonizing in your ears, jeering, you feel the Interlopers insanity and the Twili’s lament on your teeth. As lovely as it could be cruel, the merry feeling upon meeting, the sorrow at a parting.

If you ever see the Shadow, you might just try indulging the echo by offering it’s blood as tribute. You'd make it hurt. The fact it learned the spell used to deform reality in such a way was cruel and vile.)

“Legend, how is your magic?” shoots Warriors, analyzing, calculating, it snaps the purple back into Four’s gaze, brings his mind back to focus as he reaches into his inventory for his Moon Pearl, Twilight is circling the beasts with single minded purpose, herding them together and prowling as he would as a wolf, Wild thankfully listened to your warning and had switched from the more destructive Flame and Lightning Arrows to ice ones. It doesn’t contain them for long but it gives a few precious seconds to strategize.

Legend catches on, switching to the Ice Rod on one hand and grasping his own Moon Pearl with the other, Sky has another Skyward Strike ready, but doesn’t release it, you switch from your sword to accepting a Magic Rod tossed at you from Wild, “Good enough.”

You breath in shakily, the symphony of the Twilight Realm has quieted, more lament than anthem as it’s Hero steps back, returning to your side, he nods grimly, “... Then, let’s end this quickly.”

You know your will boys will do their best to heal them, and failing that, you hope that they’ll hear the requiem of the Twili rather than the lament once they’re at peace, that they'll find some form of threnody.

It is a horrible thing, to be forced to die as a beast.

[eu-nicola]

the ferrari couple

summary: when Charles signs with Ferrari, his life takes an unexpected turn when he falls in love with you "Princess Ferrari". Together both become the perfect couple, but behind public perfection, the pressure of your careers leads both in other ways

warnings: nothing

word counter: 4559

author's note: english is not my first language

this is a request from @pperlaaiy

The sound of engines rumbled across the Monza circuit. It was the 2018 Italian Grand Prix, and Charles Leclerc, still a Sauber driver, walked around the paddock with a mix of pride and nervousness. That year had been crucial for him; rumours of his possible promotion to Ferrari felt increasingly real. However, the pressure of being at home, surrounded by tifosi who idolised the Scuderia, kept him on his toes. 

As he made his way to the Ferrari hospitality area, Charles paused for a moment, awed by the spectacle before him. Surrounded by photographers, journalists and Ferrari employees, there was you. You seemed to shine with a light of your own, dressed in an impeccable white two-piece suit that bore discreet touches of Ferrari red, the colour that so represented your lineage. Perfectly coiffed hair, dark sunglasses and a confident smile that showed no trace of nervousness. In that moment, you were everything Ferrari stood for: tradition, elegance and power. 

“Who is she?” Charles asked his engineer, unable to look away.

“Don’t you know? She’s related to Enzo Ferrari. Her mother, Sofia Ferrari, is practically the queen of the car group. She’s like the princess of the house.”

Charles nodded slowly, impressed, but also intimidated. He had heard about you before, how you were an iconic figure in and out of the world of motorsport. You were known not only for your surname, but for your involvement in Ferrari’s most exclusive events, your innate elegance, and the way you upheld your family’s legacy. The fact that you were unreachable only added to your aura.

However, what happened next took Charles completely by surprise. While he tried to hide his interest and continue on his way, you turned around and your eyes met his. Taking off your sunglasses, you smiled with that mix of kindness and confidence that baffled everyone.

“Charles Leclerc, right?” You asked, stepping closer gracefully.

He blinked, surprised that you knew who he was. "Uh, yeah, I'm Charles," he replied, trying to sound relaxed, though he felt the heat rising to his face.

“I have to say, you’ve impressed many at Ferrari this year,” you said, shaking his hand. Your tone was gentle, but your words carried a weight he couldn’t ignore. “My uncle won’t stop talking about you. I think you’re destined for great things.”

Charles scratched the back of his neck, a nervous gesture contrasting with your poise. “I hope so. Being part of Ferrari would be… a dream.”

“A dream, but also a responsibility,” you replied, your gaze becoming more intense. “Ferrari isn’t just a team, Charles. It’s a family, a history. The tifosi don’t see you as just a driver; they see you as a symbol. And that’s not something just anyone can carry.”

He nodded slowly, feeling the weight of your words. He’d heard similar speeches before, but coming from you, they held a different meaning. “I know. And I’m willing to give my all to live up to it.”

You stared at him for a moment, assessing him. Finally, you smiled again, this time with a hint of genuine warmth. “I hope so, Charles. I’d love to see you succeed at Ferrari. But for now, enjoy Monza. It’s a magical place, don’t you think?”

“It is,” he replied, relaxing a little. “Even more so now.”

Your laugh was soft, but enough for the few people around to notice the chemistry that seemed to be brewing between the two of you. Before you could respond, a team member called out to you from a distance. With a slight nod to Charles, you walked away, leaving behind a sweet scent and an impression he wouldn’t soon forget.

Charles stood still for a few seconds, taking in what had just happened. He had met the “princess of Ferrari,” but beyond your name and lineage, what had struck him most was your presence. There was something about you that challenged him, that made him want to prove he was worthy of being in your world.

That night, during the official Ferrari dinner, they met again. You were surrounded by important figures in motorsport, but when Charles entered the room, your eyes instinctively sought him out. This time, you didn't need to approach him; he took the initiative.

"Can I sit here?" he asked, pointing to the chair next to yours.

You smiled, amused. "Of course. I hope you're ready, Charles."

"If I can survive Monza, I think I can handle this," he replied, feeling more confident.

And so, over glasses of wine and conversations filled with jokes and witty observations, something began that neither of you could have foreseen. You weren't just Ferrari's princess; you were a challenge, a mystery. And for Charles, the young driver who dreamed of conquering the world, you became the most fascinating target of all.

After that first meeting at Monza, Charles couldn't get you out of his mind. Despite being immersed in the demands of his season with Sauber, he found moments between races and training to remember the conversations he'd had with you. For your part, there was something about him that intrigued you. Maybe it was his humility, his ambition, or the way he seemed to shine even under the pressure of the spotlight.

The next few times you met were at Ferrari-related events, always in formal settings where professional distance was the norm. However, that barrier slowly began to break down.

It was a cool evening in Maranello. Ferrari had organised a private dinner to celebrate the season's achievements and start looking ahead. Although the evening was for the official drivers, Charles was invited as a gesture of goodwill, as the announcement of his joining Ferrari for the 2019 season was imminent.

You met him in the event's illuminated gardens, while escaping a boring conversation with a group of executives. Charles was alone, a glass of wine in his hand, admiring the statue of Enzo Ferrari that presided over the place. You approached him with a light smile.

"Thinking about how to fill those shoes?" you asked, stopping beside him.

Charles turned his head, surprised but genuinely happy to see you. "More like wondering if I'll ever make it."

“It’s a start,” you said, shrugging. “He always said that the true spirit of Ferrari isn’t in perfection, but in passion. If you have that, you’re already halfway there.”

He looked at you, with a mix of admiration and curiosity. “Do you feel that passion too? For Ferrari, I mean.”

You nodded, crossing your arms to protect yourself from the cold. “Of course. I grew up surrounded by this world, but it’s not just the family name. It’s everything it represents: the history, the tifosi, the constant struggle to be the best. It’s not easy to live with it, but I wouldn’t change it for anything.”

Charles was silent for a moment, processing your words. Then he smiled, a soft but sincere gesture. “It’s funny. All that you describe is what scares me and excites me at the same time. Being at Ferrari means so much more than being a fast driver. It’s… something bigger.”

You turned to him, studying him carefully. There was something about his honesty that disarmed you, a rarity in a world full of appearances. “And you think you’re ready for it?”

“I don’t know,” he admitted, shrugging. “But I want to try. And I’ll do my best to prove that I’m worthy of it.”

The determination in his voice made you smile. “That’s what I like about you. You’re not afraid to admit your doubts, but you’re not afraid to face them either.”

He stared at you, as if he was trying to figure something out in you. “And you? Have you always been this sure of yourself?”

The question took you by surprise. You looked down for a moment before answering. “Not always. But when you grow up in this family, you learn to hide your insecurities.”

Before the conversation could go any deeper, one of the attendants called out to you from a distance. “Y/N, you’re needed inside.”

You sighed, but not before giving Charles one last smile. "Don't let them intimidate you in there. And remember: Ferrari is more than a car, it's a family."

The real change in your relationship came weeks later, when Ferrari made the official announcement that Charles would be a driver for the 2019 season. The news flooded the headlines and thrilled the tifosi, who saw him as the future of the team. That evening, you hosted a private dinner at your family villa in Maranello, inviting only a few people close to the team, including Charles.

"Thank you for inviting me," Charles said when he arrived, wearing a simple but elegant suit. There was something different in his gaze that night: a mix of confidence and gratitude.

"Of course," you replied as you greeted him. "I couldn't pass up the opportunity to celebrate our new star."

The evening passed quietly, with laughter, anecdotes and toasts to the future. However, you both noticed that your eyes met more often than usual. When dinner ended and the other guests began to leave, Charles was one of the last to stay.

"Would you like to see something special?" You asked, taking a glass of wine and leading him towards the villa's garage.

Inside, covered by tarps, were some of Ferrari's most iconic models, from the first cars created by Enzo to the most modern ones. Charles walked among them in wonder, like a child in a candy store.

"It's amazing," he murmured. "It's like being in a private museum."

"It is," you said, leaning against one of the cars. "Every car here has a story. And now you will be a part of that story."

He stopped in front of you, his expression serious but warm. "I hope I can live up to it. Not just for Ferrari, but for you as well."

The intensity of his words took you by surprise, but you didn't back down. There was something about his sincerity that drew you hopelessly.

"Charles..." you began, but he interrupted you.

“I’m not saying this because you’re from the Errari family or because you’re in a position of power. I’m saying this because you, as a person, inspire me. And I want you to know that I will do everything I can to not let you down.”

For the first time in a long time, you were speechless. And as the silence stretched between you both, Charles took a step towards you. There was no need to say anything else; the moment said it all.

That night marked the start of something special. What had started as a casual connection became a relationship that you both knew would be intense, complicated, but also unique.

After that, the end of 2018 was a whirlwind of emotions for Charles. He had closed his season with Sauber in an exceptional way, earning the respect of the tifosi and securing his place at Ferrari for the following year. But the most unexpected thing for him had been the relationship that had formed with you. During those months, you went from being two occasional acquaintances at events to becoming confidants and something more.

Your meetings, although few due to his constant travels, were full of complicity. He had invited you to accompany him to a couple of races outside Italy, and although you kept everything under a strict low profile, the members of the paddock were beginning to notice that there was something between you. The candlelit dinners, the walks through Maranello and the deep conversations.

For Charles, you were much more than a "Ferrari". You were someone who understood him, someone who saw beyond the image of a promising driver. For you, Charles was a breath of fresh air in a world full of appearances. In him, you found someone honest, humble and passionate.

However, you both knew that things would change in 2019. With Charles officially becoming a Ferrari driver, the attention on both of you would increase, and you would have to decide how you would face what was to come together.

When the 2019 season began, everything changed. Not only was Charles Ferrari's new rising star, he also unwittingly became the centre of media attention. The relationship between the two, which until then had remained in the shadows, inevitably began to come to light.

The first time photographers caught you together was at the Monaco Grand Prix. You were in the paddock, leaning against a railing as you talked animatedly to Charles. You were wearing a red outfit that paid homage to the Scuderia, and your laughter echoed above the roar of the engines. The media was quick to dub you the “prince and princess of Ferrari.”

“Does all this attention bother you?” Charles asked you that afternoon, as you walked together through the Monte Carlo harbor.

“A little,” you admitted, adjusting your sunglasses. “But I also know it’s inevitable. I guess we’ll just have to learn to handle it together.”

Charles nodded, taking your hand gently. “We will.”

It was an intense year, full of challenges for both of you. Charles had to deal with the pressure of being a Ferrari driver, while you were constantly surrounded by the critical eyes of the press and tifosi, who analyzed your every move. Far from separating them, however, those challenges brought them closer together.

The moments they shared off the track became their refuge. There were days when Charles would arrive exhausted after a difficult race, and you would call him to give him words of encouragement. There were also nights when you, exhausted, would find comfort in his embrace.

By 2020, you were no longer just a couple at Ferrari; you were the couple. Cameras followed you everywhere, and social media couldn't stop talking about you. Photos of you at Formula 1 galas, at private Scuderia events, and even on vacation in Italy went viral instantly.

The tifosi loved how they represented the essence of Ferrari: Charles was the young driver full of talent and promise, and you, the sophisticated and passionate woman who seemed to be the embodiment of the Ferrari legacy. No matter where they were, together they projected an image of perfection that fascinated the world.

However, behind the flashes, things were not always easy. The 2020 season was a complicated year for Ferrari, with performance issues testing Charles as a driver. For him, it was frustrating to go from being a constant contender to fighting to stay in the top 10. There were times when tensions were palpable, but you always found a way to remind him of his worth.

“Charles,” you told him one night after a disappointing race at Spa, as you both sat on the balcony of his hotel room. “You are not just a Ferrari driver. You are the future of Ferrari. Enzo always said that difficult races are the ones that make true champions. And you are one of them.”

He looked at you, his eyes filled with emotion. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“Luckily, you won’t have to find out,” you replied with a smile.

That mutual strength was what made you two so special. While Charles faced the challenges of the track, you struggled to keep outside pressures at bay, defending your relationship from rumors and criticism.

By the end of 2020, you were more than a couple; you were a symbol. The prince and princess of Ferrari, two figures who represented everything the brand stood for: history, passion, and the promise of a bright future.

What no one imagined was that beneath that image of perfection, the first cracks were beginning to form. Because, although the love you felt for each other was real, the demands of your worlds were not always compatible.

The end of 2020 marked a turbulent time both on and off the track. Ferrari was facing one of its worst seasons in years, and while Charles continued to show his talent, the car simply wasn’t up to par. You, for your part, had been dealing with the mounting pressures of your family name: new projects, the constant expectation that you represent Ferrari at key events, and increasing scrutiny over your relationship with Charles.

Through it all, you never let the internal tensions leak outward. To the world, you were still the couple. You were seen smiling at events, with Charles looking at you as if you were his anchor, and you showing yourself unwavering, like the pillar holding him up. But what no one saw was the distance that was beginning to form between you.

The breaking point began subtly, with small misunderstandings and differences that you had previously managed with grace.

During the final races of the season, you noticed that Charles was more distant. Although he remained affectionate with you in public, in private his attention seemed to be elsewhere. His days were consumed by endless team meetings, interviews, and hours of work trying to squeeze the maximum potential out of an unresponsive car. When he came home, he was exhausted, and conversations between the two of you were reduced to an exchange of short sentences.

“How was it today?” you asked, waiting for an answer that never came with any depth.

“Good, the usual,” he would reply, often without looking at you, lost in thought.

It wasn’t Charles’ fault, you knew. The weight he carried on his shoulders was immense, and you wanted to be understanding. But you couldn’t help but feel displaced, as if your place in his life had taken a backseat.

For your part, you were dealing with your own problems as well. Your family expected you to take a more active role in the company, and every step you took was scrutinized. The endless meetings, strategic decisions, and social expectations were draining you. There were nights when you sat alone in your Maranello apartment, wondering if this was the life you really wanted.

The night of the final race of the season, in Abu Dhabi, you decided you needed to talk. You had prepared dinner in the hotel suite, hoping to reconnect before heading back to Italy. Charles arrived late, tired but trying not to show it.

“This looks amazing,” he commented, cracking a smile as he sat across from you.

“I wanted us to close the year with something special,” you replied, trying to hide the anxiety in your voice.

For a while, the conversation flowed as before. You talked about the race, the tifosi, and even joked about how the media had called you “Ferrari royalty” in a recent article. But then, the tone changed.

“Charles, I’ve been thinking,” you began, hands shaking slightly. “Do you think… we’re okay?”

He looked up, surprised by the question. “What do you mean?”

“We’ve grown apart,” you admitted, your voice almost a whisper. “We don’t talk like we used to anymore, we don’t spend time together. I feel like all of this—” you gestured vaguely at the world around them, “—is consuming us.”

Charles sighed, setting his fork down on the table. “I know. I’ve felt the same way. But I thought… that it was temporary. That after this season, things would get better.”

“What if they don’t?” you asked, facing the fear you’d been suppressing for months.

For a moment, Charles didn’t say anything. His silence was like a confirmation of what you both feared: that the weight of your individual lives was overshadowing what you had together.

“I love you,” he finally said, with a sincerity that almost brought tears to your eyes. "But I don't know if I'm being fair to you. I don't know if I can be the person you need right now."

The decision wasn't made in one night, but that conversation marked the beginning of the end. Over the following weeks, both tried to hold on to what they had, but silences were more frequent than words, and the emotional distance became increasingly evident.

The news of their separation came in January 2021, shortly after the Christmas holidays. There were no official statements or public explanations; they simply stopped appearing together, and rumours began to circulate.

The paddock was in shock. Neither of them had given any indication of trouble, and for the tifosi, they represented perfection. But those who knew them closely knew the truth: there was no big fight, no betrayal, just the inevitable wear and tear of two people trapped in worlds that demanded too much of them.

The last time you saw him was at a Ferrari event in early 2021. He was beaming, smiling at photographers as he spoke to management. When your eyes met, he gave you a small, almost melancholic smile, which you returned with a similar gesture.

There were no words, but they didn't need to be. You both knew that what you had was unique, special, and that it would always be a part of you. But you also knew that you had made the right decision, even if it hurt.

The prince and princess of Ferrari had split up, leaving the world baffled and the tifosi heartbroken.

The months following the breakup were like a whirlwind, even though neither of you openly acknowledged it. You and Charles had decided to keep the reasons for the end of your relationship private, but that only fueled the speculation. The media kept wondering what had happened between the prince and princess of Ferrari, and the tifosi couldn't accept that something so perfect had fallen apart for no apparent reason.

Despite the noise, you both tried to move on, each in your own way. But as they tried to build new routines, the world kept watching, waiting for some sign, some word that would explain the inexplicable.

The first image of Charles with another woman appeared one day in March. It was a casual photograph, taken by a fan in Monte Carlo. Charles was in a café, smiling as he chatted with a blonde, light-eyed girl. It didn't seem like a romantic encounter, but the closeness between the two and the carefree smile on Charles' face unleashed a wave of comments.

“Who is she?”

“Has she replaced her already?”

“She’s probably her cousin or something, Charles wouldn’t do this.”

For your part, you tried to ignore it. You knew Charles had the right to move on, as did you, but you couldn’t help but feel a knot in your stomach as fans began to theorize about his love life.

It wasn’t long before you were making headlines too. A few weeks later, during a gala event in Milan, you arrived accompanied by an Italian businessman known for his charisma and fortune. He offered you his arm as you walked down the red carpet, and although you maintained a professional smile, the camera flashes captured something that the media interpreted as complicity.

The reaction was not long in coming.

“She already has a boyfriend? This can’t be real.”

“Charles and her were perfect, this doesn’t make sense.”

“The princes of Ferrari are dating commoners now, apparently.”

Social media became a battleground between fans. There were those who supported the idea of ​​the two moving on with their lives, but there were also those who clung to the hope of a reconciliation. Every photo of Charles with his supposed new partner was analyzed in detail, and the same was true for you.

On your Instagram profile, the comments were a reflection of the tifosi's pain:

"Please tell me this isn't true."

"Why did you break up? I never understood it."

"Get back together, there's still time."

Charles faced the same thing. Even in the simplest photos — an afternoon training or a day on the simulator — the responses were full of mentions of you.

"Everything is more boring without Princess Ferrari."

"I hope you're happy, but I'll never forget what you had."

Neither you nor Charles made any comments on the matter. You both knew that any statement would only fuel further speculation, and the last thing you wanted was to turn your past relationship into a public spectacle.

At Ferrari events, it was inevitable that your paths would cross, although you always kept your distance. During a presentation of the Scuderia for the 2021 season, you sat in the front row next to the management, while Charles took his place on the stage, talking about his expectations for the year.

Your eyes met for a brief second. It was enough for the photographers to capture the moment, but not enough for either of you to show any obvious emotion. You held his gaze calmly, while he quickly turned his gaze towards the audience.

After the event, you avoided the cocktail party that followed. You knew the media would be waiting for any interaction between you, and you weren't about to fuel any more rumors. However, as you were leaving, you received a text on your phone.

"I saw you left early. I hope you're okay."

It was from Charles.

You read it a few times before pocketing your phone without responding. Although the message seemed innocent, it only made the emptiness in your chest feel heavier.

Despite appearances, moving on wasn't easy for either of you. Charles could put on a smile next to his new companion, but in moments of solitude, he found his mind drifting back to the days he shared with you. The walks through Maranello, the conversations in the early morning, even the small arguments over insignificant things: it was all still there, like an echo that refused to go away.

You weren't immune either. Although you were dating someone new, you hadn't felt that connection you once had with Charles. Every time you saw their name in the headlines, your heart beat a little faster, and images of what was and what could have been filled your mind.

Still, you both kept going, at least in the eyes of the world. The smiles at events, the carefully curated posts on social media, everything seemed to indicate that you had put the past behind you. But the others seemed unwilling to let it go.

The tifosi kept waiting. In every Ferrari post, in every interview, in every public appearance, someone always asked about you.

"Will you come back one day?"

"You were the heart of Ferrari."

"Without you, this is not the same anymore."

And although neither you nor Charles answered, that question kept hanging in the air, like a wound that time did not quite heal. Because although you had gone your separate ways, the world was not ready to forget you.

And, perhaps, deep down, neither were you.

[climbthemountain2020]

Flame of Autumn - Chapter 8

Part 9/25 | Ao3

[TW for violence, mentions of DV and implied SA]

Tilly

Each night the following week, Tilly resolutely fell asleep on her side of the bed, warm and content and perfectly fine where she was. And every morning, Tilly woke up, tightly tucked into Eris’ side, warm and content and confused, but perfectly fine where she was. He smelled like mulled cider and cloves and something so distinctly Eris. She’d managed to extract herself without waking him each morning, but it was getting harder and harder to pull away. 

Perhaps, I should just allow him to wake up first one day and see what he does. What is the worst that could possibly happen? Could he have it in him to so blatantly reject me?

She was still worried about making their situation awkward or uncomfortable, but with how willing Eris had been to do things he knew would make her smile, was that even a well-founded concern anymore? She knew he must care for her, at least to a degree. She had slipped and told him as soon as he’d asked her about winnowing, and after berating herself for it mentally, she’d allowed herself to think that maybe trusting him wasn’t such a bad idea. He’d told her about his pact with his brothers, something he’d undoubtedly told no one else. This tentative trust growing between them–this partnership–was blooming into something entirely different within her heart. She’d have to decide how she planned to handle it soon. 

Since their first day out in the archery range, she’d gone once more with Eris, but today she’d gone by herself while Eris attended a meeting. As much as she enjoyed Eris’ company and the astonished look on his face while she shot, she was thrilled to be able to use her magic here alone. She’d taken advantage of the time to play with her fire and her portals on the range, and it filled a part of her heart she’d worried would remain empty forever. It had felt so good to let loose some of the magic she’d been holding back so tightly in the past few months. The urge to tell Eris was becoming overwhelming. She wanted him to know–she was sick of shouldering these secrets alone. She wasn’t sure how she would even begin to go about it. 

Yes, I am your wife and we’ve shared our deepest secrets. Oh, and also I can heal people and conjure flames and create portals! Surprise! 

It wasn’t exactly dinner conversation. Somehow, she knew he would understand why she’d kept it a secret–she knew he wouldn’t be mad she’d withheld it–but centuries of keeping it to herself weighed against her. 

She looked around the beautiful, warded clearing and still couldn’t believe that Eris had done this for her. She hadn’t had anything this thoughtful since before her father had died, and she was shocked that she could find herself so happy here. She tucked her bow away, then winnowed to a copse of trees outside the wards of the Forest House. She was able to come from the woods at this angle, looking as though she’d been visiting the hounds in the stables.

After a quick lunch, Eris still hadn’t returned, so Tilly decided she’d return the books she’d borrowed to the House library. She’d been trying to brush up on her history of Autumn–it had been centuries since her official lessons as a child, and it was disgraceful how much she’d forgotten about her own land, backwards as it could be at times. 

To get to the library, Tilly had to travel through her least favorite hall in the house: the East Wing. These were the halls of the High Lord, and they truly reflected it. There was absolutely no natural light, and each of the stone walls was deeply engraved with scenes of battle and horror and gore. The tapestries hung dark and red, mirroring the blood gouged harshly into the events depicted on the walls. Every time she had to come through here to reach the library, she put a good bit of speed in her step and tried to waste as little time as possible. 

As she reshelved the final of the large history books, she was startled by a piercing wail and shriek, then silence. It had come from the hall, and Tilly pressed herself into the shadows by the shelves. She stayed in the darkness until she was sure no one was coming. 

Should I get someone? Who would I even go to? 

Her heart was pounding in her chest, surely loud enough that any predator nearby might hear. She tried to breathe and calm it as she took slow, decisive steps towards the open library doors. What could have made such a horrible noise? 

As she peaked around the doorway to the dark hallway, the groan of another door opening caused her to jump back, only daring to look through the small crack of light. There, she could see Beron exiting the room, straightening his clothes, then stalking down the hallway in the direction opposite her. She counted in her head…198….199…200. Once she was sure it had been long enough, she ran to the doors and wrenched them open, not bothering to knock. 

She realized too late that these were the High Lord’s private chambers, and that she had just intruded into a nightmare. Alanna sat curled into herself on the floor by the hearth. Her dress had been ripped off her shoulder, and blood and bruises covered her face. She was sobbing, unable to get a breath down, and Tilly hated that her fae lineage meant she could scent what else Beron had done to her. 

Tilly walked quickly into the room, shutting the door behind her, and when Alanna saw her, she fell apart. 

“No, Tilly, you can’t be here. You have to go. If he comes back, he’ll kill you for helping me.” The rage was blinding now. 

“I don’t care, come.” She dropped to the floor next to Alanna and took her arm, gently lifting her. “Can you stand?” A shaky nod. “Let’s go to the bathroom.” She held her arm tightly, letting Alanna point her through the elegant rooms. Alanna was shaking and her breath was still coming in great gasps, so Tilly left her to sit on the edge of the tub while she ran her a warm bath. She turned to allow Alanna privacy to remove her dress, then closed her eyes and offered her an arm as she slipped below the bubbled water. Gently, Tilly took a cloth and wiped the blood from Alanna’s face. She spoke, barely audible in the echoing chamber. 

“I just asked the guards if I might go to the garden earlier than normal. That’s all…” Tilly could feel her heart cracking into two, the creases filling with a molten hot fury that threatened to bond it all together in a mess of violence. “He wasn’t always this bad. At the beginning, he was cold. We were never in love, and he was always far older than me. But by the time he started hitting me, I had nothing left. Nowhere to run. Children to care for, and for him to threaten me with.” Her sobs started anew, and she rested her face in her hands. Tilly let the smallest amount of healing run through her fingers to help the pain in Alanna’s jaw. Not enough that it would be detected, but enough to ease some of her discomfort. She ran the cloth across Alanna’s back, where she could now see the porcelain skin, so like Eris’, littered with scars and bruises. 

“You don’t deserve this, Alanna. No one deserves this, but especially not you.” 

She allowed Alanna the space to finish bathing, giving her privacy while she brewed her some tea and left it at her bedside, turning down the covers. Tilly was shaking with anger, the fire threatening to burst forth from her veins. Realistically, Tilly knew this could have easily been her life, too. She and Alanna were maybe only twenty years apart. She could have been sold to a lord older than her, the highest bidder, and been another piece of property to own and abuse as he saw fit. The relief that filled her heart when she remembered Eris was the one waiting for her took her by surprise.  

Tilly helped Alanna dry and dress and helped her to the bed, tucking her in and handing her the tea. 

“I am so, so sorry, Alanna,” she whispered as she made to leave, silently glamouring the room to mask her scent throughout until it faded. As she made her way to the door, she heard Alanna’s tired voice from the darkness. 

“You’re a good female, Tilly. I am so very glad my son has you.” The tears burned violently at the back of Tilly’s eyes as she left, closing the door silently. She tried to calm herself as she walked briskly down the dark halls, her flaring emotions not even allowing her to be afraid of the carvings anymore. 

She flew through the halls, a maelstrom of warring emotions, and didn’t stop until she arrived back at their rooms, tossing a hand up to free the wards, stepping inside, and throwing them up all in one breath. Eris had been sitting on the couch but stood and spun around at her abrupt entrance. He took in the wild state of her immediately. 

“What’s happened?” And Tilly’s face crumpled. Eris was immediately by her side, pulling her gently into his arms and rubbing gentle lines up and down her back. “Hey, hey, it’s okay. Til, what’s wrong?” 

Through sobs, she could hardly get out the words. “I am going to fucking kill your father myself.”

Eris

Eris had already been ready to split the world in two when he’d seen Tilly’s tears, and now, it was taking every single bit of his self control to not set the entire Forest House on fire. Tilly had told him everything that had happened, so he knew what he was walking into at dinner, but it didn’t quell his rage in the slightest. 

Beron had decided that beating Alanna–assaulting her–hadn’t been enough. He was now making her stand at the dinner table as they all ate. When they’d entered, everyone had seen at once, Alanna included, that her chair had been removed, her plate empty. He could practically see her freeze her emotions into acceptance and submission as she had constantly for the past five centuries, the bruises still fresh and shining on her face. The ripple through the rest of them felt palpable to him, though none of them betrayed a hint of it on their faces. 

Now, as Beron watched them all, they ate dinner silently as he discussed the land treaties near the western border, of all things. Since he wasn’t allowing Alanna to eat, he occasionally made comments about how delicious the food was. Eris could see the grip Tilly had on her fork tightening at each wayward comment. He put his hand on her thigh beneath the table, hoping to calm her. 

Beron’s conversation stalled, and he smiled cruelly as he looked at Alanna. “Is the food not to your liking, my dear?” Eris could see even his brothers’ smallest tells that they were close to losing their composure, as well. 

“High Lord, the food is wonderful, I’m sure.” Alanna cast her eyes down as she was expected to, and Eris felt Tilly grab his hand tightly beneath the table. 

“Tell me then, love, why aren’t you partaking?” The vicious nature of his voice was not hidden well beneath the cloying sweetness of his words. From the walls, Aradnus chuckled darkly. He loved a good show, and Eris wanted to kill him for it. 

“Because I have displeased you, High Lord.” Her voice was barely a whisper in the large room. 

“What’s that, Alanna? Speak!” Eris could feel Tilly shaking. 

“I’m sorry, High Lord. I have displeased you, and I do not deserve to eat.” Eris wished the floor would open and swallow them all when he caught the single tear that slipped down his mother’s nose. 

“That’s right, wife. Now beg me for forgiveness. Over here, on the floor.” He gestured beside him and Aradnus lit up with joy. Alanna’s wide eyes shot to him. 

“W-what?” The displeasure flickered darkly over Beron’s face. 

“I said, come here and beg me.” It was happening before Eris could do a thing to stop it, as Tilly shot to her feet, leaving his hand behind. 

“Leave her alone.” She growled across the table, and the silence that followed felt like a collective shifting of the world. For a single moment, no one in the room took a breath. Across the table, Eris was sure the looks of shock from his brothers and his mother matched his own. Even Aradnus had the sense to be quiet and look surprised. Then, Beron’s face contorted in wrath as he shot to his feet, slamming his now-flaming palms to the table. 

“Who the fuck do you think you are, you little bitch?” He roared across the table. To her credit, Tilly did not flinch. “You have no power here. You’re nothing but a broodmare. A possession.” She lifted her chin in defiance. “Eris, strike her.” 

Then the world did fall from beneath his feet. He had to. He knew it. Nothing had ever felt worse in his life than this moment. 

He stood, pulling every part of his face into painstaking indifference. Without hesitation he slapped Tilly. Her head shot to the side with the force of it. 

I am so sorry. 

When she turned back, her face was firm, but he could see the message in her eyes. 

I understand. I understand. 

“Again.” He slapped her again. “Backhand her.” A trickle of blood fell from her lip. He didn’t dare look at anyone around the table, couldn’t bear to take his eyes off Tilly for even a moment. Something inside of him was breaking irreparably. 

“Good, Eris. I expect you to teach your disrespectful cunt some manners.” Eris’ fingers twitched as he visualized ripping out Beron’s throat with his own hands. “Now punch her. I want you to knock her out.” Eris spun around. 

“What?” 

“I said, knock her out. I will not have you teach her this lesson again, so do it right this time.” Tilly’s eyes were wide now, but she did not falter. 

“No.” Eris knew he’d be beaten beyond repair for this. Beron might skin him alive. He didn’t care. “I will not.” 

Rather than the bellow he expected from Beron, he received quiet, calculated words. “Everybody out. Now.”  Eris could hear the chairs scraping around him, a blur of motion as everyone rushed to go. Tilly stalled, not willing to leave, but he saw Bray grab her wrist and tug. The only person he looked at as they departed was his mother, a glimmer of pride in her eyes as she shut the door behind her. 

Tilly

“Go back to your rooms, set the wards, and don’t answer the door for anyone.” Bray had told her quietly, dropping her off at their hallway and pivoting quickly to come back the way they came. Tilly sprinted to their room, warning bells blaring in her head. She quickly undid the wards and slid through the doors, securing them behind her and patching the wards back together. She’d barely leaned against the door before the first sob cracked through her chest. 

What have I done?  

The guilt was threatening to tear her apart, but all she could focus on was the fear and worry that permeated the space around her. She’d done this. She couldn’t keep her mouth shut, and now Eris was paying for it. She was pacing like a caged animal around the rooms, worrying the dogs who kept trying to sniff at her hands and comfort her. 

Hours passed this way, and still Eris did not return. It had to be the early hours of the morning now–the moon was already dipping back low in the sky outside. She’d wrung her hands into a mess of red skin, and she knew her hair would be wild if she looked from running nervous hands through it. The dogs had long since given up on her, returning to their beds and keeping sleepy eyes on her movements around the room. 

Should she go get Alanna? Did she run the risk of encountering Beron if she did? Would that make everything even worse? 

She started to cry again. Fuck. She couldn’t just keep her mouth shut when it mattered, and now Eris was somewhere in this godsforsaken house, probably in immense pain, and there was no one to blame but herself. 

The door creaked open and she whirled to see Eris staggering in. A strangled gasp left her chest as she sprinted to him, gathering him into her arms as she sobbed against him. 

“I’m so sorry, Eris. Gods, I am so fucking sorry.” She gasped into his chest and felt him wince. 

“Is this all I need to do to get some attention from you?” He said, tone trying to be light, but it came out as more of a groan. She laughed wetly and pulled back, looking him over. His eyes were bloodshot, a dark bruise blooming over his jaw and beneath his eye. His shirt, however, was covered in blood, some of the edges singed. 

“It’s okay, Tilly. It isn’t your fault. I just want to bathe and go to sleep.” His voice sounded tired, so she grabbed his hand and brought him to their bathroom. In a scene eerily reminiscent of the afternoon she’d spent with his mother, she ran him a bath, dumping lavender and cedarwood oils in, and filling it to the very top. She watched as he peeled the layers of bloody clothes from his body, and she couldn’t hold back the gasp that choked her as she saw his exposed back. 

Burns were everywhere, some fresh, some old. There were marks that looked like a whip had been taken to him repeatedly, and some of the scars were so faded they must have been centuries old. He’d heard her, and turned his head over his shoulder to see the tears streaming down her face. He walked to her, cupping her face in his palms. 

“It hardly hurts anymore, Tilly. I barely feel a thing.” She had begun to sob, her lip quivering as she barely got out the words. 

“All of you?” He nodded solemnly. “Eris…I am so, so sorry.” She hung her head, but pressed a hand to his bare and bloodied chest. She let the familiar warmth rise in her veins, summoning the light to her fingertips and letting it flow into Eris. His eyes were wide with wonder as he understood the gravity of what was happening, as he felt his back knit back together, the sting lessening and the ache becoming manageable again. 

“You….you have powers?” She laughed through her tears. 

“Oh, yes. Loads.” She smiled at him, but it didn’t meet her eyes. “And Beron won’t know a word about it until it’s too late for him.” She let Eris see the determination in her eyes–let him see how much she meant every word. 

“I mean to kill him.” He blurted out, surprising even himself. “I mean to kill him and take the crown. I am allied with the Night Court, and they will support me as the new High Lord. No one knows. Not my mother, nor my brothers. Just you.” He pushed a lock of hair behind her ear, caressing her jaw as he told her his deepest, darkest secret. 

“Then we’ll do it together, Eris.” He closed his eyes and pressed his forehead down to meet hers. 

“Together, then.”  

Taglist: @cauldronblssd@queercontrarian @byyalady @thelovelymadone @clockwork-ashes @lovingkelj

[colderdrafts]

4: Hunkering down

Underground visitor, gn reader x monster (male drider). Sfw. Previous Next

The storm rages for three days.

Three days pass like this, generally using each other's company to pass the time while waiting for the storm to subside. Dren has showed you a way to keep track by climbing up a tunnel just outside the sleeping room. It rests just under the boulders in the rocky formation you saw the first day, and the spaces between the heavy rocks provides a small window to the outside. It's a bit claustrophobic staring out from under the ground, but the unmistakable sound of howling wind, snapping tree branches and heavy rain tells of how brutal it still is outside.

So Dren shows you different areas inside the tunnel system. One tunnel leads through a crack in a rocky formation and opens into a cave full of odd blue crystals that glint pleasantly in the light of the lantern.

One leads into another underground stream that ends in a small beautiful lake, gentle sounds of water dripping in from somewhere deeper in the rocky formations.

Another, closer to the living room, Dren tells you, appears to be a small library with books neatly sorted on 'shelves' - outcroppings in the dirt walls. He spends some time during your walks lighting up tunnels between the rooms you most likely will frequent, so that you can find your way to them.

You spend some time in the library, but you find, to your disappointment, you can't read any of the tomes in there - the lettering is foreign to you. Lucky for you, Dren is more than willing to teach you should you decide to learn.

Dren tells you about his life here, and his habits of hunting and setting traps, apparently self-taught. He explains that drider offspring tend to leave the nest pretty quickly after the first few ‘molts’, lest siblings get tired of each other and go on the attack. He still fidgets whenever he’s sitting still, and when you ask him about it he merely shrugs, mumbling something of how keeping his hands busy is grounding.

He also talks about his offspring, all ‘broods’, and how he has taken care of them. Apparently, eggs are laid late summer, and they do their first molt sometime come spring. He fiercely guards them until then. He doesn’t tell you where they are in the system, and you don’t ask.

He tells you of other ‘common-folk’, inhabitants of this world that come in all shapes and sizes, furry, scaly, big and small – monsters, is what you’d call what he describes, though here they’re as regular as you are back in your own world.

He tells you of magic; difficult to control and unpredictable, something not to be trifled with. Only a very select few tap into its power, often with dire consequences. He surmises it may have somehow caused you being here, though he has no idea how.

On the second night you wake with a start after a nightmare - darkness had pulled you into an abyss in which you couldn't breathe, claws gripping at your skin, pressure like being pulled into the deep sea. After awakening, the momentary confusion of the pitch blackness nearly made you panic, until Dren, resting in the hole above you, had called out and asked if you were alright. You could hear him climbing down the wall to sit in front of you, gently talking to you until you had calmed down.

His presence and reassurances had an immediate soothing effect on you that you can't really explain. For some reason, his company right then put you at ease, with no trouble going back to sleep whatsoever.

The morning after that you had sat in comfortable silence during breakfast, content to just be where you are – and judging from the warm expression on his face, Dren is just as content having you there.

You’re not sure how it happened so fast you’ve grown accustomed to looking at him, considering how foreign this all is to you. But it doesn’t phase you when his lower body moves on it’s own accord, or when it quietly chitters, or when he simply climbs the walls to get from one point to another. You’ve gotten used to the feeling of stray strings of web sometimes caressing your face, or stuck to your clothes. At one point you’ve had a full conversation with Dren hanging upside down on the ceiling high above, refueling a lantern, whilst just sitting at the stream at the edge of the water. You've almost forgotten how all of this is supposed to be foreign and odd to you.

On the third day you're on your way back to the living room after having collected some water from the stream – a part of the daily routine here, you’ve learned. This trip is easier, though by now you’ve had a taste of how mind-boggling huge this cave really is.

You try and ask Dren how he navigates, but he tells you he genuinely can’t give you a straight answer. He just ‘knows’.

“But rest assured, if you’re ever lost and need help, just run your fingers through the spaces between the patterns. I’ll come find you,” he says, adjusting the waterskin that's dangling from his shoulder.

He tries to be reassuring, but you must admit it’s a bit disappointing there’s not some trick to help you tell which way to go.

Or, there is, but he doesn't want to share with the class. Maybe it’s a lie, maybe it’s a spider thing. Who knows.

While it's been a surprisingly pleasant few days, all things considered, some part of your more logical brain still questions your situation. For one, staying in pure darkness for this long is taking a toll on you. The artificial lights of the lantern does not do wonders for you, and you miss a gust of fresh air. It’s somewhat stuffy down here, and you have a feeling your circadian rhythm isn’t having fun without sunlight to guide it.

While you are comfortable in Dren's company, there’s still small thread of distrust running through your body, given his more grim actions in life, and his cursory attitude towards it. On top of this, he still hasn’t shown you a way to leave the cave, should you want to.

Not that you have asked, as you fear the response.

But you checked this morning, and know for a fact the storm has finally passed, and you're pretty sure he knows it too – though none of you have mentioned it yet. And once again your logical minds reminds you you’ll have to go back out there eventually if you want to figure out a way home.

Dren’s voice pulls you out of your thoughts.

“If you ever want to go somewhere, just ask,” he smiles, and turns to continue the walk.

“Could you show me back outside?” you ask him directly.

He stops and looks back at you. Your grip on the lantern tightens just a little bit.

It’s a confrontation you’ve been avoiding for a while now.

Since he just now promised to show you the way, this could be a time to try and hold him to that. The response to this is also a determining factor in what the situation here truly is. Are you a guest, or something else?

“Yes,” Dren says easily, dropping the waterskin and turning fully around to go in the opposite direction. “This way.”

Oh.

Well, that was easier than you had feared. You feel your chest deflate just a little bit as you fall into step next to him.

"The sun should be up now anyway," Dren says, glancing at you. You can’t tell if he’s noticed your tension earlier, but if he did, he doesn't mention it. "I'd understand if you miss the daylight."

You nod. "Yeah. Don't get me wrong, it's cozy down here, but I kinda need some fresh air."

"Cozy," Dren repeats with a chuckle. "I'm glad you think so."

It's a long trek back toward the outside, but, as promised, soon enough you spot the opening with sunshine rushing in from outside and a pleasant gust of fresh air caresses your skin.

You try not to think too hard on the immense relief associated with the feeling.

You turn off the lantern and carefully set it aside at the entrance, and step out into the light. The pleasant warmth quickly spreads over your skin, contrasting the cool autumn air. You close your eyes and lean your face toward the sun to better soak in it. You breathe in deeply, realizing how stale things had been down in the dark.

You hear footsteps and glance toward the cave opening where Dren is standing in the shade, observing you with a soft expression, mouth curled into a gentle smile.

"What?" you prod, somewhat flustered from being stared at.

"You definitely needed that," he chuckles, and steps out of the dark, momentarily shielding his eyes from the blaring sun and stepping in place. "Ugh. I definitely do not."

You snort. "You're already adjusting."

"Seems so."

He looks different in the daylight. More detailed, somehow. He has several scars running down the side of his abdomen and side of his torso that are a lot more noticeable now. Third leg on his right side is the tiniest bit shorter than the others. The black carapace of his lower body seems to almost absorb the light that hits it. When he finally removes his hands from his face, you notice a few stray freckles on the pale skin.

"Storm really did a number on this place," Dren notes, avoiding your gaze by glancing around the forest area.

Most noticeable are several trees that have fallen, and are laying haphazardly around. Broken branches and fallen leaves litter the muddied ground, and while the sun is doing its part, everything is still quite wet. While the storm has passed, the clear signs of its destructive journey remains.

"I'm grateful I didn't have to stay out here while all of that was going on," you say, nodding at the cave. “Thank you.”

"Of course," Dren says.

Silence hangs in the air for a bit. You hadn't thought too far ahead with what you wanted to do after finding your way back outside. It feels like this is a natural place to say goodbye and continue your journey in figuring out where you are and how to get back - yet you find yourself at an impasse, as that means leaving behind your only known source of shelter in this strange new world.

You're foreign here. You don't know the rules, or anything of what you could possibly meet. You have no resources, and you're apparently 'rare', guaranteed to raise suspicion and/or attract attention.

On the other hand, you'll never find your way back home if you hide in a cave all day.

"Since the storm has finally passed us by," Dren says, as if sensing your thoughts. He pauses. "I'm assuming you want to find a way back to your own world?"

You nod, and sigh. "I should, but I don't even know where to start. This is all so new."

Dren frowns. "I am.. hesitant, to let you venture out on your own," he starts, but then shakes his head. "No, I am vehemently against it. Unfortunately, the solutions to your predicament most likely lies elsewhere. I'd go with you, but-"

"Your children," you finish for him. "I completely understand. I would never ask you anything that would put them in harms way."

He smiles sadly. "I know."

There's sort of an awkward pause where you both think about what to do.

Dren's the first to speak up again. "I'm not an expert in magic at all, but if it's magic that got you here, magic should be able to show you the way back. There may be resources to find somewhere. You could go ask around the marketplace as a start. Someone who knows better than I may have some answers."

"It's worth a shot," you agree, though the thought of venturing unprepared into foreign territory and interact with a bunch of people you know nothing off sends a spike of anxiety through your body. You steel yourself. "Is there anything I should avoid doing? I don't want to attract too much attention to myself."

Dren sighs. "You will attract attention no matter how you conduct yourself, I'm afraid." He grits his teeth, his hands fidgeting. "Don't let anyone know you're a sentry acting alone, though. That's a recipe for disaster." He looks at you intently. "Don't just avoid answering questions. I want you to lie."

The sudden seriousness of his tone catches you a bit off guard. What could you meet out there that makes him so anxious to see you go? It must be important, so you nod mutely. "Anything else?"

"You won't get answers for free. You'll need something to trade. If you don't want to barter for value, offer something for the same thing."

You give him an odd look. "Offer a what for a what now?"

"Something for the same thing. It's a simple rule. You gain something for trading in the same thing in turn. You want a book, you give them one in turn. You want a piece of fruit, you hand them another. You get to ask a question - but so do they," he warns. "Be careful when trading knowledge. You don't want the wrong person to know the wrong thing about you."

"Duly noted," you mutter.

Half an hour later you're somewhat ready to head out toward the marketplace. Dren has managed to scrounge up an old satchel, containing your now dry home-clothes, a flask of cave-water and a small knife. He has also provided you with a black cloak to keep warm, as your jacket might be a tad too obvious.

You're back at the entrance to the cave in the noon sunlight, and Dren paces nervously as he watches you prepare to leave, his lower body chittering with anxious energy. You look him over.

"Buddy, you're making me nervous with all that fiddling," you comment, pulling the satchel over your shoulder.

Dren huffs, and tries and fails to stay still. It's like his lower body has a mind of its own. "I'll try to get a hold of myself. Apologies."

"You're really a worry-wart, aren't you?"

You grin, but it's mostly to convince yourself there's nothing to be worried about. You're just going to go do a little shopping. No biggie.

"You have no idea," Dren mutters. "Do you remember the path I told you?"

"Yep. All memorized."

"Good."

Another moment of silence. You reach you hand out to him to shake. "Well, uh. Thanks for everything. I don't think I'd still be around hadn't you stepped in."

He leans down a bit and carefully clasps your wrist, mindful not to prickle your skin with his claws. You had expected a handshake, but you suppose this is customary here, so you quickly adjust and grab his wrist in turn. There's something prickling under your skin at the contact, a very faint but pleasant warmth in his palm that gently travels up your arm. It almost makes you want to step closer.

"You're most welcome. I hope I made up for my poor behavior when we first met," Dren jests, and releases you, taking the sensation with him.

"Water under the bridge," you say, shaking off the feeling.

He smiles, but it doesn't really reach his eyes. "Please be careful out there."

“I will.”

You go to turn away, but stop yourself. Why is it difficult to just walk away? You don't owe each other anything, yet something in you doesn't want to leave it like this. You glance back at him somewhat awkwardly.

“Dren, if this turns out to be a goose chase and I don’t find anything – is it okay if I return-”

“YES,” he practically yells, and laughs heartily.

His outburst finally pops whatever awkward bubble you’ve found yourselves in, and you immediately laugh with him.

Dren covers his face with his hands and utters a frustrated groan. He stares at you through his fingers. “Of course you can! Blue moons, you set this up like a tearful goodbye forever!”

“I did?!” you protest. “You’re prepping me like I’m going into a battlefield I’ll never return from! How should I know?”

Dren spends a few seconds collecting himself, as his laugh settles into a wistful smile. “Well. It never hurts to be prepared,” he says, though his eyes turn a little dim. “And – it’s not too far off, is it?”

You breathe out. You suppose it isn’t. If you do indeed find an immediate solution or need to move on to somewhere else quickly to get back home, this might be the last time you see him. Ever.

You don’t know why that makes your chest feel a little heavy.

You smile at him, contend to know you have at least somewhere to return to, and turn to walk away. “I’ll see you around, Dren.”

“Don’t make those kinds of promises. I might just hold you to them,” he says.

With that, you finally set out on the path through post-storm destruction, mindful not to trip over anything or slip in the mud. The further you walk the unfamiliar path through the forest, the more the strange heaviness settles in your chest. Go back. It’s not safe out here.

Why is this so difficult?

The autumn air is crisp, the sun is in your back, and you're absolutely terrified.

[voidmarkd]

[ . . . ] continued from here with @erinnya

Atlas’ gaze remained locked on her, her defiance a flicker of light against the cold void that stirred within him. He watched the way her composure had steadied, how her chin lifted in subtle defiance, and it amused him. Her words, laced with challenge, piqued his curiosity even further. It wasn’t often that someone met his darkness with such boldness. He let the silence between them stretch, savoring the weight of her response like a hunter toying with prey, uncertain yet if he would strike or simply watch her squirm.

His lips parted, but no sound emerged at first. Instead, he stepped closer, the shadows seeming to cling to him like a second skin. The air around him chilled further, his presence oppressive, as though he brought with him the emptiness of the grave. His eyes roamed over her, searching for cracks in her armor, a sign of fear, but there was only that same defiant spark. It intrigued him, this game she seemed willing to play. Most would have wilted beneath the weight of his stare, beneath the echoes of death that clung to him like a lover’s whisper. She was different. Perhaps that made her dangerous. Or valuable.

Atlas leaned in slightly, just enough for his words to brush against her skin like a cold breeze. "You may find that the dead don’t speak in words, but in consequences, love." The smile that tugged at the corners of his mouth was far from kind, it was predatory, calculated. He could feel the pull of his magic, faint but ever present, reacting to the tension between them. There was something about her, something hidden beneath the surface. Secrets, he suspected. Secrets worth prying open.

His expression darkened, the faint smile twisting into something colder, more sinister. Her words echoed in his mind: if the dead were still worth listening to. He let the silence linger for a moment longer, as though weighing her statement against something far deeper than she could grasp. His eyes narrowed, a flicker of something unreadable passing through them before settling back into their icy detachment.

"The dead always have something to say" he replied, his voice quiet but sharp, like a blade wrapped in velvet. "But whether they're worth listening to?" His smile returned, a cruel curve at the corner of his lips. "That depends on how much you value lies. The dead are full of them — whispers of what was, of what could have been. But they're never what you expect." His gaze grew more intense, as if testing her resolve. "If you're seeking truth, you're looking in the wrong place. The dead only offer reflections of your own fears. Sometimes that's all they are... echoes."

She hadn’t told him her name, but Atlas didn’t need to know it, not yet. For now, this game was enough. He would watch her, learn more with each word she spoke. And when the time came, he’d decide if she was worth keeping in his orbit — or if she would be another unfortunate consequence of getting too close.

[geekywritings]

Losing him

Sebastian x reader (not MC).

You have been friends for years, but recently, you feel him slipping from you, So you decide to approach him about it. It doesn’t go as expected... Or does it?

_____________

„You are going to get yourself killed.”

How often had you spoken these words in a joking tone, usually followed by a light shove or punch against his shoulder? This day, your voice was different. Heavy, serious, full of real concern. If Sebastian wasn’t so stubborn, it might have had an effect on him. But the discovery he had made with the new 5th year had started to consume his mind, leaving room for little else. He believed there was a real chance to save Anne now. You weren’t quite as convinced.

“This is dangerous stuff, Sebastian.”

“You are sounding like Ominis.”, he finally spoke, his own voice dismissive and annoyed.

“Good, then at least I’m not alone in trying to talk some sense into you.”

The blind wizard was one to worry easily, but when it came to Dark Magic, his concerns were more than justified in your opinion. You were the last person to stop Sebastian when he stole some ingredients for a new potion he read about or made another late-night visit to the restricted section of the library. Heck, you even joined him many times, but this… This was something else. But your long-term friend didn’t want to hear any of it. His mind was made up.

“Do you not care about Anne at all?” The accusation hit you like a slap and you even stepped back.

“How can you even say that? Anne and I were friends. The four of us were inseparable.” Sebastian, Anne, Ominis and you, from first to fourth year people rarely saw you apart. Until the incident with the curse… and until the new 5th year arrived. Everything had changed since then. And not for the better.

“Then you should be helping me and not trying to sabotage the entire thing!” The talk was getting heated and your hands balled into fists.

“I’m trying to protect you, Sebastian!”, you raised your voice to match his, not willing to back down. “I lost Anne already. Can’t you see that I don’t want to lose you as well?!” He wasn’t just one of your best friends. He was the boy you secretly loved since 3rd year, never finding the right moment or the courage to confess. And seeing him slip away from you further and further was more painful than you liked to admit.

Your words seemed to calm him for a moment, as he studied you from head to toe. Balled hands, shaking slightly. Face twisted in worry and despair, with eyes glistening due to impending tears. You hated appearing weak, but Sebastian, unfortunately, had this effect on you.

“I care for you, Sebastian.” Your voice had calmed down as well, the words coming out softly. This wasn’t how you wanted this moment to be. A fight wasn’t the introduction it deserved, but the confession tumbled out of you regardless. “All I want is for you to be happy…and safe… so please, don’t go on this quest.”

You watched as he closed the distance between you, before suddenly pulling you into his arms. He held you so tight, it almost hurt, his face buried in your hair. “I know you do.”, you heard him speak. “But I have to do this.”

You knew your words would not change his mind. You didn’t have the same power over him that he held over you. To gain at least some comfort from it, you hugged him back, tears now flowing freely, as you pressed your face against his shoulder.

He held you for quite some time, hand running through your hair. “I promise, I will come back to you. I always will.”, he vowed. “And then, you can confess to me properly. With no tears and all.” Ah, there it was. His cocky nature and mischievous humor. Some of the strongest weapons he wielded and you were weak to both.

“I hate that you are doing that.”, you told him honestly, as he released you and you used to chance to wipe the remaining tears with the sleeve of your robe.

Despite his joke just now, Sebastian looked serious. “Once Anne is saved, things will go back to the way they were.”

No, they would not. Those carefree days were over, he just didn’t want to accept it. Too much had happened. Too much had changed. The new 5th year had pulled Sebastian away from both Ominis and you into a territory neither of you wanted to follow.

You loved the Slytherin, but you weren’t quite sure yet if those feelings would stand the trials yet to come. “Just don’t do anything you will come to regret, Sebastian.”, you spoke again, purposely not replying to any of his last statements.

“I will do what I have to do.”

And that’s exactly what you were afraid of…

[usagiverse]

Hello, I totally love you art and designs.

The way the character sheets the expressions change when they show the body is just adorable, and that image of the princess! I'm like Leo! Do you have more designs like that?

By the way I also had that Yuichi's first name/surname debate, I loved your very complete answer.

And now my question I'm curious about Miyamoto and Yuichi's relationship in the image of the two of them together, Miyamoto looks kind of awkward, is it just my imagination?

Hi Nerish, thank you so much for the kind words and compliments! I think you're one of my earliest followers, so here's an official welcome to the blog!

By "designs like that" do you mean more references? I do not! I'm still planning on the story as it involves the already established characters, and they still have some time-period-specific designs that need to be officialized before I can finish their arcs. Other characters, as mentioned before, come in way later in the timeline. Our very first antagonist is one we already know, or at least, we have an idea of who / what. After that arc, we will see another antagonist, and that's where we can start seeing more characters & when I can post new designs. Unless you meant more designs like Princess Miya, in which... Yes, I do! I had a dream about someone posting Leochi art in a discord server, and Yuichi was wearing a uh..... playboy bunny outfit. At the time the dream happened, I thought it was stupid-- a rabbit in a sexy rabbit costume??? But then it got me thinking... first of all, to any NSFW artists out there, that's actually a genius idea, and secondly, I know how to turn a bad idea into a good one. Here are some concepts of a "Magical Girl" inspired AU of Shuji and Yuichi, whose powers are based on different types of flowers. I wanted to keep the same kind of Light VS. Dark theme, and this isn't an AU I will be actively pursuing, but it does exist out there now.

Shuji is based on a Balloon Flower, has a light, airy, and elegant kind of look, while Yuichi is based on a Himalayan Blue Poppy, and has a messy, rough, kind of luxurious feel to it. I like them, but they don't match each other. Most Magical Girl teams, I think, kind of look the same as each other, to signify they are a "team". This looks, well, not like that, lol. Also, couldn't decide if Yuichi should have an asymmetrical arm piece. Lots of strange design choices made here, but they're neat. Yuichi and Miyamoto... Well, I wanted to portray something between them in that image, but as you can see my art style was different then so the expressions are off, the posing is off, everything is... Off. I do think there is something there, though. Miyamoto is training under Yuichi to have the values of a Samurai, but he doesn't abide by them outside of the house. He believes house = safe, and outside = survival, much like Yuichi and Shuji do. Miyamoto is a Samurai at home, and a rogue outside, which is different than the twins who are Samurai all the time. Yuichi is older and wiser, but he has a kooky quality to him that makes Miyamoto question if he was right to train him. Imagine... you know your Uncle to be this funny, kind of hot-headed, stubborn, and even somewhat air-headed dum-dum that never takes anything seriously (from your POV). Then, the mask comes off and he is actually.. really, really strong. You knew that, but you didn't know he was willing to actually pin you against the wall, just to prove a point. It can be a little awkward to think that your Uncle is entirely capable of killing anybody including you, and he is training you to do the same thing. Miyamoto is by no means a pacifist, but he's a peacemaker. If he offers peace and the other side refuses, of course there will be war. But Miyamoto has never had to imagine that he needs to know how to do what Yuichi is training him for, and so, metamorphically, he puts down his sword and walks away from it all. It's a tough responsibility for him. He's not sure he wants to be a Samurai yet. And he has to face the fact that his strange, oddly chillax and really cool Uncle is trained to kill. So this stirs up his little angsty teenage phase, where he shows up to training late, leaves early, doesn't try as hard, and is often away from home. He loves his Uncle. They just gotta work it out is all.

[vaedar]

❝𝐅𝐢𝐫𝐞 𝐢𝐬 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞, 𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐞 𝐢𝐬 𝐩𝐚𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧, 𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐞 𝐢𝐬 𝐬𝐞𝐱𝐮𝐚𝐥 𝐚𝐫𝐝𝐨𝐫 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐬𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬.❞ 

So that is what GRRM said regarding the conflict of the books, between ice and fire and what each represents. Dragons and by extension, their riders and likely Valyrians themselves as a society, are the fire in that song. This is the base idea on which I built Vaedar’s character and world around, but that particular sentence pretty much describes Vaedar in the best roundabout way. 

𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄. We often see how love is described as fiery and warm, but love doesn’t have to be of a sexual or romantic nature. It can be nurturing, familial, compassionate, and kind. Love can make you do good as well as bad things, it can give you courage as it can give you fear. It can be selfless as it can be selfish, it can expand your horizons as it can close them. For Vaedar, all of this and more is present in his character in different ways. He loves his family, he loves his dragon, he loves himself and he loves his home. This love for them all can also render him stubborn and prideful, enough to selectively blind himself to the bad. In time, as he allows himself to learn and accept, the part of him that believes in equality will be stronger and he will try to do something about it in his own ways. 

𝐏𝐀𝐒𝐒𝐈𝐎𝐍. Anyone who’s interacted with him will probably notice this right away. He is a very passionate character, he does not do things halfway, and he would rather not do it at all if his heart is not in it 100%. This is something far more noticeable as he gets older, developing his natural confidence. This translates into his emotions as well. He has a short temper and little patience but only when it comes to matters he is passionate about. When he believes in something or someone, he will fight for them, he will speak out regardless of how reckless it can be, he can deal with the consequences after. That passion is also connected to love, of course, and it will manifest most strongly in sexual matters with that special person. That passion is also what has him excel at those things he gives himself fully into, such as dragon riding and sword fighting, and ( less known ) poetry writing. 

𝐒𝐄𝐗𝐔𝐀𝐋 𝐀𝐑𝐃𝐎𝐑. I think this is something pretty evident in him. Vaedar is a ‘manwhore’ as I like to call him, in the sense that he is not shy or reluctant in his sexual desires. Others could try to accuse him of this as an insult and he will see it as a compliment. Although this is also influenced in a way by Valyrian society and its more liberal views on sexual aspects ( compared to most of Westeros ), it’s a constant in all verses of him, where he will flirt and try to seduce anyone who interests him and seems willing to accept his advances. Sexual matters to him can be separated from romantic ones, he does not need to feel anything for someone in order to be attracted physically to them. It’s a simple and pleasurable way of satisfying that desire, but it’s also a way of distracting his often restless mind, because he can let his bodily urges take over in the act. Although this view has him easily engaging with multiple different partners, once the other two aspects ( love and passion ) are focused on one person, all that sexual ardor will be faithfully fixated on that individual.

𝐅𝐈𝐑𝐄. And last but not least, the thing that encompasses it all. Fire is magical in ASOIAF ( according to GRRM ) and to Valyrians, it was one of their very life forces ( along with blood ). Even his name ( unknowingly to me until time after I’d already created him and the RP had been going for a while ) can be roughly translated to ‘song of the fire man’, which I think is very fitting. Vaedar is meant to represent all this in his character, the good and the bad. Fire can destroy as it can nurture, it can burn and give warmth, it can be the weapon and the light in the darkness -coughs-lightbringer-coughs-. Dragons also are an obvious representation of fire in the story, which is also why the bond Vaedar has with his dragon, Azaes, is so very important to who he is. Verses where Azaes has died or does not exist, can mean a few adjustments to his character, but overall, he will have these fiery themes going with him as I interpret them. 

As an original character, he is especially a constant work in progress ( more so than canon characters, I believe ), but these are the cornerstones of who he is, the bedrock upon which I ‘built’ him and continue to develop him. Hope it makes some sense and if you managed to read it all, thank you so much!

[sybaritick]

it's the BG3 fic writing 2023 summary meme!

just doing this for fun because I've seen a few writers taking part!

What are your Ao3 stats? How many words written, how many hits, kudos, and comments?

For 2023, words: 24608 hits: 19414 kudos: 2115 comment threads: 97

oooh, statistics!! now let's do a regression or something. ("on what"?? i don't know. could do something with the fic-by-fic data i suppose on comments vs kudos vs hits or whatnot) I'm happy with these stats, and the comments make me happiest -- I had so many great reactions to my fics that really made me smile to read. (Or laugh, in some cases, which might be even better).

Did you have a favourite canon character to write?

Gale. gotta be Gale. I love doing Astarion's dialogue too tho because he has SUCH a fun voice.

Did you have a favourite OC to write?

I’ve written very little OC stuff, only a single Tav/Gale fic. So Vierlin, the morally deficient enchantment wizard and fellow nerd to Gale, wins by default in Suggestion!

Which fic was your most popular?

That's nor heaven peep through the blanket of dark, the Astarion/Gale sussur flower fic! IMO it's only the most popular because it was posted in September.

Which fic was your personal favourite?

Hm, I think oh, rotten little thing, just because corrupting Gale makes me horny :) my upcoming gortash/gale fic will be. very much about that

Was there anything you wrote that was a surprise to you? Why?

in full honesty no I'm not surprised. I'll write anything. I did do a very overtly niche-kink-driven fic tho for us feeders/fat fetishists, catalyst!

What is your favourite piece of description you wrote? Why do you like it?

It's hard question, but one of the most fun is this section with ascended!Astarion in At Knifepoint: Astarion's face was cruel and angular in the half-light of the darkened library, stark shadows cast across his features, lips curled into a teasing smile. The Dispel Magic spell rushed over him faster than he could answer it, dark and sour like a sickening wave, and the invisibility curled away from his body like the burnt edge of a newspaper. lots of tasty sensory detail and imagery!

What was your favourite piece of dialogue you wrote? Why do you like it?

the Conversation Full Of Lying between precanon gort and durge in Grim Trigger was just fun as hell to write: "What, as an arms dealer? If I were to judge you by your victims, I would hardly be willing to set foot in the same room. But the cattle you so devoutly dismember are not me-- and the politicians and power-brokers that come under my influence are not you. Our relationship differs fundamentally." The Dark Urge was silent for a moment, but Gortash saw by the set of his jaw that he remained very much unconvinced. "What is it you imagine I would do to you?" Enver said. "You'd like to hear that, wouldn't you?" the Dark Urge answered, his lips curling into a cruel smile. "With the blessings of Bane it's only become easier for you to have anything you please. An ordinary mortal falls apart underneath you so dreadfully easily-- and you wish I would go down just as soft and easily, swallowed up to satisfy your urges." “You confuse your condition for mine, Bhaalspawn.” Gortash felt the air thicken with the thoughts coalescing in the Dark Urge’s mind. "You are not as different from me as you imagine." "I'll take that in the complimentary spirit I'm sure you intended.”

What was your overall feeling about your writing in 2023? What were you proud of? What were the highlights?

I feel positive about it! The biggest highlight is just that I'm happy I started writing again-- I'm glad to be banging this stuff out instead of letting it languish in my head until I forget it.

What would you like to explore more in 2024?

A Lot. Possibilities include: - several pairings I want to write but haven't yet (or at least haven't posted yet), especially Gortash/Gale or Gortash/Durge/Astarion - a longer fic or two - more and worse kinks (things i currently have at least in the back of my mind? hypnosis, sexual coercion/blackmail, some stuff that is fetishizing the political corruption in baldur's gate lol, forced impreg and misgendering, some medical play...) - perhaps additional originals/non-bg3 works as well because i do still enjoy writing them!

i encourage anyone who sees this and feels like it to do this too! it was fun to reflect on the past year of fanficcing :D

[mercymaker]

mallllllllll 🤥💥🌙🌱🌌🪤🎭✂️🔪📎🖍️❇️💧🌪️🌈🔥☁️🌟🌠☄️💓❤️💌💔

𝐎𝐂 𝐄𝐌𝐎𝐉𝐈 𝐀𝐒𝐊𝐒!

Aaaa, this is quite a challenge! Thank you! 😘

🤥 LYING - are they good liars? do they have tells to show they're lying?

Yes, Mal is a pretty good liar because she sort of, in that moment, almost believes the lie herself. Oscar-worthy acting, you could say. And I don't think it's very easy to spot a lie even if you know her very well, which, in turn, can make close relationships a bit tricky because it's not very easy to trust her when you know how easy it is for Mal to lie 😬

💥 COLLISON - what emotions do they have trouble dealing with?

Honestly? A lot of honest, vulnerable emotions Maleane really struggles to deal with. I guess above everything it's grief. She never properly mourned her mother (or her father, for that matter) because she just locked that shit up behind a massive wall in order to focus on survival. She finds it hard being truly honest with someone, it doesn't come naturally to her, so if she is being honest and vulnerable with them that means Mal put a ton of effort into it. Being well aware on how to use other's weaknesses against them, it's only fair that she guards hers so well.

🌙 MOON - what is your oc's greatest wish? how far are they willing to go for it?

Power is incredibly tempting as it offers a way to her true wish and part of her wants to be really powerful. I think it's part of her journey throughout the game, this relationship with power and finding the perfect balance within it. But at the end of the day, Maleane wants to be free. To do as she wishes, to live without fear, to be powerful enough to protect herself, but not so powerful that it becomes her entire point of being. What's the point of ultimate power if it's only going to attract the worst of this world to try and get a taste of it? Or worse - take it from her?

🌱 SEEDLING - what is their most vivid memory from childhood?

I think it's a sort of rare, idyllic moment she had with her family. Chewing on a piece of honeycomb until there was nothing but a lump of beeswax left in her mouth. All while her mother was reading a book in the glimmering light of a candle. And her father cutting a piece off, spreading a thick layer of honey on a slice of bread and offering it to A'sherra on a small plate. Just little moments like that, which weren't that common, but they definitely dominate Mal's memories of her childhood.

🌌 MILKY WAY - what was the inspiration behind your oc? what was the first thing you decided about them?

I'll be honest with ya here on this day, but when I made Mal it was purely based on aesthetics. I didn't put that much thought into her, I kind of went "ok, night/dark elf? YES! magic? YES! looks sorta like my mage from wow? YUP!" but she quickly evolved as I played the game and just became her own person. That I'm absolutely in love with.

🪤 MOUSE TRAP - what will always lure them into certain danger? a loved one in danger? a promise of something they are always searching for?

It's very likely to be because of the people she cares about. As self-interested as Mal is, she would risk a lot for those that earned her favor and love. And it's hard to admit that, even to herself, because it makes her feel foolish and stupid, and yet Mal does it (she'll deal with the internal conflict later)!

🎭 MASKS - do they act differently around certain people? what's different between the way they act around friends, family, strangers, etc.?

Absolutely! Mal sort of shifts into whatever she thinks the situation demands, whatever gives her the best advantage. And it's not necessarily doing an extreme 180! Sometimes it's all about subtle little changes to the way she acts, small lies peppered here and there. Her friends definitely see a more raw, honest side of her, but at times it's hard to shed the act entirely as some of her "core" characteristics are sort of in conflict with each other. Strangers see the many different acts, be it a small meek woman on the road or a cold and intimidating drow. When she's surrounded only by the closest ones, she's much more mellow, relaxed, less alert. A great listener, actually!

✂️ SCISSORS - what is the "last straw" for them to cut someone out of their life? how easily do they let go of people?

As hypocritical as it might be it's probably if they used her. I don't think Mal finds it very hard to let go of people, even if it aches and hurts, she knows she can survive out there without them.

🔪 KNIFE - how do they react to injury / misfortune befalling their loved ones (significant other, family, friends)? do they put themselves at blame?

For starters, she tries to prevent anything bad happening to them. But if there's one thing that life had taught her is that there are so many things that are simply beyond her control. She spent so much of her life being scared and feeling powerless to control any part of it, that it's sort of normal to think that you can't prevent every misfortune from happening. She would, on the other hand, go out of her way to harm those who hurt her loved ones.

📎 PAPERCLIP - a random fact.

She's incredibly lightweight when it comes to alcoholic beverages. It doesn't take a lot for her to get smashed. One time some of the compot they had preserved had gone sour and turned into booze and she drank it and got absolutely hammered.

🖍️ CRAYON - what advice would you give to them?

STOP. BEING. IN. YOUR. HEAD. SO. MUCH. She's just such an over-thinker, trying to anticipate every possible scenario to come out of the situation that she gets tangled in that mess. It often times prevents her from just enjoying life in its simplicity, you know THE ONE THING she ought to do after spending all her life in isolation???

❇️ SPARKLE - what is their most prized possession? what do they value?

A little piece of amethyst that reminds her of her father. When she was little Lathorien gave her a little gem that he kept from one of his trips to Underdark before she'd been born. Mal had lost the original one long ago, but the next time she found it in someone's pockets, she kept it, cherishing the memory.

She also keeps a lot of books, scrolls, and notes that they find on their travels. At first, it was to keep herself informed, gather intel and try to find some advantage in the chaos that was swallowing them up. But then she just kept more and more unrelated stuff, to read in her leisure.

💧 DROPLET - random angst headcanon

Mal had to bury her mother's mangled corpse and she was in so much distress and panic that not only did she absolutely wreck her hands digging the dirt, but also summoned a massive storm that made everything ten times more difficult. She sat there for hours, soaked and shivering, just channeling the torrential rain until she passed out from exhaustion. Mal doesn't remember most of it.

🌪️ TORNADO - what is the biggest change you've ever made to them? how have they changed from their original version?

I think changing her magic from wild to storm? I just wanted her magic to be connected to her emotions. A controlled person who's capable of keeping her feelings locked tight being able to translate that into precise use of magic? Only to eventually lose their shit and cause devastation? ? You know how they say that if you repress your emotions they don't go away but will one day come out in a way you might not even be able to recognize? I like that metaphor for her.

🌈 RAINBOW - what advice would they give to their younger self?

Ask father things about his family. His community. Don't believe everything mother says. Even if she has your best interests in mind, doesn't mean she won't manipulate you. Keep some thoughts to yourself. And not every outsider you meet will want to harm you.

🔥 FIRE - do they have any self destructive tendencies? what habits do they have that hinder them from becoming their best self?

I think she allows herself to succumb to her darkest thoughts. That voice in her mind that assumes the worst about others and herself. When Mal is in a particularly dark place she just allows one side to win. And at times she thinks about harming herself, just going absolutely feral on her own body. Maybe as a way to kill that voice, because it IS her voice in her head. It's all part of her.

And I think it's all that overthinking, rotating and weighing conflicting thoughts, trying to get the upper hand that's hindering her growth. I think she needs to learn when she can let go and just let things unfold naturally. Sometimes you cross the bridge when you come to it.

☁️ CLOUD - a soft headcanon

She makes potions for everyone! I just see her spending the well-deserved 4 hours of rest in trance and then she's reading and sorting herbs and writing things down. She sorts out the vials, stacks them in piles and hands them out in the morning before they leave camp. Poisons, health pots, invisibility potions, you name it.

🌟 GLOWING STAR - what do they think about when they look at the night sky? is there someone they want to star gaze with?

At times she thinks of her father. He'd take her on week-long trips through the forest, hunting, camping, teaching her things about the wilds. At night, they'd sit around a fire or its embers, looking at the sky and he'd tell her stories of Eilistraee, about all the creatures, magical and not, that he'd encountered, tales of great heroes, etc.

And uh, star-gazing with a star, no? I think she yearns to just cuddle up under a night sky, all soft touches and sounds. But she also thinks it's embarrassing to admit to want soft things like that, so you'd have to pry that out of her like a sin.

🌠 SHOOTING STAR - if they could make any wish with no repercussions, what wish would they make?

Likely to have her parents back. Alive and well. She misses them much more than she'd be willing to admit to herself. Sure, it was her mother's death that even allowed Maleane to start to become her own person, but damn at times she just wishes she could talk to A'sherra, to both of her parents.

☄️ COMET - what do people assume about them? are they right?

Often times people assume whatever she wants them to assume. She plays meek and fearful when she wants someone to underestimate her. Or commanding and intimidating if it feels like it would prevent someone from harming her, etc. etc.

But those who get past the initial act likely assume that she's harboring some deep dark secret that demands all that masquerade to begin with. Like a distraction from something twisted that she's trying to hide. And while she IS hiding something from them, it's much simpler than some horrible dark past. It's just her fragile heart that she's shielding from everyone.

💓 BEATING HEART - what gets their heart racing?

Using magic! The adrenaline of being in battle and just feeling it course through her, seeing the devastation it can cause, protecting her team, etc.

❤️ RED HEART - their love language(s)?

I think it's quality time and physical touch.

I mean, she almost turned into a puddle the first time Shadowheart softly touched her hand and did her hair!!! When she hugged Astarion, she felt like years and years of hurt and longing were melting away. It took her breath away when Gale held her hand to his heart, it almost scared her how intimate it felt? ? ?? SHE'S JUST THAT KIND OF GIRL!!!

💌 LOVE LETTER - do they like love letters? what kind of messages do they leave for their partner?

Honestly? ?? I think she'd love to receive letters in general. Half her childhood she'd read letters and notes from other people and at times dream of someone writing one for her!! BUT also it feels almost, uh.. beneath her??? To write a love letter? ? It's admitting feelings, something she struggles so much to do in private, and leaving them behind as evidence on some parchment?? ?/ NO! Too cringe! Jail!

💔 BROKEN HEART - what could their partner do that would absolutely break their heart?

Use her! Use her trust in them. It's not easy for someone like her to bare her heart and admit feelings and be vulnerable. So if they took all that from her and betrayed her trust. Yeah, she'd be absolutely devastated.

[storyconceptcollection]

Mind Over Matter

For the world, reality is a matter of matter. But for the world-sensing creature, reality is not just a matter of matter, but a matter of sensation. And for the self-sensing creature, man, reality isn't just matter, and not just sensation, but meaning.

To the creature, frequency of light is not just a frequency of light, but a color. A frequency of pressure is not just that, but a sound. And to the self-sensing creature, man, colors and sounds aren't just those, but symbols of meaning.

To man, red is carnal, as it is the color of flesh. It is the omen of spilt blood, or the sign that two creatures of the same ilk were willing to become one. Red flowers are picked for love, and flags are dyed red for a nation of people. Black is mysterious, as nothing can be parsed from within it, only from around it. Mankind fleas from darkness for fear of what could be in it, and uses darkness to blot out all of that which it does not want to see. A low hum is felt more than it is heard, so as man conducts audio's flow for art, the low is used as a grounding element, from which the audience can more easily understand the other elements by, now that they are in context. A high pitch is heard more than it is felt, so as man conducts music, the high is relied upon to string a series of tones together, which the audience can readily understand as a pattern of tones.

The world is, creatures feel, but man knows.

But how do we know? No, I do not mean to ask whether what we know is truly representative of what is. What I mean to ask is how we know, as in what mechanisms of the mind are at play when sensations become meaning. How?

We do not know how. But we do know that, despite how every self-sensing creature is capable of deriving the same meanings, they do not derive those meanings by the same means.

And there is literal, actual magic in how the mind derives meaning. But man's mind is not such a mind that can cast magic. It can not change the matter of something by playing with its name. Or, at least, it couldn't before.

Have you heard of symbiogenisis? It posits that complex cells are the product of an ancient symbiotic relationship between two simpler cells. One cell entered another, the two entered into a symbiotic relationship, and then the two began to share genetic makeup, so that the two of them could become a whole unit that could produce more of its kind.

Before humanity was human, there were pre-humans. And alongside those pre-humans, there was another clan of beings, who would later evolve into something else: The Fae.

These were magical beings, as they could understand something and then change that thing's matter, simply by changing what that thing meant to them.

When the pre-humans communed with the pre-fae, the two clans each underwent a change. I can only describe what happened then as something akin to symbiogenisis. But instead of this being about their cells or their bodies, it was about their minds. Pre-man took from pre-fae and became self-aware, learning to derive meaning; pre-fae took from pre-man's mind and experienced a shift in their senses, such that they became more in-tune with the world around them.

Humanity could now derive meaning from things. But there were many kinds of fae, and many ways of communing with them. As humans communed with different kinds of fae, and in different ways, more variations of the human mind emerged. In the present day, human minds are all noticeably different from each other, and the cause for this effect can be traced all the way back to the early humans' relations with the fae.

I mentioned before that mankind doesn't have the mind for casting magic. This is only half true. It is true that humans can not perform the magic of the fae, but they can still perform their own. Furthermore, some people possess minds that can more easily perform fae-like magic than those with minds that humanity would deem "typical." These people were the first to discover human magic. These were people who had struggled in human society, as human society had struggled to understand them.

Humanity still does not understand. They do not know how minds work they way they do, but now, for those used to struggle, that hardly matters anymore.

[reviewsthatburn]

Violet loves Burleigh House. Unabashedly, unreservedly, and to the point that she’s in a toxic/codependent relationship with Burleigh as it will take everything she has to give and hurt her in return. I kept waiting for it to do something for her, something beyond occasional flowers. Violet has to figure out whether she wants to live for more than Burleigh, if she can be more than a Caretaker. She's ready to give everything for it and it's waiting to take everything she'll offer.

Full Review at Link.

[soulsuckrrs]

Each moment Raydan spent close to Max he felt himself relax more and more, something that came naturally it seemed. There wasn't a single malicious intent radiating off the witch and although Raydan found that highly suspicious, past experiences forever tainting how he lived his life, especially in the face of being bound to someone again, he didn't find himself as bristled as he typically was. But there was more to this bond than he was willing to admit, the intensity of the magic tying them was palpable, thick in the air between them even now, powerful. He had been powerful with others but not quite like this. It worried the hound, so unfamiliar to such feelings when it came to magic users, it wasn't weighing on him like those in the past. In fact, nothing about this bond was anything like those he'd had in the past. Starting with Max himself and the kindness he seemed to exhibit above all else, though Raydan was convinced it could be a trap like others had set for him, there wasn't a gut feeling that accompanied his suspicion.

His brow was only furrowed slightly, a mixture of weariness, soreness, and uncertainty bordering on annoyance because, dammit, it was too early to be dealing with these conflicting emotions. Raydan wasn't entirely a morning person but he rarely found issues waking up to face the day early, other than the usual tiredness, something he struggled with anyway due to restless and sleepless nights. He enjoyed a good morning run, something he did more often when his mind wouldn't settle at night. With tired but otherwise alert eyes Raydan watched Max as he explained his and his brothers typical morning routine and the hound couldn't help but slouch just a little, a stance resembling that of a tired teenager not looking forward to the day's events. There was no telling what it might entail and Raydan felt his irritation at being summoned and bound resurfacing once again. 

When Max asked for assistance with setting the table Raydan didn't feel the old sensation of magic that accompanied an order but he nodded in compliance anyway, shifting his stance and glancing at the copious amounts of food briefly before Max paused and reached towards him slowly. Raydan didn't flinch, he'd stopped flinching from violence and touch long ago but that wasn't why Max cautiously reached out towards the hound. Raydan just stilled, stood there and watched as Max placed his fingers against the sore muscles of Raydan's shoulder and neck, a warm sort of magic worked to ease that tension and stress there, relieving his irritation within a few seconds. How strange. His masters had only ever wanted to cause him pain, not relieve him from it. Maybe Max truly was different. He'd even apologized for helping. 

The hound shifted in place, straightening his back and rolling his neck a little, getting a satisfying little pop from his neck and shoulders where it had been stiff. He huffed an appreciative noise, dark eyes fixing Max with a mildly confused expression, curiosity obvious in his gaze. “Uhm…” he cleared his throat of the husky tone, shifting his gaze back to the food and he nodded a couple times. “-- thanks.” It wasn't the first time he'd said the word but it had been a while, his cheeks tinted a light shade of pink and he moved to gather some things to carry to the little nook. He never had been very good at talking, well, talking nicely but no one had really given him the chance or any reason to. So that frown of his was an ever present thing even as he mulled over what Max was saying, what he was offering. 

“I uh… I want to apologize,” he grimaced and huffed a breath, avoiding eye contact for a moment in mild shame like a guilty dog before he offered an awkward expression, making another trip to carry some breakfast items to the table. “I didn't think it was possible to be summoned again and I was caught off guard,” not to mention intoxicated as well but the hellfire had purified him of that and anything else that might have made him an individual. Like it always did. Raydan paused at the table, eyeing everything again, buying himself some time to process what he wanted to say next because he did have questions and he wasn't sure he wouldn't entirely mind answering what questions Max had. Another wave of emotions stirred in his chest, confusion, hesitation, uncertainty he was doing the right thing even apologizing or complying to answer questions. 

Raydan sighed and ran a hand through his hair, pushing it out of his face before he let his dark gaze land on Max. “I'm not like other hellhounds, not just another guard dog,” he shifted again, anxiety threatening to change his mind from speaking further, usually the people who summoned him already knew all about the curse and rules he had to follow but it seemed that Max was unaware or at least very good at hiding it but he had been right, Raydan would be able to tell if Max was lying. “I'll answer your questions and I do have a few of my own…” he was still debating how much he wanted to say or whether or not it was a good idea to divulge any information on the curse at all. 

Max felt the shift of energy in the house when Raydan woke up, and he only paused for a moment before continuing his cooking. It bled out from his room and permeated the rest of the manor. Suspicion, then he relaxed after a moment, but there was still hesitation in him. Max could tell that this was going to be an arduous task, but if anyone of the Tannens were up tomit, it was Max. Because of their bond, he assumed, he was fine tuned to Raydan's energy and emotions already since he was able to pick up his emotions from across the house. He ignored it for now, in favor of a favorite song that started playing which made him hum along as he danced. Mostly everything was done by the time Raydan finally made his way down to the kitchen, and he swayed in place while flipping the bacon. But as the hound made his way closer, he could feel another sensation. Pain. Discomfort. Soreness. He lifted his head in time to see the man standing near him, and he just smiled while he turned down the music. He did look disheveled and sleepy, and it was honestly… attractive. The hostility was mostly gone, thankfully, so now Max could really see him, and by the gods… He had to look away from the man before he did something stupid like just stare at him. It was true what they said about morning voice, and it was a slight weakness of Max's, so the husky tone of Raydan's seemingly playful irritation made a small shiver roll down his spine. He hurriedly talked, hoping to hide the small spike of arousal that just went through him and trying to not make it seem obvious. "I am. And yeah, I always do. I kind of have to, living with my brothers so this morning cheeriness is trained habit. Aro is the real morning person. On the days where I know Aro is gonna cook breakfast, I'll usually sleep in." He turned off the stove in time to hear the rumbling of Raydan's stomach, and he chuckled. "Don't worry, this is for both of us. I figure Hellhounds might eat a lot, so I made alot." He scooped out the bacon onto a waiting plate and pointed over to the breakfast nook off the kitchen, that had a bay window where the booth seat and table sat to overlook the night garden that Max had carefully curated to have a vast array of differing night blooming plants and flowers. " Can you help me bring everything to the table? Then we can sit down and eat together. But, umm… first… that has to be uncomfortable so let me…" He paused for a moment, reaching up slowly so Raydan could see him moving. He touched the hound's shoulder with only his fingertips, keeping in mind that even this much touch might not be accepted so he was trying to keep it minimal, drawing out the pain and soreness from sleeping on the chair with his magick and after a few seconds, he let go. "There. Sorry, I could feel it bothering you and… I know sitting in the booth might make it hurt more so I wanted to… well, I didn't want to know that you were in pain and I did nothing about it. Anyways, help me set the table?" Max started grabbing plates, settling and balancing some on his arms like a waiter as he carried the plates of food to the nook, setting them down before going to grab cups, plates for them, and cutlery. 

As he started grabbing everything, he looked over his shoulder, keeping up with opening cabinets and drawers with the practiced ease of knowing exactly where everything was. "So… Raydan? Do you want to know anything? About me, I mean. I know you might have questions, so you can ask me anything you want to know. I'm an open book, I promise. Plus, can't hellhounds tell when someone's lying? I know werewolves can, based on heartbeat and scent, I think. Is it the same for you? I'm actually super curious about you. Apparently my knowledge of hellhounds is more lacking than I thought. Would it be okay for me to ask you about it? About… well, you?"

[magicaltecito]

𝑷𝑰𝑪𝑲 𝑨 𝑪𝑨𝑹𝑫: Message from your inner magic!

- Admin Sun ☀️ Instructions: Focus on the energy of asking for guidance and choose the pile that calls to you intuitively! If it's more than one, then read them!. My style: I used tarot, and oracle cards (I used the star dragon oracle, believe in your own magic and the angelarium) and a lot of my intuition!

Disclaimer: keep what resonates with you, english is not my first language so sorry in advance if anything is weird sounding, hope this helps if you have any idea for a pac please send me an ask or dm!

Pile 1 First of all, you haven't listened to your inner magical self for some time, they're telling me that there is this disconnection between the two of you. I see a lot of stress or anxiety for some projects not going how you want it or people don't listen to you about the things that are important. The first thing this magical you wants to tell you is that please, please make the change, you can't continue expecting someone else to fix things, to people behaving the way you wish, or for someone to save you (I know it might sound harsh) but you have all the power here, you just need to speak and found the right people that are willing to listen, and stop loosing your power on ears that are shut down for you. This is the time to start a new way of living, they're asking you to start something new, maybe a new creative project, a see a lot of "cottagecore activities" like sewing, knitting, and embroidery. The way you connect with your magic is through creation, you literally put magic in the things you do with your hands, I see this inner magic of you as a big sun or flame in your interior, and every time you make something a little bit of gold dust fells in to make it come into magical life. There is someone willing to help you with your creations/projects, I sense a best friend or even a platonic soul mate that will be your partner in this discovery of your magic craft, but first, you have to listen to what it wants to create, the rhythms of heat and passion are inside you let them free now. As a final message, I have that if you ever are criticized, misunderstood, or disrespected by anyone around you, call upon this magical flame and rely on your connection to fire and light to see through the dark times. Channeled words: “Life is nothing without a little chaos to make it interesting - Amelia Atwater-Rhodes", hairstyle, mirrors, kintsugi, stallion, catita, 417, red orchids, la paura del buio, lemon cakes, pen pals, ginger, in the deep forest, shadow work. Pile 2 So, someone has been manifesting lately, well I have good words, they're coming and fast, but only the things you are wishing for yourself and not to impress others or because of the opinions of others, what do I mean by that, like for example the partner you're manifesting is because you deserved to be love and you want to love someone or because you don't want to be alone, or because someone put you on the idea that being single is bad, the same goes with work and others desires you might have. So ask yourself, Why am I manifesting these things?. But there is a change coming for sure for the better, also the person (I feel is a bad friend, maybe an ex) that hurt you and has been bothering you will pay his karma, and it'll be divine justice, but sweetie you have to understand that you can't keep giving people seconds chances or using your time to check one them, unfollow them, blocked them, do whatever it takes, they're taking to much of your energy and they don't deserve it. I feel your inner magic is attracted to things that are not so common, that are different, so reach out for what your soul and magic self wants and needs, I feel you're being called to a particular path or way of living life, it may not make logical sense for the rest even sometimes for you, but honor it, you might have engaged in negative behaviors in a misguided attempt to heal others or to make yourself feel better in the eyes of someone else, but is time to have a drastic change, to embrace what you really want to manifest in your life, and to make it your own, your inner magic has particular gifts to share with you, but first, you have to promise them to deep the soulful connection with your true self, and embrace every different and may I say "dark" aspect you may enjoy and have. The path is opening for you, the time is moving fast to bring you closer to the future you want, use it!. channeled words: falling star, tea leaves, bones, justice, Bruno from Encanto, cheating, the innocent by aurora, Hecate, dancing barefoot, 4 am, tattoo hands, south wales. Pile 3 The

first thing that they're telling me is about your head being too deep in your problems, something about not letting go of things of the past related to your family, like the relationship with your parents or your grandmother. Like this feeling of "well, I can't do this because of the way I was raised" or "I have abandonment issues because of my dad, so that's why I have trouble trusting people". The thing here is, you can choose to live your life making excuses for the way you live today and act like a victim of your family or you can choose to break these patterns and use your energy to clean your path instead of blocking it. I know it is hard, I, myself, am going through the same process with my mom. But your magical self is asking you to use your magic in standing for yourself and getting out of this type of situation, to enter a new path and a new way of loving yourself not as a victim or as a member of the family of your parents, but as an individual capable of going in the direction they want and having what the want. Maybe you can do a cord cut ritual or a Familienaufstellung therapy, or even some genealogy/ancestral tarot. I remember something my grandpa used to say: "Sometimes to travel far, the traveler needs to put down his pack and just keep walking." You're not in this world to carry the problems of your family or to meet their needs and expectations, don't accept the rules you have placed to yourself or that others have placed on you, choose the paths that sets you free and lead you to happiness. Be kind, forgive others, yourself and give yourself permission to be forgiven. channeled words: keep going, coffee shops, candles, magic shop by bts, Mikasa, mermaids, the little mermaid, brave, drop out. no roots - Alice merton, long hair, the little prince, Endurtaka mig - dadi freyr, nona.

Pile 4 A lot of capricorn energy here. First of all, your energy is super powerful and is asking you to start right now. That huge project or idea you have dreamed of since childhood, is probably that you're or are entering your Saturn return, so that's why it is super emphatic with "Now" being the right time.  Let go of hesitations and explore the future you envisioned for yourself. I would say that your fears and hopes often turn out to be one and the same thing, which is why a hope or a dream remains only a hope. If you weren't afraid of it in some way, you would have achieved it already, because you have all the tools to do it. So the first step is to think before judging yourself by those fears and practice a lot of self-love, a lot a lot, then to paint the mural of your future again. It is weird because all the piles are talking about the same in one way or another, about being honest with what we dreamed as children. I think it is because we believe in our magic as children, so you need to connect yourself with what your inner child wants and what your inner teen wants to explore, honor them, to honor yourself, be the protective and guide adult they need it, your magical self craves to express itself through your goals and achievements whether you wish to express yourself creative, logical, as leader or whatever, now is the perfect opportunity to take deliberate steps towards your life purpose. I see a lot of children's activities, like looking for bugs, exploring, painting with our fingers, playing with your imagination (maybe something like d&d) to connect with your child & teen, ask them and ask yourself if there is something that would worry them about taking this step, and if so what is that exactly?, but remember the world and the universe is with you to help you accomplish this things so be brave! Channeled words: oranges, reading to sleep, clear, cooking together, fluorescent adolescencent - artic monkeys, snap out of it-artic monkeys, 7th grade, braids, childhood crush, tom & jerry, painting and wine, Dante, Scouts, England, Concepción.

[mercy-burning]

Your Favorite — Part 1

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!Reader Summary: When Y/N comes home from college for the summer to meet her mom's new boyfriend, she finds herself in a rather tough spot when she can’t stop thinking about him— And it seems he feels the same... Category: SMUT (18+) Content: Adults w/ age gap, masturbation (female and male), minor exhibitionism kink, oral sex (male receiving), penetrative sex, breeding kink (kinda? i think? 😅) Word Count: 7.3k (do you see now why I had to make it a miniseries? alsdjfdk)

PART 1 | PART 2 | PART 3 | MASTERLIST

DISCLAIMER: In this story, Spencer is dating Y/N’s mom while also having a sexual relationship with the reader herself. Because of that, there are obvious undertones of cheating, alongside some perv-y tendencies when it comes to a partner’s daughter. That being said, Spencer and Y/N’s relationship is consensual. However— If any of what I just forewarned is something that you think will make you uncomfortable while reading, please do not read! If there are any more disclaimers you think I may have missed, don’t hesitate to tell me! There is another post I made HERE with some disclaimers as well if you want to know more about what this story will entail.

NOTE: This intro is already too long, so I’ll just get this out of the way: you can find visual nsfw inspirations for this story over at @mercy-midnight, I’m working on a playlist for this story on my Spotify @/mercyburning, and I don’t know when part 2 and 3 will be out, but you can assume they’ll be here within the next few weeks.

———

JUNE 5th

I hate my mom's new boyfriend.

For the past three months she'd been telling me about this new guy who's "The One" as if "The One" hasn't been like four other guys in the past two years.

And as much as I'd love for my mom to find someone to spend the rest of her life with, I don't believe she'd ever find Mr. Perfect at this rate. Unless she spent more than a few months with them at a time before dragging me home from college for a weekend to meet them, I really don't see it happening.

It just sucks. Because every time she does this, every time I return home, I see the glimmering hope in her eyes and the diminishing spark in his, and I know. I know it won't last, and her heart will be utterly broken within the span of a few months.

I always thought maybe she just had terrible taste in men.

But this time around, when I begrudgingly walk through the door of my childhood home for the summer and see my mother clinging to a man who returns that glimmer in her eyes, I know she's picked a good one.

And I hate him.

His name is Spencer Reid, and he's a retired FBI agent who teaches full time at local colleges now.

He greets me with a bona fide, radiant smile, unlike all the others before, and it sets my insides on fire. And when we sit down for dinner, he's polite (but not in a fake way,) and he seems genuinely curious about my studies and my personality and my relationship with my mother. And when dinner is finished he offers to clean up while Mom and I settle in the living room.

I see the way he looks at me as I leave, a gentle, closed-mouth smile and eyes that linger a little too long on my exposed legs before averting, a glint of shame pooling within them, and it only spreads that fire in my belly.

Maybe I'd been imagining the whole thing, because deep down I wanted him to look at me the way he had... But it's hard to tell when my brain is mostly setting off sirens, blaring "THIS IS WRONG! THIS IS WRONG!" on a loop with blinding lights.

And they're even louder when my mom wraps her arm around me and lays her head atop mine. "Well, what do you think? He's great, huh?"

She's so lovesick, it hurts. It hurts even worse knowing that all I can think about is his big hands wrapped around my throat while he fucks me into the squeaky twin-sized mattress in my bedroom upstairs.

But I can't tell her that, obviously.

And so I decidedly hate him. And I have no choice but lie to her face, embracing her joy and hoping that I'll be able to survive this summer.

"Yeah, Mom. He's really great."

JUNE 19th

It's been two weeks and I can barely stand to be in the same house anymore.

I try to keep myself busy by going outside, to the beach or for long walks in the park; but it's too hot for my liking, and our town is so small that unless I want to spend my time in the grocery store or one of the three bars on Main Street...

I'm stuck either outside where it's hot and uncomfortable, or in the house where it's also hot and uncomfortable.

We have air conditioning, of course, but that's not the problem.

It's Spencer.

I thought by now my little crush on him would have gone, but the longer he hangs around the house, the stronger my feelings for him grow. They're not romantic—nor do I think they ever could be given the fact that if anything serious really were to ever happen between us, my mom would disown me for the rest of my life and murder Spencer with her bare hands—but that doesn't make it any easier on me.

Every day he just exists, right in front of me with that tug-able mop of hair, those warm honey eyes, and his hands that never stop moving. I swear, it's like every time he breathes, his hands are breathing too, challenging me to try and stop them.

But I refuse to touch him. Because I know the moment I do, all will be lost. I won't be able to control myself anymore. And if I don't drop to my knees and try sucking his dick at the dinner table, I'm sure I'll blurt out how I can't handle it anymore and that I need him, and either way I'd be royally fucked.

Right now he's in the dining room, teaching my mom how to do a disappearing card trick. She thinks it's utterly charming that he can do it at all, but mostly that he's patient and willing enough to teach her. And normally I'd agree, but I can barely look at them without wanting to waltz over, grab his wrist, and suck his fingers into my mouth.

It's truly pathetic.

So I try to focus on the television just a few feet away. It's one of those rare instances where I wish our house was bigger, because while I don't mind having less wall-space between rooms, I do mind not being able to watch TV without the kitchen table in my periphery at a time like this. And I think about going up to my bedroom instead for a moment, but I'd have to go past the kitchen, and I just know Mom is going to ask if I'd want Spencer to teach me his magic trick.

And I most definitely do not want that.

In another life, maybe, where he isn't a hot professor and rather an average-looking dude who's way too into fantasy football... But not in this lifetime.

So there I sit, concentrating so hard on Family Feud that my face hurts.

When I hear a flutter of cards and joyous giggling from the other room, it's more than my face that hurts.

It's also my chest, churning and tensing at the hands of the green devil.

Fuck!

I barely even know this man... I haven't really talked to him because I'm afraid that if I try to hold a conversation I'll snap. He's literally just some hot older guy who's dating my mom, and still, my whole body twists and aches with envy when they do anything together, and it fucking sucks. Not only because of the jealousy, but it's also the fact that my mom deserves to be happy.

This time it's different. This time, she's really found someone who returns her every loving gaze, who makes her laugh, who's kind and genuine and not a total douche. She's happier than I've seen her in years.

And the one time she finally finds "The One", every waking second of my life is spent longing for him fuck me.

But it's only been two weeks.

And it's also been nearly two years since I got laid, so maybe that's just my issue...

I figure it can't hurt, so in a spur of the moment decision, I turn the TV off and sprint towards the stairs, right past Mom and Spencer before they can ask questions.

———

I hardly even register the dimness of the light inside the house by the time I glide up the steps, fumbling with the key and trying to make my entrance as quiet as possible. Though, because I'm so used to the dark by this point, the light—no matter how dim—nearly blinds me. The door shuts louder than I'd have liked, and I cringe inwardly, pausing as if that will keep anyone from seeing or hearing me. Not like it'll matter, considering Mom and Spencer are the only ones that are staying here and they'd also been the only ones aware of my plans for the evening.

Well, somewhat, anyway. I told them an old friend invited me out and I probably wouldn't be home until late.

Regardless, that instinct of trying not to get caught coming in late at night is stronger than common sense. Throw a little cheap beer and some shots into the mix, and it almost feels like I'm a teenager again.

The only thing different now is that I have a pool of some stranger's cum soaking my underwear and a man in front of me who stands like an angel. An exhausted, almost scruffy-looking angel more like, but my point still stands.

"You're up late," Spencer observes. It's a simple enough statement— not really judge-y, but I can tell that regardless of his knowledge of my coming home late, he seems shocked to see me coming through the front door right now.

And it's hard to look away from him. Just like it has been for the past two weeks. Still, I try, just barely avoiding his eyes as I cross my arms and fight the urge to clench my legs together. "I'm a whore. What's your excuse?"

Maybe not the best thing to say. But like I said, common sense? Gone.

"O—oh... Umm..." Spencer stumbles through his words, obviously stunned by my response, and the look in his eyes kind of makes me want to curl up in a ball and die from embarrassment. Still, I stand my ground and wait for him to continue.

He settles on a short, "I can't sleep," and then there's nothing else.

"Ah," I express. One syllable. I don't draw it out, I don't exaggerate it... This is the first real conversation I've had alone with him, and I've made it extremely awkward, so I sigh and take a few steps forward, trying to walk past him. "Okay. Goodnight."

I only make it a few steps before he stops me, his hand reaching out to tap my shoulder. "Wait—"

The touch makes me jump, and he pulls it away immediately as I turn to face him. My heart is racing at the speed of light, my panties are soaked through, and if I'm not careful that whole 'no common sense' thing is going to bite me so hard in the ass I won't have one left.

"Can I talk to you?" His voice is barely audible, and the gentle rasp it has to it seems to make me even more wet.

I nod, not trusting myself to speak.

"Look, I um... Your mom has been totally transparent with me about her relationships, so I know that she's been through a lot of them in a short amount of time... And I know that must be a little difficult for you. Especially now that I'm here... And you've been... distant. And I know that I don't know you that well, so forgive me if I'm assuming anything, but I just want you to know that I don't have any intention of making things difficult for you and your mother."

Too late, pal, I think bitterly, the gentle authority in his tone setting my insides alight. I'm positive that voice could get me to do so many things...

That's the alcohol and sex talking, Y/N, just shake it and move on...

He starts again, but I cut him off with a short wave of my hand. "Look, I... I appreciate what you're trying to do, but I had a really long night, and I'm exhausted. I just wanna shower and go to bed."

I expect more resistance, but Spencer only nods. I still can't bring myself to look him in the eye, though this time I catch his hands clenching at the bottom hem of his shirt. "I understand. Sleep well."

Without another word I turn on my heel and walk a little faster towards the stairs, and I'm about to take my first step when I realize he's followed me. His voice calls out my name softly from a few feet behind, and it stops me in my tracks regardless of my desire to get out of there as fast as I can. And then I turn around and finally look directly at his face.

Big mistake.

His eyes are on my legs again, trailing slowly upwards until he reaches my face. The light over here is dimmer, barely noticeable at all, though I swear I can see red forming on his cheeks.

"I like your dress," he says softly. It's almost meek, like he'd been afraid to say it but took a chance anyway.

It's such a random, small compliment, but with the alcohol and endorphins flowing through my body after the night I'd just had, it nearly makes me quiver.

It also makes me incredibly stupid.

An amused, almost sensual grin forms on my face as I make eye contact with him, and I feel myself throb at the way I can just barely see his throat move. He looks like a deer in headlights, afraid to make one sudden move.

"Turning to flattery to try and win me over, are we?" I say slowly.

I almost think he'll stumble over his words once more, but again he surprises me with a full answer. It's only three words but it's clear, and his voice is deep, and I want to fucking jump his bones right then and there.

"Is it working?"

This has to be the alcohol making me imagine things... I swear I didn't even drink that much tonight, but it has to be an obvious lapse in judgement. The drinking mixed with the sex mixed with the dirty thoughts I've been having about this man lately have to be what's making this feel real. It's all culminating into this one big fantasy (or delusion, more like), and all I need is to shower and sleep it off.

That has to be it.

So because there's no other reasonable explanation that my brain can conjure up, I take a chance and throw Spencer a wink before turning and sprinting up the stairs.

And it's that same seemingly undeniable reasoning for this illusion that doesn't keep my hands from wandering in the shower. Even though those warning sirens in my brain keep blaring, telling me that the common sense is still there for me to utilize, they're drowned out by my thrumming heartbeat and the repetition of Spencer's soothing, authoritative voice, guiding my movements.

Keep rubbing your clit for me, baby... Just like that, nice and slow...

Warm water cascades down the front of my body as I lean back into the wall of the shower, but that's not why I'm so warm. This heat radiates through my insides, spreading like wildfire and bringing out small whimpers and mewls that I know I'll have to contain in fear of waking my mom from her bedroom right next door.

But then the thought of her hearing me next door as I cry out her boyfriend's name only excites me more. I keep it quiet still, but just knowing that someone else is in the house while I'm having these thoughts right now (one of them being the object of said thoughts) is what finally brings me over the edge.

I finish my shower on weak legs, definitely overstimulated now, but also feeling even more tired. I know that the moment I lay down on my bed, I'll be pulled into the sweet, soft surrender of a deep sleep.

Nothing else has ever sounded so pleasant.

———

When I woke up that morning after, I was feeling surprisingly calm. Realistically I knew that my whole 'this has to be an illusion' montage had been less truth and more inebriated babble, and the longer I sat on it the more I thought it'd all turned out for the better.

Turns out, tipsily masturbating in the shower to thoughts of your mom's hot new boyfriend was a surefire way to get it out of your system, right?

Wrong.

It really had been okay at first. I thought about Spencer almost immediately, and yeah, he was still hot as fuck—But there wasn't this overwhelming desire within me to jump his bones when I saw him that morning, his hair messy and his hands clutching a cup of coffee while Mom made breakfast behind him.

But that good feeling I had about all of this? It lasts only about a split second.

Because the moment he looks up and sees me, the mug falls out of his hand and shatters to pieces. His eyes stay glued to me, even as my mother darts over to pick up the pieces of the ceramic that are scattered about the table and the floor. And when she turns back to grab a paper towel, he still stares at me, once again at my legs.

It takes me all of four seconds afterwards to remember that not only did I talk to him briefly last night, but I also flirted with him after he complimented me.

That whole part seemed to have slipped my mind when waking up, and now that his gaze is bringing me back to that moment, that 'this has to be an illusion' montage is starting to become larger than I'd remembered.

It isn't until he finally snaps out of it and starts to help my mom clean up the mess that I snap out of it, too, going back upstairs to clear my head and cool the heat radiating over my skin.

———

There's a knock at my bedroom door about an hour later, and it sounds different than my mom's usually quick two-knock succession. That means it's someone else, and unsurprisingly, my stomach tightens at the thought of seeing him again.

"Yeah?" I call out, turning in my desk chair and meeting Spencer's figure in the doorway. He's changed, a rather nice pair of slacks and a white button-up shirt clinging to his limbs.

"Can I come in?"

"Mhm," I say. I still don't know if I entirely trust myself to say anything more than a few words to him, and as he enters the room and sits on the foot of my bed, I wonder if he can tell.

He tries, really tries, to look me in the eye, but I know that it's hard. I've been in the same spot. And then he takes a deep breath before folding his hands in his lap.

"Y/N, I want to apologize... When we... talked last night... It was kind of weird, and then this morning wasn't really any better..." He can barely get out the words 'talk' and 'last night'... And then he avoids my gaze altogether, staring at the floor and trailing off, trying to put his thoughts together it seems.

And that's when it starts to click into place.

There's one thing that both last night and this morning have in common, and I've noticed it almost every time I've caught him staring at me. At my legs. It's happened almost daily since I've met him. And then, the night I come home clearly having just been fucked, waltzing past him, entertaining his fascination with my legs and then masturbating to thoughts of him in the shower, he finally starts dropping mugs.

He must also really feel something here. Something similar to my own feelings. And really, that should be a red flag, because he's my mom's boyfriend, and it's a goddamned fucking mess...

But fuck, it excites me.

I'm still wearing my pajama shorts, silky and lavender in color, and I use them to my advantage, slowly crossing one leg over the other and just barely gaining Spencer's attention back.

"Yeah, what was that, anyway?" I ask him, amusement dripping off my tongue.

I can tell from his reaction that he wasn't expecting me to ask. A few times he opens his mouth to speak and then closes it , stumbling before panicking. He's been pretty good so far at coming up with answers and explanations, so the fact that this time I finally seemed to have broken him down makes it all the more clear.

He must have heard me in the shower.

Right?

I'm almost completely positive that's what this is about. And there's one way for me to get the confirmation I'm looking for.

"So you heard me, huh?"

I try to keep my voice as plain as I can as not to give away my motives, and with my luck Spencer is so flustered that he probably wouldn't have even noticed it at all. He looks up at me, his eyes desperately trying to find something he can use to make up a lie, but in the end there's no use.

I've caught him. And he knows it.

"Yes," he whispers. He looks exhausted, guilty, and also a little like he wants to cross the barrier and kiss me.

Okay, maybe that part's just in my head. I really can't tell. But I do know that hearing me call his name out in the shower last night is what brought him to this point of severe distress. As much as that excites me, though, it also embarrasses me a little. Maybe if it hadn't happened we could have avoided further destruction.

It must read on my face, because Spencer perks a little. "Oh! Y/N, I'm not... I'm not mad or anything. I really didn't mean to overhear and invade your privacy... Really, I-I'm sorry."

The fact that he's apologizing to me right now, rather than acting all grossed out that I even did it in the first place, tells me he either feels guilty for not being able to help himself from hearing me, or he's just a good guy who loves my mom and doesn't want to ruin it because of a little mishap.

Either way, it's frustrating, because I don't know what to do.

Well, I know what I want to do, but I don't know if I should hint at it.

But then he does something. It's small, and no one would have noticed, but I've been fascinated with his hands since the moment I met him, so my eyes are instantly drawn there.

They're clenched so hard, his knuckles are nearly white.

He's nervous.

To ease his mind a bit, I hold off on poking the bear harder (though it's really tempting to see what will happen if I don't) and nod, trying to make myself look as apologetic and small as possible.

"It's okay... I... I won't make it awkward if you won't?"

His shoulders slump, and his body seems to relax. "Y–yeah. Yeah, deal."

He gets up off the bed and blurts one final apology before heading for the door, but that part of me that wants to poke the bear further makes me stand up and follow him.

"Spencer?" I call out.

He freezes and turns to face me, and I don't think he quite expected me to be as close as I am. I have to tilt my head up to look at him, and the angle gives me an added layer of this innocence I'm trying to achieve.

"I'm sorry, too..."

No the fuck I'm not.

Whether he can sense my lie or not, he doesn't show it. But I think he at least knows that I'm pitching my voice a little higher on purpose, and if that doesn't give it away, the way I'm staring at him sure should.

Still, he only nods and retreats.

All there's left to do is see what happens.

JUNE 25th

For someone who agreed not to make things awkward, Spencer sure can't keep his eyes off of me.

To be fair, I have tried to keep things fairly normal. I only really interacted with him if I had to, I kept my distance, and I saved my skimpier clothing for the strangers I was regularly going out to see almost every weekend.

My lustful feelings for him aren't as strong now that I've been getting some on a semi-regular basis and keeping myself occupied. I've been doing my part.

But I still can't shake him entirely.

Whenever he spends the night (which is surprisingly most nights), the occasional wet dream about him gets me frustrated when I know he's just down the hall and sleeping soundly next to my mom. On those days I try to cut as much interaction with him as I can, though it doesn't keep me from seeing the occasional stare he throws my way.

I wish I could say that I hate it.

But I don't, and it increasingly gets worse. It's only been a week, so there's still time, but honestly, I don't think there's any shaking him.

Today especially is one of those days where it's hard not to give into the incessant need to tease him and coax some stronger reaction out of him.

I talked to Mom earlier this morning about getting some new clothes, and she had this brilliant idea to have Spencer take me. "It would be a good chance for you two to bond a little, don't you think?" she insisted, nudging him in the side and silently pleading with her eyes for him to agree.

I could tell from the look on his face that he really wasn't ready to be alone with me again, but that only excited me.

"Yeah, I think that's a great idea," I piped up, positively beaming.

Mom was so excited for us to 'bond' and also that I was gladly inclined to go through with it that Spencer couldn't have said no to her even if he wanted to.

And I was pretty sure he didn't want to.

Yet here we are, sitting in the car, the air conditioning so strong it's blowing some of my hair into my eyes. I think it had been his way of punishing me for choosing today to wear a short skirt, something I usually refrain from nowadays unless I'm going out, and it makes me smile. I can't help it.

I also can't help the way my fingers play with my skirt, dying to tease him some more. I just want to see, to know for sure that I'm driving him mad.

"No offence, but you seem weird today... Is there something wrong?" I ask him, lifting my skirt just a smidge. The air from the car blows the fabric in waves.

"You're acting this way on purpose."

Well, I hadn't been expecting that answer... All this time he'd hardly been confrontative, and now he's full-on calling me out. It's plain to see that he's finally snapped, and I would have felt sorry about it if I didn't find it extremely sexy.

"What do you mean?"

"Y/N..."

My name on his lips is a warning. He's clearly annoyed, exasperated, and I'm loving every second. "Don't act oblivious. I'm not stupid, and neither are you. I don't want to make you hate me or anything, but you have to know where I'm coming from. I was willing to let the shower thing slide... And you said you were too, for that matter, so I don't know what's changed, but it has to stop now. Understood?"

Oh, all I want is to argue with him. I want to point out that none of this is really my fault because he's the one who hasn't been able to stop staring at me all summer so far. I want to tell him that if he wants this to stop he has to make it stop.

But that isn't going to give me any of the answers I'm looking for or further proof of my theory that he wants me just as badly as I want him. And I am not going to fuck this whole situation up by making a poorly-timed move on him.

I have to know for sure.

So, I fold my hands neatly in my lap, sigh, and look dead ahead. "Right... We said no awkwardness. I'm sorry."

Spencer seems to accept my apology and continues down the road.

When we make it to the mall I think he's calmed down. At least, he seems a little more comfortable around me, and honestly I'm okay with it. As much as his spiel in the car turned me on, it also exhausted me to the point of silence.

Even as we walk around each store in the mall, I just lead and he follows, not saying a word when I pick out a top or a pair of pants or whatever else I need. And when it comes time to pay, he takes the basket from me and pays for it with no question.

Near five bags of clothes later, I figure I could get used to this new dynamic.

But then we pass a lingerie store, and I remember that the main thing I'd needed was new underwear. I start to turn into the store, but stop suddenly, pausing awkwardly and deciding to go straight ahead instead.

"You don't want to go in?" Spencer asks.

I shake my head. "No, it's fine. I can just pick some up later, it's not a big deal."

He sighs then, nodding his head towards the sign. "If you need to go in, you can... I'll just wait out here if you're uncomfortable."

I really want to call him out, ask him if he's the one who should be worried about being uncomfortable. But so far this afternoon has been pretty decent, and I really don't want to make things any weirder than they have to be.

Besides... If my theory is right...

"Sure. Thanks. Uh, how am I gonna pay, though?"

"O—Oh... I'll uh... I'll just watch the counter and come in when you need me."

"Orrrr, you could just give it to me?"

This time I get a laugh out of him. "Not a chance. Go in, I'll wait."

I smile at him and hand him the bags to hold onto while I leave, and it fills me with absolute amusement that he'd just given me one more ounce of proof that I'm right.

He's gonna have to come inside and pay for what I bought. He could have just given me the card, and maybe he truly doesn't trust me with it (which I don't know why he wouldn't honestly), but he chose to come inside all the same.

I browse happily then, going through the displays and picking out things I need, but also things I know Spencer will like.

Specifically, I stumble on a pair of lavender panties, embroidered with flowery trim up top. The pattern from the outside is lace, but there's a thin layer of cotton underneath designed to be more comfortable to wear.

I've noticed that he can never seem to look away when I'm wearing anything, really, but it's more intense when I wear one of two things. Florals, and any type of purple. And these fit both of those bills perfectly.

Now there's just one more bill to take care of.

I stride over to the counter and turn around, finding that Spencer's caught my eye immediately. Either he truly had been paying attention to the counter the whole time, or he'd been watching through the glass, following me with his gaze to the best of his abilities. Either way, he blinks a few times and looks like he's gathering the courage to go in before actually taking any steps.

I laugh to myself, eager to gauge his reaction to this next step.

Surprisingly, he holds up well. The air between me, him, and the cashier is obviously awkward, but he doesn't say anything and barely looks at what she rings up. (I say barely because he tries extremely hard not to look at the purple pair I picked out, inadvertently adding another checkmark to my list of proof.) She tells him the total, he hands her the card, and within a minute, everything is in our possession and we're leaving the mall entirely.

I don't think there are any more steps to my plan today once we get in the car and I tell him thank you. (To which he responds a short and simple, Sure thing, and turns the radio on.)

But then there's a note taped to the front door, and it instantly gives me another one.

My Sweethearts,

I got called in on a work emergency and won't be back until 7. I would have called but I figured you were having a nice time and didn't want to interrupt! I'll bring home dinner, and then maybe you can tell me about how your day went. Can't wait to hear it!

XOXO,

Eve/Mom

I check my phone, seeing that it's almost 3.

Perfect.

But I don't want to give myself away too quickly, so I thank Spencer again for taking me out and tell him that I'm going upstairs to make sure everything fits right. He nods and lets me go, though not without lingering eyes. I can feel it.

The smile never leaves my face as I try all my clothes on. Once each article has been fitted, I throw it in a laundry basket and move to the next, until I get to the last piece.

The lavender panties.

As expected, they fit perfectly, and as I look at myself in the mirror I picture what Spencer would look like when he sees me wearing them.

That's right. When.

I throw back on my earlier outfit and grab the basket, acting as bored and normal as possible to find him sitting at the kitchen table, reading a book.

"Hey," I greet him, setting the basket in front of me once I reach the bottom of the stairs. "Everything fits good, I just need them washed now. Could you run these down to the laundry room for me? I think I'm gonna make something to snack on before Mom brings dinner."

It doesn't surprise me to see him look at my legs before my face, even if it is brief. I want to smile, but I hold back, watching him nod with a tight smile of his own.

"Sure."

He disappears and then I wait.

One...

Two...

Three.

I sneak as quietly as I can to the laundry room once I hear the washer door open. I hadn't specifically asked him to put them in the washer for me on purpose, and it looks like now he's doing exactly what I thought he might.

My head peeks around the corner, barely in his range of sight as I watch him empty the basket. He takes one item of clothing at a time and throws it in the washer, and halfway through the basket he stops, just to place a pair of my new underwear on the dryer beside him.

My heart races faster the more I wait for him to get to the end of the basket. Once he does, he pauses again, and I think I know exactly what he's looking for.

Still, he sets the basket aside and picks up the stray pair of underwear, a simple black cotton pair that I'd been getting for years, and drapes it over his hands. My thighs instantly clench, and I try so hard to remain where I am so I can see where he takes this.

He takes it straight to hell, apparently, tentatively pulling his dick out of his pants and gripping it firmly. I can barely see since his back is partially turned, but I see enough, and god he's so fucking pretty. My underwear dangle from his left hand while the other works slowly over his erection, a soft sigh falling from his lips.

I fight to let one of my own slip as my hand sinks down the front of my body, past the lavender cotton and lace that I know he just wishes he had right now.

And then, a few seconds later he's already coming, using my brand new underwear to catch each rope of it, and the sight nearly has me on my knees.

And because I want to catch him in the act, I quickly draw my hand away from myself and step into the room, barely giving him time to recover.

"You come fast."

Spencer looks utterly devastated when he turns to see me standing in the entryway to the laundry room, arms crossed and an amused smirk adorning my face.

"Y/N... I—I... I'm so sorry, I didn't... I..."

"Don't worry about it," I say, taking a step towards him and shrugging. "You heard me, and now I heard you... We're even. Besides, I... figured you might be looking for these."

He's still stunned, but he looks down all the same, watching my hands slip under my skirt and glide the lavender panties down my legs. I step out of them and hold the garment up on one finger, a soft smile still on my face.

"I picked 'em out just for you, you know," I tell him, tossing them past his face and into the washer. "I've noticed that you like purple."

This time he's quick to respond. "Y/N, we... We can't... This isn't right."

"Says the man holding my underwear soaked in his cum..."

He looks panicked again, extremely guilty, but if this isn't going to end in a total disaster, then I have to reassure him that I'm okay.

"Spencer, I'm not mad..." I take another step forward, and it feels much like trying to approach a wounded animal. I can see in his eyes and in his posture that this conflict is killing him, so I decide to show some rapport. "And I know... I know this is messy... I love my mom... And I'm sure you care about her a lot... But are we really going to ignore this? We tried that, remember? And now look where we are."

"I..." He swallows, shaking his head and trying to avoid my eyes. "I can't stop thinking about you... I can't..."

My hand finds his arm, and the light touch has him sighing out, an incredulous, breathy laugh escaping him. "Y/N, please... Don't."

"Don't what?" I ask softly, praying he won't turn me away. If he does, we're just back to square one, only the square is jagged, sharper than ever before, and in serious danger of injuring someone.

When he meets my eyes, I see nothing but a desire for something he knows he can't have. "Don't want me."

Now it's my turn to laugh. My knees start to wobble as I go down, keeping my eyes locked onto his, and I swear I see them dilate fully. I scoot in closer, sliding my hand up his leg and finding the words in my heart to finally say out loud.

"It's too late for that..."

My face moves closer, and the hand of his that doesn't currently hold my underwear flies down to gently tug at my hair, keeping me in place.

"If you do this... God, Y/N, I won't be able to stop myself..."

A smirk dances over my lips as I lean in, breath fanning gently over his exposed skin. "Don't."

He swallows. "Don't what?"

"Don't stop yourself."

I barely get the words out before his hand is completely pulling me towards him, and the second my lips press against the silky skin of his hard cock, he loses it completely.

His fingers thread through my hair as I kiss and lick my way softly up to the tip. Once I'm there, I swirl my tongue out and taste the small beads of cum that had remained after he came, a low, satiated hum radiating through my body and making him shiver under my touch.

And then I wrap my lips fully around the head of his dick, and there's no stopping the most beautiful sound I've ever heard come out of his mouth. It's a broken, desperate whisper of my name. The crack in his voice when he says it spurs me forward, and I take him deeper into my mouth until he hits the back of my throat.

That's when he tosses my underwear in the washer and uses both of his hands to grab my head, roughly guiding me along his cock and fully taking control of my actions.

The fire in my belly doesn't ease up, not even once he's decided that he can't take it anymore and pulls me off of him harshly.

And that's only because now he's fully turned over, finally given into these desires that have been plaguing him presumably from the moment we met.

"I want you stripped and in your bed, on your hands and knees within the next five minutes."

I get up off the floor and walk up to him until our bodies are flush, my arms reaching up to wrap around his neck.

"What are you gonna do to me, Spencer?"

He searches my eyes, and his own grow dark with the purest form of sin I'd ever seen. And when his hands come up over the back of my legs, and under my skirt to grab my ass and pull me even closer to him, I can't help the little mewl that slips past my lips.

He smiles, and if it hadn't been for the grip he held on me, I would have fallen to my knees. "Little girl, when I'm through with you, you'll have to come up with some excuse to your mom about why you can't walk straight... Is that what you want?"

The mention of my mom should send me running in the opposite direction, but his threat only prolongs that fire in my veins and makes me want him even more.

I tilt my head up and press a gentle kiss to his lips.

"Do your worst..."

———

Turns out he was very true to his word.

Sitting at the kitchen table is somewhat of a relief, but I try not to walk around as much when Mom gets home. She'd asked me almost immediately if I was okay, and I told her I was just hungry and needed to eat something.

She seemed to have bought it, rushing to the kitchen to unpack the fast food she'd ordered for us. Over her shoulder, Spencer gave me a sly smile, and it took everything I had within myself not to crumble.

Through bites of food, I only half-listen to Mom telling us about the stuff she had to do at work because most of the words I'm hearing are in my head— A loop of endless dirty talk that plants deep into the soil of my stomach and spreads out through my whole body. It infects me, like the most beautiful poison, and I never want it to stop.

"Tell me, sweetheart, you ever let a man come inside you before?"

His weight on top of me coupled together with the heft of his voice has me whining out in pleasure, each snap forward of his hips over my ass as he pounds into me from behind the most delectable burn I've ever felt.

"Uh huh," I answer happily, twisting my head to feel his cheek against my own. "That night you heard me in the shower... I walked through the door with a stranger's cum soaking my panties... And you know what?"

He grumbles, his hips hitting into me harder as he waits for me to continue.

"I wished it was yours..."

My legs clench together under the table and I take a large gulp of water.

I feel something graze over my bare shin, and I already know it's Spencer's foot, a silent reassurance of his presence and that no matter what, he'll always be here.

"Here's what's going to happen..."

He has me on my back now, my legs hoisted over his shoulders and bent back so I'm nearly folded in half. His hips are flush against mine and I can feel his cock throbbing as he comes into the condom.

"You're gonna make an appointment to make sure you're clean... You're gonna make sure you're on good birth control... And then the next time I fuck this pretty little pussy, you're gonna really know what it feels like to have a man come inside you."

Right... Like I really need a reminder of his presence.

I can practically feel it still inside me, taking up every inch of space my body could provide. And no matter how long I go without seeing him, I have no doubt that it'll always remain.

"But that's enough about me, I'm sorry." Mom's voice shifts and breaks me out of my fantasy. "So, how did your day of bonding go? You have fun?"

Spencer and I share a look, a smile spreading over his lips that makes me smile in turn.

"Yeah, Mom," I say. "It was great."

He nods in kind. "Yeah... We'll definitely have to do it again."

His foot grazing over my leg under the table cements the unwavering smile on my face, as does the way my whole body burns at the memory of him fucking me upstairs only hours before.

I don't even flinch or get sick to my stomach when Mom reaches over and gives Spencer a kiss.

———

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[sigillaria-svt]

𝕮𝖍𝖆𝖕𝖙𝖊𝖗 𝕺𝖓𝖊: 𝕻𝖗𝖔𝖑𝖔𝖌𝖚𝖊

Pairing: Reader x SEVENTEEN (Guild Fantasy AU)

Genres: Slice of Life, Action, Fantasy, Fluff/Angst

[Masterlist]

Edit: Did some minor adjustments to change the perspective

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Magical prowess and physical ability are not something that is easily gained in this world--instead, most of the abilities that make up brilliant magicians and brave warriors come from only one of two things: their blood or their loyalty to the darkness. If not passed down from their forefathers, others can only hope to gain powers by sacrificing something precious to them to the spirits that roam the wildlands. In the Almaz empire, great value is given to those with the power to harness magic that is light, pure, and holy—essentially magic that is considered clean. Although it isn’t something explicitly taught in schools, the empire definitely has a distorted view of those whose specializations lie in the gray area between what is good and what is evil.

Yet here you are, a female Naturalist of the Empire, also known as the Poisoner of Jatropha, a name that you really wanted to just get rid of because of how it takes you away from guild opportunities. In your free time, you can be found in the many libraries of the city, but during your spare time you study poisons and the properties that cause them, so you aren't really surprised about why they call you so.

Even before you got your infamous nickname, you've never really been associated with a guild. It's not that you were too weak to be accepted anywhere, but that the guilds have always shunned those that are involved in poisoning and other dark arts. You don't quite consider it a 'dark' art, since your goal in the first place was never to use it to poison other humans, but to find a way to poison dark creatures for the advantage of humans. That kind of logic never pushed through anyone, though, not especially in the Empire where light magic is the standard.

But today was a bit different from your usual guild-scouting shenanigans. In your visit to the Guild Masterhouse, you look through the bulletin board for guild openings and find one guild that had never submitted its name in for recruitment before: the guild SEVENTEEN.

Now normally, you'd avoid getting into a guild that was as exclusive as this, but in this case you think it'd be worth considering, even though for all the years that you've known them, they've never expanded beyond their original thirteen members. However, this was also one of the guilds that you might have a shot at. One of the members is an infamous necromancer, Yoon Jeonghan. If they're willing to take him in, they might take in a naturalist like you. Not that you are a typical naturalist--you aren't. You are a poisoner by definition, although not by classification, but there is more than one way to make use of your abilities, and you were going to give it your all.

You head over to the guild secretary at a desk on the other side of the room.

"Oh hello, Y/N." She says, not looking up as she looks through some papers. "Ready to give it another shot?"

"Yes." You say, almost laughing. You've visited this place at least once every week for the past six months, and you can't help but feel embarrassed and amused at the same time. "I heard that SEVENTEEN was looking for new people."

At this, the secretary looks up. "Well, yes. Yes, but..." She taps the papers in front of her to align them into a neat stack. "So far around twenty people have applied, all of them actually very good fighters, but the next day I come to work with a notice of rejection from the guild."

Rejection isn't something new to you. You simply nod at her and hold out your hand for the application paper.

"Alright, of course. You're going to try anyway, aren't you?"

With the filled and stamped application form, you make your way to SEVENTEEN's guild house, which was inconveniently found at the westernmost part of the city bordering the forest. Even the steam trains only led you up to the city walls, requiring you to take another hour of walking through the dirt roads of the great plains before finally spotting the single large building standing out against the pale grass.

 The guild house is a three-story stone building with glassed windows and an even taller stone tower at the western wing facing the great plains. You walk up to the large wooden door on the front and knock as hard as you could.

After a few moments, the door is opened by an equally large, tan-skinned man who looks like he just got out of bed. "Huuuhhh...."

"Uh, hi, hello. My name is Y/N," You say with a smile, hopefully energetic enough to wake up the man. "I'm here to apply for that guild member position...?"

He squints at you. "You look like a student."

You frown slightly. "I'm a Naturalist. I cure diseases... or well, kind of. Or not. It depends. But anyway, is the position still open?"

The man steps aside to let you in, scratching the back of his head as he yawns. "Wait inside, I'll go get our leader."

You walk in and see the great contrast of the relatively mild exterior to the messy and diverse interior. Despite only having thirteen members--which is very small in comparison to other guilds--the inside of the large house is filled with a variety of equipment, books, furniture, and even a random summoned creature laying on the carpet. You aren't so sure where to sit, but the man beckons you to one of the couches--which, is not at all complimentary to the brown couch right at the other side of it.

The man disappears into the flight of stairs at the eastern end of the building, dragging his steps as he goes along.

While you wait, you look around. Despite the mess, the house is quiet, and the silence makes you feel all the more need to do or say something.

Thankfully, though, the man returns with three other people in a few minutes, one of which you recognize as Jeonghan the necromancer. You give them a small bow and a tight-lipped smile as they approach you. One of the three men, who is larger in build but more or less the same height as the other two, nods to the large man to dismiss him. He enters into one of the doors and is audibly heard falling back to his bed.

"It's nice to meet you. If you don't mind, we'll be having a quick interview here, followed by a quick sparring session outside." Says the man in the middle. "My name is Choi Seungcheol, and this is Yoon Jeonghan and Hong Joshua who will be assisting me with the recruitment process."

You already heard this hundreds of times before. In every single guild, the protocol was always the same.

"Alright, sounds good." You say comfortably.

They sit on the couch on the other side of yours, each of them looking like they haven't slept much either. You know the man is going to ask you some questions, but you're not really sure about the other two. Jeonghan looks like he's going to ask the most absurd questions possible, while Joshua seems to be nice and friendly--but we never really know what goes on in the minds of strangers.

You hand the papers to Seungcheol and he goes over them very quickly. "You've never been in a guild before, huh? That's weird, last time I checked, a lot of guilds were looking for naturalists."

"Uhuh, well," You manage to laugh in the middle of your sentence--a bad habit that you have whenever you get nervous. "I specialize in poisons and well, obviously, their antidotes. But you know how it is, poison is considered a dark art and..."

The guild leader nods and immediately moves on to the question, understanding the distaste of most of the people for specialties like these. "Any offensive techniques in the field?"

You pause for a second. "I'm not bad, but it's a bit unconventional how I use it."

"Unconventional?"

"You'll get what I mean in the sparring session later." You say quickly. This part always made the other guild recruiters suspicious, but it doesn't seem to phase the three all that much.

Joshua speaks up for the first time, leaning forward slightly as he starts. "How good is your general healing? I'm a Priest and I heard that your kind of healing is different from ours."

"Well, healing naturally fluctuates with the amount of damage the patient receives. I work my way through natural healing processes, and just speed up what happens along." You answer carefully. "I believe yours happens... a bit more magically, if I may say."

This earns a small laugh from the priest, and Jeonghan follows up with a question of his own. "Can you tell us about this poison that you seem to specialize in so much?"

The way he asked was strange, though. In fact, the question itself was strange because you don't remember telling anyone about your current research progress, nor writing it down on any documentation handed to them.

"Well... I've told a few guilds about it before, but I'm trying to work on poison against dark creatures." You stare at Jeonghan straight in the eye, and he stares back with his dark eyes as if he knew everything that was going on in your mind. "On its progress... well you're going to find out about that later if you decide to take me in."

"That's not what I meant."

You raise your eyebrows in surprise, but quickly compose yourself. "Okay, what did you mean?"

Jeonghan quickly moves his eyes to something right next to my head before returning back to meet my gaze. "The one that you worked on before you were going into poison against dark creatures... before you even graduated from the academy."

This has you dazed.

You think to yourself before answering. This was something that you were far more secretive about. You literally told nobody about this and worked on it in secret before deciding that it was far too dangerous to proceed. Your heart was racing thinking about whether or not it was safe to divulge this kind of information.

"If I tell you, would that increase my chances of getting in?"

"That depends."

"And what if I said that it was dangerous?"

Jeonghan remains silent. You were being extra careful with this because it might be sensitive to a necromancer like Jeonghan. You look over to Joshua and Seungcheol, but both of them have both confusion and anticipation. This question was something that only Yoon Jeonghan had a full grasp of.

"Well?" Jeonghan asks as he leans forward slightly.

You decide to tell the truth. It's not like they could turn you in for something they don't have concrete evidence of except for your word. "I was working on a poison that did nothing to the physical body but devastated your means of magic—a poison for the soul, essentially cutting off your abilities from your bloodline."

Seungcheol and Joshua looked shocked, and honestly slightly afraid, but Jeonghan remains calm about the entire thing. "And did it work?" Jeonghan asks.

"Well... yes." Your admission causes a few more eyebrows to be raised. "I know it's hard to believe, but yes, and I'm not going to go back into it ever again."

"Did something happen?" Joshua asks. "I mean, you can tell us only if you're comfortable."

"Hmm, nothing grand happened. Even if it worked, I didn't make any attempt to make it perfect. I used it one someone I know and... well let's just say they're working to get back years of lost work."

Jeonghan looks at you with a raised eyebrow.

"What do you mean?"

"What I mean is that I damaged a link, somewhere… perhaps. He lost half of his abilities spontaneously over the course of a few days. If the dose was stronger or the poison less contaminated, he would have lost everything." You say, worried but relieved to get it off your chest. "I... didn't mean to do it, and I told my friend about it but... Well, we don't really talk anymore."

Silence. You couldn't hear anything else except for your heartbeat in the large room.

Jeonghan looks as if he's contemplating something before speaking, looking at different things around the room, as if in a conversation that only he's in. "Alright, we'll take you in. Go get your things and move in by tomorrow."

"What?" you ask with a bit of shock. To your surprise, both Seungcheol and Joshua mirrored your reaction to Jeonghan's statement.

"Wait, no, Jeonghan." Seungcheol says, putting his hand over Jeonghan's shoulder. "We haven't even sparred, and we just heard that she had been working on dangerous things--heck, we haven't even run a thorough background check on her!"

Jeonghan crosses his arms. "Well, the ghosts seem to like her, and she doesn’t seem to be lying or having bad intentions. Do you want to go ahead and get poisoned as a free trial, then?"

"Well, I mean, I do have an antidote for all my poisons if you still want to tussle." You say quietly.

Jeonghan looks at you briefly but immediately goes back to Seungcheol. "We're looking for a support, and she fits the job. Poison is just one step away from medicine, anyway."

Joshua speaks up to ease the tension between the two. "If you're so decided on approving her application, it still wouldn't hurt to see her abilities, right? We should go on for a small sparring session."

Seungcheol turns to you. "You have those so-called unconventional fighting methods, don't you? Well, let's go ahead and see them."

You let out a nervous breath. He's making it seem like the request is your idea. "Alright."

The four of you head off to a small open area behind the guild house, right next to the edge of the towering forest. Seungcheol takes his place opposite to you as Jeonghan and Joshua watch at the sides. You haven't done a physical fight in a while, so you hope that muscle memory serves you well this time.

You take off your shoes, which earns a baffled look from the guild leader. "I can use poison, right?" You ask, and Jeonghan gives you a firm nod, all to Seungcheol's displeasure. "I'll take that as a yes."

Seungcheol was obviously taken aback initially, but all of that has now been replaced with complete focus as he uses basic spells to put up defenses and boost his own physical abilities.

From an inexperienced eye, it may look like you're simply standing on the grass with your feet to the ground, but underneath, you're already using magic to manipulate the one thing that your family has been for generations: roots.

It's hard to explain how magic feels like exactly, especially since it's different for everyone. The best way to imagine it would be like having your blood go thicker and heavier as it moves through your body. It's not painful or uncomfortable, just draining. It's hard to control what you can't see, but years of training have made you proficient at it.

They grow closer and closer to Seungcheol like a hidden animal waiting to pounce, and at just the right moment, they snap out of the ground to keep him in his place. You quickly run up to him and charge at him with a flurry of blows, but you're met with a completely calm defense.

Obviously, he was a better fighter than you, but that doesn't stop you from still trying to figure out a way to get through his defenses. You take a few steps back, trying to assess the situation again.

"Ah, this is pretty inconvenient." Seungcheol says as he attempts to wriggle out from the roots.

If you were going to impress the guild leader enough to let you in, you were going to have to take out your best weapons. In this case, you had one trick up your sleeve, but it was a gamble.

It's going to take up nearly all of your magical energy, but you do it anyway.

Before he lets another foot out, you take on a burst of power and manage to surge out a large tangle of tree roots, enough to engulf Seungcheol up to his shoulders. The speed of growth is not fast, but it is definitely sturdy. This time, it takes him off guard and disrupts a part of his magic defense around himself.

You take advantage of the situation and deftly climb on the roots to make up for the difference in height and pull out three large needles filled with paralyzing poison. Despite draining much of your magical energy, adrenaline pushes you to another burst of energy to end the match as quickly as you could. Your hands quickly make their way to his exposed neck, made more accessible with the tugging and pulling of the continuously growing tree roots.

Just one more inch further, and the needles would pierce him cleanly in the artery and poison would spread in a few heartbeats.

But it doesn't go in.

Instead, you find yourself abruptly thrown back and laid flat on the grass, pinned down by dancing shadows around your arms and legs.

"Alright. We'll end the fight here." Jeonghan says. With a flick of a wrist, he dismisses the shadows and you sit up from your position, still nearly breathless. "Release him from the roots will you?"

It takes you a few seconds before fully processing what had just happened. You look over to Seungcheol, is was nearly unseen under the thick layers of intertwined wooden roots, and you quickly bring them back to the ground. Seungcheol takes in deep breaths now that he's finally able to move again.

"Hey, Yoon Jeonghan! You said you'd intervene if it gets too dangerous!" He said, angry but not furious at his friend who was just smirking at the side. "I really thought I was going to black out!"

"It was your fault for underestimating her." He shrugs.

You slowly get up from your position, still shocked that you ended up this far away from Seungcheol in the blink of an eye. This was obviously Yoon Jeonghan's doing--sly spells from the sly necromancer. You've heard about how he works before, but it was definitely different from experiencing it yourself.

Seungcheol looks back at you, arms on his hips. "You did well, but I don't want to see those needles ever again."

"So, does this prove my point? The ghosts don't lie and we definitely need another healer or support if we want to do more missions with smaller teams." Jeonghan says, getting into a topic that you seem to be out of.

Finally, with a nod, Seungcheol gives in to Jeonghan. "Yeah, alright. Let's take her in."

A wave of joy mixed with relief washes over you.

Finally.

Finally.

After all this time, there is finally a guild that is willing to accept you. These past few months of working as an independent mage with a suspicious specialty will finally come to an end, and you were more than excited.

"Thank you very much, I'll do my best!"

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Thank you for getting through the first chapter! This is my first multi-chapter SEVENTEEN work, so I hope that you enjoyed it. I’m also excited to write on the individual members in the following chapters~