#but the magic is bound to turn some wheels

[hexarcana]

**seeing wicked today aka I’m gonna be thinking about magic a lot I think!!!

[hederasgarden]

Series: Bound - Part 1

Summary: When a dangerous situation pushes you out of the only home you've never known, you take refuge with an unruly pack of wolves. Tyler Owens might not be the alpha you think you want, but he’s the one you need. [Werewolf!Tyler Owens x Human!F!Reader | 2.3K]

Rating: Mature, 18+ only. Magical realism, supernatural themes, violence, and angst. Future chapters will include explicit sexual content  This series will include untagged themes and elements. 

A/N: Thank you so much to everyone who patiently helped me write this including @mermaidxatxheart @a-reader-and-a-writer @blue-aconite and @clairewritesandrambles. The beautiful banner was created by @writercole.

Please comment or reblog if you enjoyed this and want to see more. Or scream at me in my inbox. That always makes my day. 

Masterlist

The rain comes in droves, the wipers on your car barely able to keep up with the deluge. Anxiety grows with every passing second, fear blooming in your chest when you glance in the rearview mirror. You half expect to see lights from another car but the road remains empty. You should be relieved but all you feel is mounting unease as you navigate the winding gravel path. The lack of moonlight makes it hard to see much of anything.

Your hands tremble on the steering wheel, and you grip it tighter, leaning forward to navigate a sharp turn. It's difficult to see beyond the narrow beam of your headlights, and despite the growing sense of panic, you’re forced to follow the winding path slowly. Suddenly, the dense thicket of trees gives way to a large clearing, where a massive wooden cabin stands in the center. Warm light spills through the bay windows onto a wrap-around porch, illuminating a line of rocking chairs.

You cut the engine, but pause with your hand on the door. Coming here seemed like the best option earlier, but now in the moment, your courage flags. You know from experience that lingering too long on that doubt will consume you, and the truth is, there are no other choices. You push the door open and sprint for the porch, the cold rain soaking through your clothes. There hadn’t been time to grab a raincoat when you left home in a hurry. Besides the car and the hastily packed duffle bag in the backseat, you have nothing—no personal belongings, not even the necklace with your mother’s wedding ring.

As soon as your boots hit the bottom step, the front door swings open. A young wolf with shoulder-length brown hair stands there, a bag of chips in hand. He tilts his head, taking in your disheveled and drenched appearance while he pops another chip into his mouth. You can only imagine how you must look to him, a half-drowned human seeking refuge on his porch.

"Hey," he greets. "Can I help you?”

You climb the final two steps and straighten your shoulders, trying to muster some courage. “I need to see Alpha Owens.” You pause and then add, "Please.”

The young man leans in, his nose twitching as he not-so-subtly takes in your scent. "Yeah, sure. Wait here," he instructs, closing the door.

You wrap your arms around yourself, seeking some warmth and comfort. It’s hard not to think about the last time you were here over four years ago with your father when the cabin was still under construction. Back then no one thought much of Tyler Owens and his small, ragtag pack of lone wolves. The Alphas’ council had dismissed them as insignificant and unworthy of attention. In your father’s world, those bitten and not born held little power, and the idea of Tyler becoming an Alpha of a pack seemed improbable at best. 

Despite this, your father kept a semi-friendly relationship with Tyler over the years, mostly because their lands bordered each other. No one, certainly not even your father, could have predicted how Tyler’s pack would grow the way it had or how he’d become a formidable Alpha with exactly the kind of strength you needed now. 

When the door opens again, Tyler stands in the entryway. His honey-blonde hair has grown longer, nearly touching the collar of his shirt, and his sharp jawline is obscured by a light beard. He's dressed casually in a pair of jeans, feet bare. You stare until he clears his throat.

"I’m not sure if you remember me..." you begin, but he interrupts with a smile. 

"I remember you," he says kindly. "I was sorry to hear about your father's passing. He was a good man and a great Alpha."

His words stir up the familiar ache of grief in your chest, threatening to choke off your response. It’s only been four months since you lost your father and you feel adrift without him. A nod is all you can manage for a long moment before you’re able to speak again. “I'm here because I need your help. I need sanctuary."

Tyler’s expression shifts to one of surprise, his brows drawing together in confusion. When he doesn’t speak for a long moment, you hurry to add, “It’s just for the night. I promise I’ll leave in the morning.”

"You need sanctuary from your father's pack?" He questions. 

You shake your head. "It's not his anymore."

Without thinking, you touch the unmarked skin of your throat, and Tyler’s gaze follows the movement. 

“What about Daniel?” Tyler questions. 

"He’s dead.”

Tyler's brow wrinkles, his sharp little "What?" nearly lost as the wind picks up.

Although you were never in love with your father’s chosen heir, Daniel was good and kind. You liked to think those feelings might have come with enough time but that’s impossible now. You should be grieving him too but it's hard to feel much more than numbness and horror when you think of what happened to him. 

“Let’s talk inside," Tyler urges, cupping your elbow to draw you closer as he surveys the darkness behind you, his green eyes flashing golden. Relief washes over you at the invitation.

Inside the foyer you’re overly aware of the wet squelch of your shoes against the hardwood floors and the water dripping from your clothes. The young wolf who greeted you earlier observes from a doorway to your left, exchanging a meaningful look with Tyler that you’re all too familiar with. The nonverbal communication an Alpha could share with their pack was something your father often utilized to dole out commands.

A light touch on your elbow draws your attention back to Tyler, who guides you into a spacious living room filled with couches and mismatched throw rugs. He urges you closer to the fireplace until its comforting warmth reaches you. You stay like that, staring into the flames until Tyler speaks again but when you turn to face him, you realize he’s addressing the young wolf who hands him a towel and steaming mug.

“Thanks, Boone.” 

“Aye, aye captain,” Boone replies, giving his Alpha a sloppy salute before leaving. 

You stare at Tyler, shocked by the casual way the other wolf addressed him. His only response is a raised brow as he offers you the towel. You take it, drying your face and hands. There’s nothing to be done for your clothes. 

“Here,” he directs, hooking his leg around a chair to pull it closer. “Sit.” 

“I’m drenched.”

He quirks a brow. “Sweetheart, it’s a chair, not my grandmother’s hope chest.”

You lower yourself gingerly and accept the mug of tea Tyler presses into your hands. Though you’re not especially thirsty, you take it, finding the warmth that seeps through the ceramic soothing. 

“Tell me what happened,” he encourages.  

“Daniel died three days ago. Sheriff Riggs—” you falter, your eyes darting nervously behind Tyler as if mentioning the man's name might summon him. Your voice trembles as you continue, now barely more than a whisper. “The sheriff says it was a car accident, but h-he—” your voice fizzles out, your throat tightening around the words you want to say.

“You can tell me. Whatever it is.”

You shake your head and look up at the ceiling, fighting to keep the tears at bay. The lump in your throat that’s been there since Daniel died feels like it's choking you. Telling the truth would be a relief but it’s dangerous. To accuse another Alpha without proof….

“I can’t.”

Tyler says your name softly, placing a reassuring hand on your shoulder. Everything about him, from his tone to the expression on his face is gentle and encouraging. “I can’t help you if I don’t know what’s going on.”

“I think… I think Scott had him killed.” The words tumble out before you can stop them, and as soon as they’re spoken, you wish you could take them back.

“Scott?” He repeats, his brows knitting together as he tries to place the name.

"Scott was expected to be my father's heir, until, out of the blue, he chose Daniel a few months ago.”

You never liked Scott, always wary of his ambitious and calculating nature. While most wolves were feared for the beast within, Scott’s human side set him apart. He was cunning and careful. Every move he made seemed designed to advance his own interests, often at the expense of others. You had half-expected him to leave the pack and start his own after being passed over for the coveted position of your father’s second. Instead, he stayed, and now you realize he was biding his time.

“That’s a serious accusation,” Tyler says, his tone guarded.

You shrink back as if trying to distance yourself from the weight of your words. Tyler’s nostrils flare, and you wonder if it’s the acrid tang of your anxiety or the sourness of your fear he smells on you.

“It’s not that I doubt you,” he adds quickly, “but I need to know what makes you think Scott is responsible.”

"Scott was careful not to show it but he was angry my dad chose Daniel.” You take a deep breath, summoning the courage to reveal what you’ve kept to yourself since Sheriff Riggs delivered the news to your pack three days ago. “The official report said Daniel was drunk, but I saw him earlier that night. He was sober.” 

Thinking about the last time you saw Daniel brings a sharp, painful sting to your chest. You didn’t see it at first, too caught up in your grief, but Daniel was the right choice to replace your father, handling things with the same calm confidence as his predecessor. It’s still hard to believe that the man who looked at you with those sweet, hopeful eyes, that promised he would be everything your father envisioned, is dead.

“It’s possible he went out after you saw him,” Tyler suggests. 

You breathe out sharply, shaking your head. “He wouldn’t, not with so much going on. He was a good Alpha. He was focused on the pack."

Tyler seems on the verge of saying something more but then he nods and gives you a soft, “Okay.”

You look away from him, trying to gather your thoughts. You need him to understand, to believe what you’re about to say.

“Scott’s uncle is the sheriff,” you continue. “He was the first to arrive at the scene of the accident. He and Scott have always been close.”

Tyler’s brow furrows as he processes your words. “So you’re saying Riggs might have altered the report?”

“I don’t know,” you admit. “All I know is that with Daniel gone, Scott finally has what he’s always wanted—what he believed he was owed.”

“Do you think Scott would hurt you?”

“I don’t think so. He needs me to win over the rest of the pack.”  Scott certainly had his supporters, his uncle chief among them, but your father’s influence ran deep. The pack would expect to see you at the side of the next alpha. “But,” you continue, thinking of what drove you to run tonight, “I don’t think he plans on waiting to make me his mate.”

Tyler’s lip curls in disgust at your unspoken meaning. “You mean he intends to force you.”

“Yes,” you whisper, stomach churning at the idea of being bonded to a man like Scott. Someone who saw you as a means to an end to solidify his own power. Daniel was so different, allowing you time to grieve and adjust after your father’s passing before even broaching the subject. Part of you wonders if he would still be alive if you hadn’t waited to establish your bond— or if he would have just died sooner.

“Well, that’s not going to happen,” Tyler assures you, tilting his head to catch your eye and hold your gaze. “As long as you’re here, you’re safe.”

“You’ll let me stay?” 

You didn’t really think he’d turn you away—after all, that’s why you came to him. Still, there was always a chance. Wolves were loyal to one another. You were painfully human. 

“I’d never turn away a lady in need,” Tyler says with a grin, that easy confidence you remember surfacing before his expression turns serious again. “Will Scott know to look for you here?”

“No. He probably expects me to seek out another Alpha on the council.”

“That’s good,” Tyler says. “But I gotta ask, why did you come to me? Your father has many friends you could have turned to.” 

"They would have sent me back," you explain simply. “Scott’s the new Alpha. In their eyes, I belong with him."

“Well,” Tyler begins, a small grin on his face, “I’m flattered you chose the charming but rogue Alpha over the law-abiding ones.”

His response startles a watery laugh out of you, a foreign feeling after all the grief and fear that’s kept you company these last few months. “I also chose you because my father always respected you.”

“Even when the others didn’t,” Tyler agrees. “I’ll always be thankful for that.”

You share a small, bittersweet smile with him and exhale, your shoulders slumping. Suddenly, you feel exhausted. 

“Now come on, let’s get you out of your wet clothes. In the morning we can figure out what to do.”

“We?” you ask, surprised.

Tyler flashes you a brilliant smile, leaning in close as if sharing a secret. “Didn’t you hear? Our pack is fond of strays. You’re one of us now, sweetheart.”

[darkdemeter]

MY SUMMONING

⚤ College student!Wanda Maximoff x GN/Female/Male demon Werewolf!Reader 18+ SMUT, MDNI — (gn/f/m) reader with a dick — monster fucking — female oral receiving — long demon monster tongue can do many things — unprotected p in v sex — some profanity — *cough* laundry mutt!reader — I think that's it? ✎ 4.5k Reincarnated love can be a bitch when you're stuffed into an ancient pocket dimension for thousands of years because the peasants reviled and scorned you. How you've yearned to return to her, promising that one day you shall join her side again as her faithful, shadowed acolyte. Now awoken to reunite with your master on the night where her magic is most potent to release you from your prison, you're summoned by her... but not her. No matter. A lover is a lover, and your love is eternally devoted to her. Now to consummate it at long last.

↳ MASTERLIST | ↳ TAGLISTS ────────────────────────

No. There was no way this is happening. No way! This was all meant to be some stupid little joke… 

Alright, maybe dabbling in the assortments of witchcraft and old leather-bound tomes written in an ancient language wasn’t the best of pranks to pull, but it was Halloween and Wanda wanted to have her own fun tonight. 

She doesn’t have to read the room hard to know she was practically fifth wheeling through her Halloween night. Steve and Peggy, the all-dream couple on campus, while Bucky and Nat were in the beginning prime of their relationship. Yes, both were pretty popular and many people thought their couplings adorable — if not envious of the partner — but Wanda couldn’t help but feel like an outcast all night long. She’s been following them around, attending a party or two, getting up to crazy shenanigans that ought to land them all a night behind bars until bail.

No. Wanda Maximoff, one of the brightest students in her major’s class, likes to dabble in… odd things. Peggy and Nat both knew of this certain attraction of hers, but it had been a rather closely guarded secret until now.

Breaking into the old burnt down chapel off the corner of Main Street, surrounded by the old, white picket fence, hadn’t seemed like a half-bad idea. 

All fun and games until Wanda approached the podium where a dusty casing of leather sat, singed but untouched by the long forgotten fire. The yellowed, toughened skin of parchment paper crackled and rumpled with each turn over, her green eyes almost glowing with renewed fascination. She stopped at the book’s center when something caught her attention. Her eyes slip to widen a little at the sketching of a large, looming form of a wolf creature whose entire head bears only its skull, standing on its hind legs behind the regal figure of a loosely-clad robed woman. The image itself was intimately intoxicating to look upon. Something about it was pulling her to silently read over the daggered calligraphy. The woman’s illustrated body conveys what her drawn features lack; a postured body of contentment. Security. Lustful wanting. 

And the tall creature before her stood proudly. Protectively. Equally wanting and willing. 

The soft pad of her finger runs over the drawing, stroking the blackened detailing of the fur and skull face. Blooming deep in her abandoned, she feels that awakened need that begins to throb between her thighs and forces them to push together quickly, embarrassed with a warm glow in her cheeks. 

While Peggy had urged that she leave the book and its ominous being there alone, she had been outranked by the other three who egged her on.

How could she say no? What harm could come from an obvious prop of the occult? As if a place so holy could harbour anything dangerous. With a cheeky grin, eyes slowly moving back and forth between her friends and the page she read from, she began to read aloud the incantation. 

Before the very collective eyes of four witnesses, the surrounding candles sizzled with rekindled life, a singular flame dancing on each blackened wick before it would throb dimly in their warm arousement. A copied sensation Wanda felt herself able to relate to. 

“Wanda…” Peggy whimpers, unsure. Steve only pulled her closer to him but made no intent in stopping Wanda as she continued to recite the chant. 

The old chapel is awakened with a deadly, hollow breath, howling ominously in a deep and thunderous wind that travels through the marrow of bones and tenses the muscles. The air eagerly lapped and ravished at them, as if tasting them on its non-existent tongue. 

The rattle of the ancient, relic urns chattered on their shelves beneath a baritone of a rumble that became suspiciously familiar to a growl, that of a predatory beast. Wanda’s hair whipped around to almost blinding her vision but she feels like she’s incapable to stop, that whatever force pulled her in the first place has full control over her, that even if she wanted to — and she doesn’t — she couldn’t stop. 

Not until her words and voice enunciate the final lyric of whatever summoning spell she reads. 

“Come hither, loyal acolyte, silhouette and blackened, come back to your vengeful pedestal upon the earth — I beckon you from your voided prison, answer my summoning!”

Behind the knowledge of Wanda’s awareness, the visage of an animal skull formed in a smoky apparition finally pushed her friends to flee.

“Fuck this!” Bucky shouts, pulling Natasha with him until his grip is white knuckled around her wrist. Steve mimics the action and sentiment with Peggy. Each of their screams joined the territorial growls and roars as they ran to the cellar’s exit. 

“Wait—!” Wanda’s hand stretches out, gripping for her friends pleadingly only for the cellar door to boom loudly as the doors slam to a close. 

The air feels cold around her yet so thickly laced, it shrouded her in darkness despite the many candles lit around her. Behind her, tendrils of grappling mist form into spiraling columns that wrap and weave together into a crafting tower, silent with a voice she hears as a mere whisper. Your fur manifests in this realm with a bristled motion and your ears immediately twitch, perking up at each minute breath she utters in her shell-shocked state. 

Your master.

Oh, how long it has been since you last graced her beauty, her powerful aura and taken her into your enveloping hold. For too long she has been away from you. A tiny, coiled rasp akin to a curious, predatory purr emits from the chasm of your large chest. 

Wanda’s voice feels raw, stretched thinly by the grimoire’s spell and her hand delicately moves to pet and stroke it but a figment of lithe, cold clawed fingers beat her to it. 

A gasp hiccups in her throat as her head is tilted back slowly. Her eyes meet glowing balls of flame within the hollow frame of shallow eye sockets. A chiseled and grizzly face of a skull decorated with small cracks and a gaping maw revealing the serrated blades of teeth, moistened with an oily slick from a long, black limb of a tongue. 

No way…

You make the sound of that grinding, off-note purr again, louder to reach her ears. “Milenec…”

Odd as it was to feel an inkling of acknowledgement to the term. It sounds so… endearing. Like she’s heard it before but not in this lifetime. The aspect of a time before her existence here and now is brought into question immediately. 

“Y-you can talk…” she chokes out through a whispered breath, “What are you?”

“Milenec…  it  is  me.” You let her slip from your grasp where she stumbles back, the rise of her heels clobbering against the cellar flooring like loud cracks of thunder. Your body moves unlike any natural thing on this earth. It contorts, twisting and bending in places that shouldn’t. 

You body arcs and crosses over the podium with slinking ease, the wispy nature of your fur bellows in airy streams akin to the warp of fire and your long tail follows you as a trail of smoke; your body pushed and pulled like a magnetic charge between this realm and the next, there are forces at work that attempt to banish you and hold you grounded here. 

“Don’t  you  remember  me?” 

“I don’t understand,” Wanda mutters. With a tilt of your large head that furls your ears with a flop, you speak with a guttural enunciation. “You  freed  me,  Master. For  so  long  I’ve  waited,  trapped  in  the  void. But  you  kept  your  word. You  summoned  me.”

“I-I… that was… that was just a joke, I d-didn’t mean to—”

“But  you  did.” Low and unwavering is your tone, musing to and fro within the fabrication of vocalisation. 

You stalk closer until the bony bridge of your skull bows down to meet her at eye level. “And  now  we  can  finally  be  together…”

“Properly…  consummate  our  love.” 

What?

Wanda stumbles back, nearly caving in on her heel in her blind stun but the shadowy appendage of your tail wraps her and draws her in closer so that her breasts meet the glistening grotesque of your tongue. 

Long and expressive, it explores the exposure of her cleavage, tasting the warm dew of her skin and a thrumming growl rattles in your ribcage like bones being shaken in a hollow encasement. 

With a quivering breath, Wanda sighs, caught in the midst of this awakened desire and her need to get away. “I’m not—Ah… who you think I am…”

Pulling away and bumping the skinless mouth of your face against her cheek, you huff. The tattered, darkened rings hidden deep within the sockets of the skull move like muscled skin. A cursed deformity? 

An indication that you were once something more? 

The visceral shade of glowing amber shines ominously bright like a flame tempered angrily.

“A  reincarn…” The words speak as an echoing drawl that overlaps together. “But  my  Milenec  all  the  same…  my  mate.”

“M-mate?” Wanda stutters and you nod with a low purr. 

Had her dabbling in magic really cost her this time? For all her friend’s pleading to reconsider her less than tame rituals and practices, she truly opened the genie bottle on this one. And that genie happened to be a mystical entity hellbent on her being someone someone it knows. A reincarnate. 

Wanda cannot exactly place it within herself, but there is a certain cadence of allure in your words. Your profession that you and her are meant to be together. She’s felt so lonely as of late after her messy breakup with her ex. Feeling unwanted and pathetically isolated, believing that nobody else wanted her because of her taboo hobbies. 

But to think that this… creature wants her. She feels like it’s a sort of lust yearning to break free of herself. That this is right. That you’re meant to be. 

Your hands move to cradle her jaw, her visage cutely small compared to your hands. Her breath comes in light pants. “May  I…  kiss  you,  Milenec?” 

When Wanda had arrived back at her dorm room, she mostly expected it to be barren of her roommate after what occurred tonight. No doubt staying with Bucky. Her plump lips still reside with this vibrating tension after the kiss you shared. It was exotically powerful, submissively contained despite the ravenous hunger she could all but feel course through your materialised body. 

The grimoire sat on her dresser, a foreboding piece of occult just laid out in the open. You advised her to take it with her.

“It  was  yours.  Take  it.”

From the vessel of her sleeping form, you emerge as the figment moving through the shadows, a tainted mass like water in oil. The native, lesser darkness submits beneath your imposing will, threatened by you. As a wayward spirit now marking your haunting claim to this new territory, you drift around your surroundings under an inquisitive note to investigate. 

Your master is… different. She must be that of a reincarn. The loss of her memories — the loss of you — and in the matter that the world has changed so much since you were last summoned to this realm. Only the telltale sign of your presence leaves your shadow out in the open view, under the protruding light of the moon painted over the wall. 

Before you, your hand muses between the phases of existence, taking care to be gentle when your claw pokes and plucks at a button eye of a stuffed toy of a bear. You recall young village girls who made their comforting friends from old straw, ragged scraps of hemp and linen thread. Witches of the craft also used similar ingredients to create dolls, giving them onto you to then find and slaughter them. Ah, those were the days you were admired as a god. A deity of the dark and the shadows, where your name was uttered on the faint whisper of fear and gasped aloud in seek of repentance. 

Then your beloved summoned you, bound you in the sustained chains of her servanthood, and despite your nature to feel angered because of your entrapment; you admired the raw power she held. Together, you both would be unstoppable. In pledge of your divine protection and loyalty, she would bed you and settle your every carnal desire. She announced her soul yours to take in exchange that you would in turn serve as her faithful acolyte, the fonted source behind her increasing magic. 

A woman after your own heart. No other witch of her time had made such an offering so appealing. Usually they slew a few mortals as a sacrifice or the odd bassinet that cradled a babe surrounded by small, dead birds; all to ask your favour and to surrender a portion of your power to make them powerful.

You’re not sure why these women thought you’d have such need for innocent, infant souls. But you made their treachery pay for their disgusting insinuation. Nor did you ever condone the contracts over the young. A foul entity of the void but one with a consciousness. That was what your true followers came to understand. 

Brought back to the present you stand before the mirror of Wanda’s vanity. Small framed adornments hang by an invisible force that you decree is faulty magic, based on how easily it wanes upon touching it with the graze of a single clawed finger. Your mistress smiles in each one, some with the company of who you presume to be her followers, and others she is alone; in wait for your shadow to loom hazily in the next frame. 

This modern age still confounds you but you will learn it. And with it, you will have all knees bend before your master. You will finally sate one another as you both promised for an eternity. Beside the vanity sits a woven basket. You come completely from the cloak of your phantomhood when the smell hits you. A strong odor exudes from it and you curiously click the lid open. The scent wafts higher, more intense and your core awakens with arousement. You can smell the intensity of her on the used clothes. The nose hole of your skulled face inhales  deeply, sharply with a wheezing crackle. Your tongue laps at the soaking patch of her recent loins, groaning at the way hunger consumes you. 

Your ears rattle with a perked flicker at the piercing chord of Wanda’s softened whine. Your head swerves to peer over your shoulder, a penetrative gaze of two smoldering fires set upon her. How beautiful she looks, the blanket pooled to her stomach, revealing the sculpt of her form, a less than orderly top clinging to her loosely and barely concealing the spill of her breasts. 

As a misted cluster of wavering smoke, you saunter towards her until you stand over her at the side of the bed. Your head cranes on a tilted axis as you examine her closely. Her brows scrunched together, troubled and her body struggles and writhes pathetically, more so as she whines and moans breathlessly under the stir of her slumber. A low rumble vibrates in the chasm of your chest that it echoes deeply. 

Her hips jerk and she lets out another pitiful sound. She’s needy…

She  yearns  for  us…

She’s  ready…

It’s  now  our  time…

With one hand you cup her at the apex between her thighs and she shivers, hips jumping forward into your palming embrace. You growl with a low-edged timbre, desire taking hold of you. You feel the cool dampness soak her panties much like the ones in the basket and her smell… it takes every single sin of yours to remember not to ravish her outright lest you tear her open. 

She continues to move against the wide spread of your hand, rubbing herself on you. Her muscles go rigged with each needy roll of her hips and her throat constricts around her mumbled phrases and wanting sounds. 

She  needs  us…

You intrude two long fingers beneath the thin fabric of her panties, your thumb having sought out her clit. You run along her folds with tantilising motion, teasing. Your master gives a low, sulky moan in turn. Her legs spread further apart to welcome you, accommodate your invading advancements and her breath quickens that her breasts become strained against her top. How you’ll tear it off her in due time. Nothing will keep you apart an longer, nothing else shall hinder you from bearing witness to her naked body pinned beneath you or when she takes her place above you; to spear herself on the throne that is your cock. She will come to remember her manners, her power and then… nothing will remain in your path. You two shall be unstoppable. 

You push the two fingering appendages past her moist folds and she gasps curtly, her spine arching beautifully from the mattress. Finally, she’s embracing that which is long overdue. Your thumb rolls her cli in slowly drawn circles, pressing with a touch of firmness to let her know your toying is an act to please. 

Her name parts through her agape lips and her dark lashes beat with a sleepy flutter, unaware completely to what transpires. 

“Milenec…” you purr. The darkened dart of your tongue slides over the maw of your bony teeth, wishful to savour her taste. You lower yourself at her side, your other hand moves up, caressing the temple of her body until it reaches the nape of her neck. Your jaw cracks and pops, a wiry whisper of breath lashes through the hollow of your throat and your tongue extends further from your mouth. Still fingering her velvety insides until she’s coating you with her arousal, her clit thrumming with a lively pulse, your tongue becomes integrated into the pleasurable mix. 

You grunt and moan with a thousand resounding echoes bouncing back and forth between the walls. You taste the sweetened dew of her skin, its slight tang of salty residue. It slides over the slim plane of her stomach, caressing the creased threshold of her legs right near her navel and then upwards. The damned fabric offends you in your aroused exploration. Your tongue slips beneath its material hem and travels between her breasts, rippling for a moment before tearing the top down its middle. Her nipples become stiff, erected by the sudden chill that riddles her skin with goosebumps. 

Her chorus of moans spurs you on. The inky tendril of your tongue glides over each breast, playful with both nipples until you leave a shiny gloss behind. It has her mewing in a way that makes your cock throb and stand between your legs. The thicker portion of your tongue slides and fondles over the curve of her breasts, its extension moving back down her body following the natural weight of her belly until your tongue prods at her clit. It’s cold to her, she lets out a shivered sigh and a softened mewl of your name. 

Along with your fingers, your tongue divides the lips of her slickened pussy apart, becoming a third instrument that strokes her from within. Her walls are hot around you and it clouds your mind with a clouded lust, her snug walls that are flushed with a velvety feel that’s moistened; a precious cove where she beckons your entreating defilement. You groan with a slurping lap in indulgence to her taste finally on your tongue. Sweetened like a honeyed wine, the taste of a feverish delight. Greedily, you sink your tongue further inside of her. 

She arches her back further and your hand supports her at the backend of her skull as she cries out your name, her breath panting and concealing that of a blissful scream. Her eyes open to the dimly lit world around her, the lamplight having flickered in warning that its lighting will expire soon the moment you laid your hands on her. Terrorised by a series of gasps and hiccuping moans, her hands fist and clench at the chilly spires of your misty fur, just thick enough to grab onto but the fainter portions slip through her hold. 

“Y–Y/n… ah—ahh! My acolyte…”

You give a mused whine at the teetering edge of her voice, a bended inflection as she now balances horribly on the verge of her own orgasm; a heavenly relief. “Right there… please, r–right there!”

Your thumb becomes aggressive on her clit and you pull her to sit up slightly. The widened base of your head forces her legs to remain open no matter how much she clenches them against you, she pulls at the mane of fur around your neck as she begs you. 

With a few more strokes of your fingers and tongue, she cums. Her body trembles violently as she’s taken by the white, hot flush that blinds her for a moment and her juices reward you; allowing you to devour it with gulping eagerness. As a last effort, your fingers work to stretch her walls out and she winces before you withdraw both appendages. 

Her chest extends with each large breath and her eyes drown with a deepened pool of lust, the sparkle of scarlet dancing within them. Her power grows with digesting effort through each powerful exchange of your sexual endeavors. Your tongue retracts slightly back down into the unknown and pitless depths of your gullet and you growl deeply. 

Wanda’s hands become fixed at your shoulders and pull at you, inviting you. With a serpentine movement, your tongue moves slowly over the mound of her clit, eliciting a sharpened gasp from Wanda. Further, it moves up her body again, wrapping as a band around her breasts and squeezing her; a mouse caught in your trap. The thinner flare of your tongue is a wonderful muscle all its own when it balances merely of its own accord before her lips, like a snake risen up for the strike. 

Just from the burning amber of your eyes she understands you want her to taste herself. Her plump lips open weakly and you push the inky, slick covered tip into her mouth. Her tongue moves forward and flicks at the slitted divide of your forked muscle; and your body ripples with an unworldly, loud hum. She will come to understand such an area is akin to the sensitive tip to your weeping cockhead.

Your cock twitches and you move until your widened gate sits between her legs. Her soft, delicate thighs are forced to rest against the strong, muscled limbs of your own, just barely meeting at level with your hips and where her awaiting cunt lines up with your cock. 

You move your tongue as a secondary thrusting muscle. Wnda moans a muffled song around it, her own tongue stroking the underbelly of the blackened length and your hips pitch forward with an eager roll. Your tip notches between the capture of her swollen pissy lips and you push forward.

Her body immediately tenses up and your hands hold tight to her wrists, ensuring her grip that claws at your remains there. You’ve never been opposed to pain mixing with pleasure. 

The pronunciation of your name vibrates through your tongue and you growl. Her walls constrict around you with that hot flushness, fluttering as she eases her body to relax. Your size is one she hasn’t experienced before, not even her ex could compare. You pick up your thrust promptly, shoving your cock in and out, in and out. When you withdraw your tongue, the coiled muscle tightening around her ribcage with each thrust you force to penetrate her deeper, she lets out a sighing moan. Her lashes beat fast and her eyes roll back, lulled by the backward crane of her head that falls back against the pillow. 

“Y-yeah, there, right there…”

“Mmm—mhph, so deep!”

How you’ve waited so long to hear her pleasure all to yourself. It’s intoxicating to be praised by your master and your pace quickens. Your hips snap faster and harder with a harshened force that rocks the bed back and forth with a grinding squeak, the headboard splintering a straight line into the wall from the pounding brunt. 

“Shit, shit— I’m gonna—ah!”

You can hear her deep within the recess of her soul. Her reincarn a physical vessel that harbours your first and only love. Your beloved mate. She sings out to you; summoning you. 

You see her within the blind of a memory, seeing the woman beneath you as you do your master. 

You see two different branches of her soul. 

And the thought that your master in this life has faced so much judgment, that her previous lover left her — not that he would have been around much longer if he’d been in the picture still. 

A new quarry to hunt once your consummation was complete. A prize to bring back to your mate. Her first sacrificial offering you’d present to appease her.

Her legs lock around your sturdy hips to drag you further inside of her, kissing the delicate plush of her cervix that has her keening, her lips parted with deep and loud moans that would disturb the neighbouring dorms for sure. 

“Milenec…,” you rattle with a purring growl, “My  Milenec…  release,  let  go.”

For a second time, Wanda bends to the bliss of her euphoria. Cumming around your cock, her walls hug you tightly and her body trembles again with a feverish tingle. It feels like her insides are boiling but her skin is plagued by the wave of coldness. 

Your ears and back with a sharp howl as your knot swells before erupting with the spurting ropes of your release, listening to the rhythmic and moistened glide of where your bodies lock together now. It’s a sound you want to hear for eternity. 

Your tongue loosens around her bust and slinks back down into your gullet, concealing its impressive length for another time. 

“I feel…” Her words come out as a faded exhale. She’s unable to find the words as she stares up at you, a hand caressing the bony curve of your jaw that pops back into place after hanging so low. 

“Whole.”

No longer will your darling master feel the shaded cloak of neglect and disregard. She will feel what it means to truly be loved. Desired. Worshipped. As your mate she falls under your protection and you will guard her fiercely. You will protect the witch who summoned you all those years ago and you shall forever pledge your service to the witch before you now.

She is one and the same. A lover is a lover even through ages past. Nothing will change the bargain you forged long ago. Not the eyes that spear her to the pyre that burned her in ages old, nor the imprisonment of the void, or even the grades she appears desperate to achieve — though you believe she should turn her studies to that of the grimoire: her true potential.

THANKS FOR READING!

✎ no note from the author

[seospicybin]

SEOSPICY REVIEW.

I PUT A SPELL ON YOU TOO.

The next part of I Put A Spell On You.

Hyunjin x reader. (s,a)

Synopsis: Having a common enemy, you and Hyunjin work together to secure your futures. With your witchcraft, the plan sets in motion, the boundaries between right and wrong blur, and secrets begin to unravel, leaving you and Hyunjin bound by more than just circumstance.

...

A few days have passed, and you begin to feel a slight sense of relief. The talisman is working, or at least you hope it is. Despite seeing Hyunjin's file on Flint’s desk that day, nothing significant has happened. Hyunjin still walks through the halls, just as indifferent as ever. And you... well, you’re still the same.

Watching him from afar, your heart quietly aching for the bond you both shared, but knowing it’s gone, just like the magic you once cast on him.

As usual, you take the elevator down to the parking basement, stealing glances at Hyunjin from the corner of your eye. The elevator is crowded, and it’s hard to even think of doing anything but keeping your distance.

The silence between you two is deafening, as if the space around you had a barrier, both emotional and physical. You want to say something, anything, but the words are lost before they can even form.

The elevator dings, signaling your stop. The doors open, and you step out, your eyes lowering to the ground as you make your way toward your car. You tell yourself to let go of the past, but the weight of it lingers, thick in the air.

You unlock the door to your car, your hand trembling slightly as you grip the handle.

"Wait."

You spin around at the sound of Hyunjin’s voice, your heart pounding in your chest. Before you can react, he grabs your elbow and flips you around, his grip firm but not painful. The world seems to slow as you look up into his eyes—eyes that are no longer filled with warmth but something else. Something searching.

“What is this?” Hyunjin demands, holding up the small talisman you slipped into his briefcase, his expression tense, almost accusing. His eyes narrow as he waits for your answer.

Your heart drops into your stomach. You hadn't expected this. He found it. The talisman.

"It's... it’s uh..." you say, trying to steady your voice, but it comes out quieter than you intended. "A talisman."

His grip tightens around your wrist, his expression hardening. “A talisman?” His tone is sharp with disbelief. "What did you do to me? Did you curse me?"

The accusation stings, but you quickly shake your head. "No, no curse. It’s meant to protect you."

He doesn't let go of your wrist. "Protect me?" His eyes search yours, but there's a flicker of something else—suspicion. "Why would you protect me?"

The question hangs in the air, and you feel the truth swelling in your chest, but you can’t speak it. The reason you want to protect him... because you care. You care too much. But you can’t admit that to him. Not now. Not when everything between you has been reduced to this awkward distance.

You swallow hard and blur the truth. "I saw your file on Flint’s desk. I know he plans on doing something to you. I don’t want you to get hurt," you say quickly.

"And I hate Flint too. I do. I know this one spell so I think we could work together to take him down. I just need your—”

You can feel his grip falter slightly, but then his gaze flickers to something else entirely. Something that causes the hairs on the back of your neck to stand on end.

"Wait... are you saying you actually practice witchcraft?" he asks, his voice shaking with a mix of incredulity and fear.

The world spins. You don’t even know how to respond. You could lie, but his eyes are burning into yours, and for some reason, lying doesn’t feel like an option. Not now.

"Yes," you say softly, unable to stop yourself.

He stares at you in silence for a long moment, and you feel as if the air has been sucked out of the world around you. You can see the wheels turning in his mind, the shock, the disbelief, the fear all rising to the surface. It’s too much. Too much for him to process.

And then, before you can say anything else, you hear it—the words you never wanted to hear.

“Stay away from me.”

The coldness in his voice cuts through you like a blade. It’s like an icy wall has been erected between you, one you can’t get past. The small spark of hope you’d held onto—the hope that Hyunjin might remember, might somehow feel something for you again—dies in that instant.

You take a step back, unable to move for a moment, before you finally blink and lower your gaze. His words echo in your mind, a cruel reminder of how much you’ve lost.

“Hyunjin, I—”

He interrupts, his tone harsh now. “I don’t want anything to do with you. Don’t ever come near me again. Don’t use your... your magic on me.”

His words sting, like acid on an open wound. And all you can do is nod, silent tears stinging at the corners of your eyes.

He turns and walks away, leaving you standing there. The good you tried to do has backfired completely. The last shred of hope you had is shattered.

And now, it’s clear: Hyunjin will never see you the way you want him to.

...

Full fic will be released this Friday, Dec 13!

[whumperfultime]

Tarot-Inspired Whump Prompts

I'm enthusiastic about both whump and tarot and those interests were bound to collide at some point. So I wrote a list of writing prompts inspired by the Major Arcana! Five prompts for each card, so there should be something for everyone. Enjoy!

(Also, if you happen to write anything based on any of these, feel free to tag me! I'd be honored to read it.)

The Fool: Accidental whump. Misplaced trust. Leap of faith. Taking a risk. Falling from a high place.

The Magician: Magical whump. Manipulation. Mind control. A charismatic and confident character. A table full of tools for inflicting pain.

The High Priestess: Keeping secrets. Blindfolded whumpee relying on their other senses. Guarding something or someone. Intuitively noticing when something or someone has changed. Cult setting/dynamics.

The Empress: Gilded cage. Lady whump (if you're into that). Comfort in material things. Gentle caretaker. Whumpee not used to experiencing abundance and safety.

The Emperor: Strict whumper and/or strict rules. Royal whump. Wartime. Stoic leader trying to remain calm for the sake of their team. High security.

The Hierophant: Religious whump. Institutionalized whump. Punished for questioning authority. Pressure to conform. Power leading to corruption.

The Lovers: Yandere whump. Sadistic choice. Forced to watch. Protectiveness. Multiple whumpees, whumpers, caretakers, etc.

The Chariot: Car crash. On the run. Kidnapped and forced into a vehicle. Lost and stranded. Unwanted and distressing thoughts.

Strength: Whumpee turned caretaker or whumper. Monster character. Patient caretaker. Animal attack. Emotional support animal.

The Hermit: Isolation. Sensory deprivation. Neglect. Feeling like an outcast. Going into hiding.

Wheel of Fortune: Bad luck. Time heals all wounds. Long-term captivity. Painful anniversaries. Wrong place, wrong time.

Justice: Whumper being arrested. Detached/indifferent whumper or caretaker. Wrongful imprisonment. Privileges vs. punishments. Shutting off emotions so logic can take over.

The Hanged Man: Stress position. Caught in a net. Restrained and abandoned. Hanging. Standing cuffs.

Death: Grief. Recovery milestones. Immortal whumpee dying over and over. Left behind. Visiting a grave.

Temperance: Drugged whumpee. Personality changes due to trauma. Angel character. Poisoning. Mad scientist whumper.

The Devil: Demon character. Sadistic whumper. Addiction and unhealthy coping mechanisms. Pet whump. Collared.

The Tower: Building collapse. Struck by lightning. Drastic change. A character being overpowered. Shocking revelation or betrayal.

The Star: Bathing (whether this is peaceful or whumpy is up to you). Drowning. Finally being able to rest. Anything having to do with recovery. Dehydration.

The Moon: Nightmares. Lost in the woods. Werewolf character. Illusions or hallucinations. Running on pure survival instinct.

The Sun: Sunburn. Public figure whumpee. Forced to perform. First time outside after being held captive. Heatstroke.

Judgement: Revenge. Sound torture. Deity character. Punishment. Resurrected from the dead.

The World: Endings (positive or negative). Breaking the cycle of abuse. Overwhelmed by choices. Regaining personal autonomy. Closure and acceptance (or lack thereof).

[thetriumphantpanda]

baby, I'm the whole damn meal

I have no explanation other than I need to find myself a dbf!Joel of my own because this man is magic. Welcome to part 6 with our friendly neighbourhood DILF. Enjoy.

Pairing | dbf!Joel Miller x f!reader

Summary | Joel saves your ass by giving you a ride to work, and then promises you a night you won't forget.

Word Count | 4.2k

Warnings | As ever, blanket warning for dbf!Joel being a general menace. Age gap (Reader is 25, Joel is 36), flirting, light sexting, edging/orgasm denial, oral (f receiving), dirty talk, praise kink, protected PiV sex, aftercare.

Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist | Texas Sun Playlist

You’re late. Not exactly the first impression you were hoping to make on the start of your second week at work. It was sweltering outside, which meant you’d opted for a shorter and thinner dress to begin with, then thrown it off and gone for something more work-appropriate when you remembered the archives were basically like a freezer from the air-conditioning. You said a silent prayer to your beat-up car that it’s feeling generous with you on the drive into the city and will let the aircon work, so you don’t turn up looking like you’d run five miles. 

You grab your keys and your bag and bound out of the door, straight into the back of your dad, who is stood on the porch talking to Joel. 

“Woah, careful there, kiddo,” Your dad murmurs, catching you before you can fall back on your ass, “In a rush?” 

“If I don’t leave in the next thirty seconds, I’ll be late for work,” You explain, steadying yourself on your feet, “Oh, morning Joel.” You shoot over your dad’s shoulder, as if you hadn’t spotted him the second you opened the door. 

“Morning,” He shoots back, giving his signature smile to you, which causes a blush to flush across your cheeks, “You have a good day now.” 

“You too!” You call over your shoulder, unlocking your car and throwing your back in the back seat. 

You settle into the driver’s side and turn your key and groan, because of course the engine is spluttering and refusing to actually switch on. It’s like it can sense you’re in a rush, the one morning you really need it to cooperate with you, it decides it’s had enough. 

“You’ve got to be fuckin’ kidding me,” You mumble, letting your forehead hit the top of the steering wheel, “I ask one thing and you can’t even do that.” 

A light tapping on the driver’s window makes you jump, but it’s just Joel. You open the door slightly, “You need a ride?” 

“I don’t want you to go out of your way for me,” You mumble, “But yeah, I need a ride.” 

“I’m headin’ into town for some supplies so it’s no trouble at all, sugar,” He speaks quietly so your dad doesn’t catch the new nickname Joel’s got for you, “You hop into my truck, and we’ll get goin’ as soon as I’ve said goodbye to your old man.” 

You’re listening to their conversation as you reach for your bag and heat to the passenger side of Joel’s truck. 

“You make sure you bring the little lady over when she’s back,” Your dad is saying, “I’ll make sure to get the grill going.” 

“I will,” Joel promises, reaching out his hand for your dad to shake it, “I’ll catch you later, old man.” 

Your dad chuckles, “Make sure she pays you for gas, Joel!” He exclaims once Joel has turned around to make his way to his truck, “It’s her own fault for not buying a new car sooner.” 

“Oh, don’t worry,” He shoots a look at you through his open driver’s side window, “I’ll make sure she pays for her ride.” 

You’re stunned into silence for a while as he sits down behind the wheel and makes to pull out of your dad’s driveway. He looks over at you and shrugs with a laugh, “You okay, darlin’?” 

“Are you for real?” You scoff, “You’re a subtle as a brick sometimes, Joel Miller.” 

“I didn’t say anythin’ that wasn’t true.” 

It’s too early in the morning for this, you decide, “What were you doing over here anyway?” 

“Your dad wanted to borrow some tools for somethin’,” He answers, pulling out of your street and onto the main road, “Brought ‘em over before I went to work.” 

You nod in understanding, “And Sarah, she’s back soon, right?” 

He hums in the affirmative, letting his palm rest on your knee, “Back tomorrow evenin’, means it might be harder to see you.” 

You take hold of his hand at your knee, “We always knew that Joel,” You turn and smile at him, “We’ll make it work.” 

It. Whatever it was, you were determined to make it work. In the space of a few weeks, he’d well and truly wormed his way under your skin and settled there, refusing to leave even if you’d wanted him to. Too caught up in how he fucked you and not wanting to cause him to run off into the sunset with your conversations of commitment, you’d skirted round asking what it was that you two were doing exactly. If it meant you could keep him by your side and buried deep inside you, you’d carry on avoiding the conversation too. 

“How about you come to mine after work?” He suggests, “I don’t know, tell ya’ dad you’re going out, I’ll pick you up and I can make the most of you while I still can?” 

You think for a second about how you’ll get that one past your dad. You’d been home straight after work every night last night, staying up only long enough to eat your dinner, before collapsing into bed. And it was a Monday night, who the hell goes out on a Monday night after work? But if this was the last time you were going to get Joel, in his house alone, you were damn sure you were going to do it. 

“Alright,” You agree, giving his hand a squeeze, “Pick me up at six?” 

“I’ll be ready and waiting, sugar.” 

*

“I promise I’ll be sensible dad,” You sigh, shoveling another forkful of salad into your mouth, “It’s just a few drinks, we won’t be that late.” 

“Alright, well, if you need pickin’ up earlier, you just call, okay?” You know he only means well when he goes into protective mode, but you’re twenty-five years old and managed to live in New York City for years without any real incident, “And if your designated driver starts drinkin’ you call me.” 

You feel your phone vibrate against your ear, signaling a text, “I will dad,” You spear another bit of lettuce with your fork, “I gotta go, but I’ll see you later.” 

“See you later, kiddo,” He speaks, “Love you.” 

“Love you too!” 

As soon as you hang up, you’re checking your messages. It’s Joel. He’s a man of few words when it comes to texting, only ever really using it to make plans with you to sneak around somewhere. 

Joel Miller. 

Can’t stop thinking about you. 

You smile at your desk, resting your chin in your palm as you read it over. 

Can’t stop thinking about you either. 

You put your phone back on your desk and finish your lunch. Not only is he a man of few words when it comes to texting, but it usually takes him a good ten minutes to reply. You’ve seen him texting Sarah to the point that it’s actually comical. 

Been thinking of bending you over my kitchen counter, what do you think? 

You almost splutter the mouthful of water you were drinking all over the computer screen in front of you. Was Joel Miller attempting to sext you at work? 

Dangerous thoughts for the middle of the day. But you know I like being bent over just for you. 

This time he does take a few minutes to respond. You like to think you’ve got him flustered on whatever jobsite he’s at today, shoving his phone back into his pocket and taking deep breaths so he can go back to work with a clear head. 

I know you do baby. Gonna fuck you so good later, be feeling me for days. 

That’s not much of a change Joel, I always feel you for days after. 

You grab your phone and the list of documents your manager had given you to pull for the afternoon and head down into the archive itself. You check your phone, thankful there’s enough signal for any more of his messages to come through to you. 

Might not get the chance again for a while, gotta make sure you’re remembering me for as long as possible. 

You scoff a little, as if you’d ever forget. 

Gonna be in for a long night then? 

You start pulling the documents on the list, getting three down before your phone is vibrating again. 

If you can walk outta my house, I’ve not done it properly. 

You can feel the arousal pooling in your lower stomach, goosebumps peppering your skin at the thought of him doing just as he promised. Burying himself deep inside you, pounding his cock into from behind. You can already feel the delicious ache he usually leaves you with. 

I hope that’s a promise, Miller. Now stop distracting me and go back to work. 

His reply, for once, is almost instantaneous.

Yes ma’am. See you at six. 

The rest of the day is a blur. You’re too distracted by Joel’s promises that it takes you far longer than it should to finish pulling all the documents you needed. Then, when your mind wanders to visions of the last time he had you bent over a kitchen island, you have to double check where you’re distributing them to. You’re grateful when, at six o’clock, your colleague Hanna comes up behind you, your bag in her hand, to tell you it’s time to leave. 

“Come on, I’ll walk you out.” She smiles. 

Hanna was close to your age, which was a welcome change to the mostly older women who worked in your team. She was Canadian, moving to Austin after her degree and you’d already become fast work friends. When you exit the building, Joel is stood against the hood of his truck, one ankle folded over the over, with his arms crossed over his chest. 

“Who is that?” Hanna enquires when he waves at you. 

“That’s Joel,” You smile, not able to hide the pride that this man was yours, “He’s my…. Well, I actually don’t know what he is, but we fuck.” 

Hanna’s eyes dart between you and Joel, a smirk on her face, “Damn girl, get it.” 

You both break into fits of giggles before you give each other a hug, Hanna heading down to catch the bus to her apartment whilst you practically jog over to Joel’s truck. 

“What’s so funny?” He grumbles, dipping his head to press a soft kiss to your lips. 

“Oh nothing,” You tease, standing on your tiptoes to press another kiss to his lips, “Just happy to see you.” 

You feel his hand trail down your back to grip the globe of your ass through your dress, “You talkin’ about me, pretty girl?” He growls into your ear. 

“Might have been,” You shrug, “Just showing you off, handsome.” 

“Get in the damn truck.” He says with a playful swat to your ass. 

“Yes sir.” You smirk, hopping up into your seat. 

The drive back to his house in thick with tension. He’s got his hand on your leg, much like he had this morning, but this time his fingers are gripping into the meat of your thigh. Whenever it’s safe, his eyes are trailing over your body, dark with wanting. He pulls up outside his house in no time, taking a few moments to look up the street to make sure no-one is going to notice you sneaking in through his front door. 

When the coast is clear, you grab your bag and follow him to the door. He unlocks it and pushes it open, letting you through first. 

“You hungry, Joel?” You call over your shoulder once you’ve thrown your bag next to his couch, “We could order something in?” 

You’re rooting through his fridge for something cold to drink and don’t hear a reply. Gripping the tops of two bottles of beer, you stand back up, “Hey, Joel, did you hear me?!” You yell as you’re closing the fridge door. 

“I heard ya.” He’s standing at the kitchen island, leant on his palms, with those deep, brown eyes trailing over your body. 

“So, are you hungry?” You ask again, flicking the tops off the bottles before placing one down in front of him. 

His eyes drag slowly down your body as he tips his bottle to his lips, “I could eat, yeah.” 

“What are you hungry for?” You question, “We could get pizza, or maybe a Chinese takeout?”

He shakes his head, “Not hungry for those.” He shrugs. 

“Well, what are you hungry for?” 

“You.”

Your eyes widen at his words, “I’m not even really a snack Joel.” 

He’s shifted his position to be leaning on his hip at the end of the island with his hand outstretched to you, “Sugar, you’re so wrong,” He breathes as you take hold of his hand, “You’re a whole damn meal.” 

He’s leading you to the table and gesturing for you to sit on it, “You want me to sit on there?” You ask with a snort, not sure that it’s going to hold your weight. 

“I said I was hungry for ya, didn’t I?” Joel asks with an eyebrow raised, you nod in agreement though, “Well then sit down and let me eat that perfect pussy.” 

He steadies you with wide palms on your hips as you settle your ass on the table. Of course, it holds your weight, because he built it. You remember Sarah gushing over how he’d made it a few years back. 

Joel drops to his knees after he’s pulled the chair away from the table, his hands dragging from your hips to the hem of your dress just above your knees. He’s pushing the fabric up your thighs devastatingly slowly, pressing hot kisses to each inch of new skin he uncovers. You’re leaning back with your palms braced on the wood behind you, soft gasps tumbling from your lips at each touch of his lips to your skin. 

Once he’s shucked as much of the material to bunch at your waist as he can, his hands are back on your hips, this time under your dress, keeping you in place as he drags the same slow trail of kisses back down your other thigh until he reaches your knee. He’s hooking both of your legs over his shoulders, shuffling into you a little more on his knees before you can feel hit hot breath fanning the material of your underwear which is practically sticking to your core from arousal. 

“You gonna be all wet for me, sugar?” He asks, “All that textin’ got you worked up for me?

“What don’t you find out for yourself?” You challenge, feeling your legs shake on his shoulders from the slight chuckle he lets out. 

“Would rather you tell me,” He murmurs, planting a kiss on the skin of your groin, right where the seam of your underwear begins, “Tell me how hot I made ya?” 

“So fucking hot, Joel,” You whimper as he presses a similar kiss to the other side of your underwear, “Couldn’t think straight.” 

He’s gently running his thumb along the seam of your pussy through the cotton covering your core. It’s so featherlight that if you weren’t burning from every nerve ending, you’d probably have missed it, but it’s there, and it has you bucking your hips and begging for more friction. 

“So, if I peeled these off, you’d be soaked for me, right sugar?” 

You gather what sanity is left in your brain, reaching down between your thighs to take his chin in your hand, tilting his face to meet yours, “Why don’t you fuck around and find out, Joel Miller?” 

With his eyes on yours you swear you see something snap behind his brown orbs. His hands are practically ripping the material off your body. They’re thrown over his shoulder and forgotten, just like his need to incessantly tease you when the flat of his tongue licks a wide stripe along the now naked seam of your pussy. A soft sigh leaves your lips as his tongue mimics the movement once more, this time, the tip of his tongue dipping just below your folds to graze your clit, ever so gently. 

You’re widening your thighs, baring your naked cunt to his face. He’s got his hands splayed back on your hips to keep you still, his tongue once against licking a familiar stripe, this time through your folds, stopping to flick the bundle of nerves with the tip of his tongue yet again, but this time with more purpose than before, more purpose that to just tease you. This man between your thighs wants to devour you. 

Joel’s hands are spreading your pussy wide, baring your entire core to his mouth as his tongue moves from the precise movements over your clit, down to the weeping entrance. His tongue swirls and gathers the slick that has gathered there. 

“God, you taste so fuckin’ good, sweetheart,” He groans into your core, taking his time to swipe his tongue through the wetness again, “Best damn meal I ever had.” 

“Joel, please,” You beg, letting your fingers run through the dark strands of his hair, “It’s not enough.” 

You can feel his mouth grin into the skin of your pussy, he licks a stripe back up to your clit before focusing on your clit, making short and fast flicks to the bud with the tip of his tongue. Your grind your hips into his face, hands gripping at the back of his head to keep him in place because this is exactly what you needed. The movement of his tongue is precise, switching from short flicks in and up and down motion, to tight circles. It’s enough to have you teetering on the edge but still not enough. You’re shifting your ass to the edge of the table, hoping that bringing his tongue closer to you will help, but it doesn’t.

“Fingers, Joel,” You demand, groaning in frustration when his movements stop altogether, “Please baby, I need it so bad.” 

“All you had to do was ask nicely.” He says, pulling back just enough to give him room to speak before you feel two of his thick fingers pushing inside of you. 

He curls them up into your pussy almost immediately, whilst his lips wrap around your clit. The pressure of him sucking on your clit, teamed with his still precise flicks, and the thrusting of his fingers inside you have you hurtling towards the cliff face of your orgasm in record time. You’re so close you can almost reach out a hand and grab it to pull yourself over the edge. Joel knows it, can feel your pussy clenching and fluttering around his fingers, and the son of a bitch pulls his fingers and mouth from you just before you can come. 

“No!” You exclaimed, looking down at him with wide eyes full of frustration, you’re pulling at his hair to try and get him to put himself back on you, “Nonononono.” You whine in frustration as he stands from his knees. 

He dips down, pressing a kiss wet with your slick to your cheek, bringing his lips to your ear, “Patience sugar,” He chuckles, hands moving to undo his belt, “Promise it’ll feel better if you wait for it.” 

Your chest is heaving, pussy fluttering around nothing as you sit and watch as he sheds his jeans, kicking them backwards to join your underwear on the kitchen floor. Then he’s tugging his t-shirt over his head. If you weren’t so angry with him, you’d be able to appreciate the broad expanse of his chest, the way the muscles of his biceps clenched whenever he moved. All you could focus on was the intense need to chase the high he’d deprived you of. You weren’t even overly bothered when he helps you stand, dragging your dress over your body to meet it on the floor with the rest of his clothes. You’re aware of the fact that he unclips your bra, grateful more than anything that it’s off after a long day. 

Then, Joel is turning you around, placing his warm palm at the nape of your neck and pushing you down to the table. Your palms are resting on the wood in front of you. You turn around and watch as he fishes a condom from his wallet, shucking his boxers off before sheathing himself. 

“Gonna fuck you so good, pretty girl,” He murmurs behind you, using one of his feet to kick gently at your ankle, causing you to widen your stance, “Promised you I would.”

You can feel the head of his cock nudging at your slick entrance before he’s slowly burying himself inside you to the hilt. You let out a whine of satisfaction at the feeling of him filling you. He pulls himself back a little before he’s slamming back into your pussy like he means it this time. He’s pounding into you so hard that your hips are digging into the table in front of you. He’s got one hand gripping the nape of your neck again, keeping you pressed down, the other gripping the meat of your ass. 

“You like that?” He asks, grunting behind you as he pulls out and thrusts back in, “Like it when I fill your pretty pussy like this.” 

Oh God, I really do, is all you can think, but the way his cock is brushing against that perfect spot inside you means you can’t talk, only let a throaty moan drop from your mouth. 

“Fuckin’ you so good you can’t even talk, pretty girl,” Joel chuckles, his point proven when he shifts the angle of his hips slightly and has you crying out when he thrusts back into you, “Gotta remember this, okay?” You nod, “Remember how well I fuck you when I can’t be there.” 

It’s desperate from here on out. He’s rutting into you like a man starved, hips beginning to stutter as he climbs towards his own climax. You think he might actually leave you hanging until the hand that was gripping your ass slips in front of you and begins circling your clit. You almost cry with relief. The circles on your clit are messy but they’re doing their job. You can feel your tight walls clenching around Joel’s cock, can hear that way his moans change when you do. Neither of you are going to last much longer, it’s just a question of who gets there first. 

Just as you think the answer is going to be you, Joel once more pulls his hand from your pussy, and you actually cry. The second time he’s cruelly denied you your release and you’re fed up. He’s always been a giver. Always made sure you finish before he does. But right now, he doesn’t seem to care. Both his hands are gripping your hips, you know there will be bruises of his fingertips there tomorrow. He thrusts into your pussy twice more, maybe three times before he’s stilling inside of you and groaning your name behind you. 

You don’t really think he gives himself enough time before he’s slipping out of you, pulling you up and around to sit you back on the table before he’s once again on his knees with his face buried in your cunt. 

“You wanna come, pretty girl?” He asks, thumbing at your clit gently. 

“Make me come right now Joel Miller,” You demand, tears dripping from the corner of your eyes in frustration, “Before I kill you.” 

His lips circle your clit again and he’s lapping at your pussy like it’s his last meal on earth. His fingers are back inside you, curling again, reaching that sweet spot inside you that has your back arching into him. 

It’s quick and it’s overwhelming when it arrives. Your whole body is convulsing and you’re calling his name out into the emptiness of the room. There’s are dark spots in your vision and the aftershocks are more intense than you’d ever felt before. Joel is slipping his fingers from you but continues pressing light kisses to your clit as you come down from your high. 

He lets you fall back onto the table for a moment as he disposes of the condom, but is back quickly, gathering you up into his arms and walking you to the couch. He lies down and settles you on top of him. He knows that he pushed you tonight, knows that the shaking of your shoulders and the tears in your eyes are because you’re overwhelmed. He runs his fingers through your hair, pressing soft kisses to your forehead whilst you recover. 

“You okay, sugar?” He whispers into your hair as his other hand rubs soothing lines up and down your spine. 

You look up at him, eyes glazed, “I am more than okay, Miller.” You mumble, letting your lips drop to his chest to press a kiss to them. 

He tilts your chin to his face, shuffling a little to capture your lips in his for a tender kiss, he pulls away, leaving barely any space between your lips and his, “Did so well for me,” He praises, “Hopefully that’ll keep you going until I can see you again.” 

You press forward and kiss him again, letting your arms circle his neck, “Seriously now though,” You whisper, gathering your strength, “What do you want to eat, because I’m starving.” 

[beautifulterriblequeen]

Order as Antagonist in TDP

So how about that trailer, eh? I was so excited I didn't notice this text up top on TDP's tweet for like. An hour.

We haven't heard anything about this Cosmic Order before. Is it a specific group? Is it a vibe? Is it a Startouch thing? Hard to say, yet. But there are some vibes from the Starscraper shots we've gotten in the trailer and teaser that may point us in the right direction:

This place has eight pillars, each with a recess that holds a relic staff seemingly identical to the one Viren's been toting around. It's not unique, and Aaravos didn't craft it. He stole it.

This is the Prometheus part of Aaravos' character. This is the fire that he stole for humans, from the gods. The relic staff. A relic staff, one of many.

Why did he, a godlike elf himself, feel the need to commit this act, for which he was cast down, exiled, and stripped of much of his power? Why?

Hard to say yet, but knowing all that he is capable of, I think it comes down to one thing: stealing it was the only way to get it. Nothing else he could think of would work. And he's pretty imaginative. But the system, the Cosmic Order, had him, too. He's a magic elf, bound by the same forces as everyone else up there. Breaking the rules was his only remaining option.

Aaravos chose Chaos over Order and put his money where his mouth is. He did get exiled and cast out, but humans have magic now. Somehow, that's not a thing the Order can take back from them, once it's out - rather like Pandora's Box.

But I want to look at this Order, and how pervasive it must be. How else would a powerful elf like Aaravos be reduced to petty thievery to accomplish his ends? Surely he tried other ways, other options, other persuasions. Why didn't they get him anywhere? Why did he have to take such a - for lack of a better term - human approach to the problem?

Let's back up a second and look at a seemingly random list of likes for one specific elf: Runaan. (no of course it isn't random, this is why this theory post exists. but shh, it'll make sense I promise)

Runaan likes four things in this list. Two of them are his immediate family. One is his favorite food. And the last item on the list?

Order.

I used to think this was just a bit of a wink to him being autistic-coded and liking his patterns. And I still do think that's accurate. But my third eye got pried open by the Cosmic Order text, and I think it's more than that now.

Runaan is a tiny cog in the grand engine that is the Cosmic Order. He goes where he is told, he kills who he is told to kill, he obeys without question, no matter how heinous his acts would be - he would have killed Ezran without blinking, because that's what the Dragon Queen told him to do.

Runaan is the most Moonshadow Moonshadow, according to the Deluxe Elf Interview. He's the epitome of what it means to be a Moonshadow elf. His devotion, sacrifice, and adherence to the rules are what makes him a good Moonshadow elf.

How convenient for the Order.

Runaan is still an individual, inside his own rules. He chose to become an assassin, and he did it to spare others from having to take lives and live with the weight of those acts. But that does imply that if he hadn't chosen this path, someone else would have, and people would still be dying.

And I think he's right. Maybe his love of order actually lets him perceive the great gears grinding over his head, up in the stars, turning the wheels of fate for everyone they control. Maybe he knows full well that he's part of a grand system - but there's nothing he can do about it except stay alive or die, because he is trapped inside it. He cannot change his fate because he is locked into it, just like everyone around him.

The Book 1 novelization tells us Runaan always expected to die on a mission, and that he meets that fate with a calm resignation on the balcony. He surrenders to his fate, because he cannot fight it.

What could lock Runaan into a fate that ends with him dying on a mission?

His own choices? Think bigger.

His society, then. Obligation, honor, guilt. Hmm, bigger than that.

It's been there the whole time - something that all the elves and dragons possess, but humans don't. Something which caused the imbalance in the first place.

Magic.

Magic is the Cosmic Order.

yes it has eight points and yes I'm back on my bullshit

Quick aside: The Cosmic Order is turning out to be the big magic version of King Harrow's Narrative of Strength, which he contrasted with the Narrative of Love - and we'll get back to that at the end of the post.

Alrighty, back to magic: The worst offenders seem to be the primal magics, which have locked the elves and dragons into very tight little boxes as far as what they can and cannot do, think, and imagine. An elf with a single arcanum can only think in terms of that primal source. It's as bad as an irl human who only knows one language, and so their brain literally cannot conceive of concepts that exist in other languages. (Learn more languages, guys, it's genuinely good for your brain, I am not kidding)

This helps explain why Aaravos was able to think a little bit outside his box and consider giving magic to humans when the Order said they didn't deserve any. He is an archmage, and he speaks many magical languages. He knows all six primal magics, as well as the ancient blood magic and dark magic. That's eight different ways of looking at a problem.

(is this why elves only have 8 fingers, because they literally cannot grasp anything outside of magic?)

From his multifaceted viewpoint, Aaravos can see the inherent unfairness in humans being forced to abide by the Order without getting any magic for their trouble. It's basically taxation without representation.

The Americans among us can attest to how well that went over in our own history.

Aaravos: Prometheus, Lucifer... Che Guevara... Guy Fawkes?

Aaravos really does love revolution.

Further thought: this post about Ethari's design has reminded me again about his lower-than-average magical ability and how that has manifested in his unique design and in his character. And I'm looking directly at how Ethari's lesser magic power may be the reason he's so mentally flexible. If he can challenge Runaan directly about how Rayla is not ready for that mission when everyone else is going along with it, isn't that lack of narrow-mindedness the thing that sets him apart?

What else might that freedom of thought do for him? Is this the reason he is actually able to invent at all? Because he is capable of envisioning that which does not yet exist? How rare that must be among Moonshadow elves!

tldr: Ethari is actually bad at being a Moonshadow elf, and that could very well be what saves him.

Contrast Ethari with Karim, who is a powerful Sunfire mage, and very much locked into his traditional views of elf vs human. He's willing to go to war in order to impose his views on all of the Sunfire elves if he can, because he genuinely believes he can see the Order of things better than anyone else can.

He believes in the superiority of the elven ways, while Janai has let her heart change her mind. Janai fell in love with a human, and it broke the Order's hold on her. She makes history now - it does not make her.

Side note: Is this... is this the formula, then? Is this how enduring ships work in TDP? An elf with a normal arcanum, paired with either a human or an elf with a "flawed" connection to the Order inside them? One who can anchor, and one who can imagine?

Let me make a quick list:

Claudia+Terry

Ethari+Runaan

Callum+Rayla

Amaya+Janai

Well. How bout that.

Ironically, this is a different path to what was going to be my final point in the first place: Order may be the default for elves and dragons and the way they are supposed to follow the rules of the universe, but love still exists, and they can always choose to embrace it. They can all be saved by love, in the end. It's their choice. In fact, choosing Love over Order is an act of defiance in itself.

Terry chose Claudia over fear. Janai chose Amaya over war. Rayla chose Callum over vengeance. And Runaan, my poster boy for stubbornness and suffering, chose Ethari over Order itself.

Saved by love.

[beefrobeefcal]

Dreamers part 2 feat. Frankie Morales

Summary: Old wives tales talked of soul mates being connected through dreams, but this notion no longer held weight in today’s day and age, what with apps for dating and pills to make sleep heavy and devoid of images. So you didn’t think anything of your beach dreams, even when they got stronger and the emotions you felt so intensely stayed with you for hours after you woke. They were just dreams... right?

My contribution to @burntheedges Roll-a-Trope fic challenge. I got Frankie + Soulmates.

Frankie Morales x f!reader 'Kit' | Rating: 18+ MDNI | Word Count: 3,834

Content Warnings: surreal and bad feeling dreams, talk of prison, ending of a marriage, betrayal, traveling, maladaptive day dreaming, smutty and sexy dreams

Author's Notes: Thank you to @burntheedges for this prompt. I never had the pull towards soulmate fics but this experience has changed my mind!

Thank you to @noxturnalpascal for picking up my typos and handing them back to me in gentle love, and @strang3lov3 for their magic powers and brainstorming abilities and to @bitchesuntitled for their eyes and love. Thanks to @saradika-graphics for the dividers

No more tag lists - follow @beefnotes + turn on notifications for fic updates!

You stood in front of the mirror in the guest room, looking over your outfit. You weren’t happy with Benny, but especially Mandy because she was the one who promised you that she wouldn’t try to set you up with any of their friends. You felt bad for taking over Benny’s computer room, but when you heard him whine to Mandy about how he missed her and wanted alone time, you couldn’t help but feel gutted that you were in the way and being a burden. 

Mandy knocked on your door softly and opened it, catching your eyes in the mirror. “Hey! You look nice!” She kept her voice sweet.

“Yeah…”, you muttered, looking down at yourself. You’d borrowed a dress from her since you didn’t really have any good summer wear for a date night, given you didn’t expect or want to be going on dates.

Mandy’s face fell and she walked into the room, standing behind you. She fixed the back of your hair and said quietly. “I swear, Kit, this is not a date. He’s a nice guy who just wanted to see a movie and no one else was available-”

“And Benny wants me out of the house.”, you interjected. You once again locked eyes with Mandy in the mirror, and she could see that you weren’t happy about this. 

“Kit-”

“You can just be honest and say this isn’t working out!”

“No, Kit-”

“I didn’t come down here to interrupt you and your boyfriend or make things weird enough that you have to convince some guy to get me out of the house.”

Mandy stared at you, hurt and remorse written all over her face and she backed up. She took a deep breath and looked down, pursing her lips together. 

Benny bounded in the room, not picking up on the tense atmosphere and excitedly asked, “Hey! You excited for your big date, Kit?”

Both you and Mandy faced him and stared. It took every ounce of your strength to hold back the verbal tirade you wanted to levy at them both, but instead you nodded and tried to offer a smile, keeping your mouth closed. 

Mandy shook her head subtly at Benny and widened her eyes at him, silently telling him to shut the fuck up!. Benny looked between you both and before he could ask what was going on, you interjected, “Yeah, I'll be out of your hair soon, Benny. Don’t worry.”

You pushed past them both and headed to wait for your ‘date’ outside.

Frankie drummed his fingers nervously on the steering wheel of his truck and he pulled into the parking lot of Benny’s apartment complex. 

Benny had said you’d be wearing a ‘purple sundress or something’, and when he saw the back of a woman standing under the awning in front of the complex, he assumed it was you. He got out of his truck and was greeted immediately with the sounds of Benny and Mandy fighting, coming from their open windows and sliding door.

You stood under an awning, trying to stay out of the direct sunlight that you were still trying to get used to, absolutely devastated and guilt-ridden for causing the very loud scene unfolding upstairs. You didn’t hear the truck and you didn’t hear the person siding up to you.

“Well they seem to be off to a good start for the night.”

You just about jumped out of your skin and the unexpected voice coming from beside you. Turning to look, you just about choked on your breath. 

When his eyes met yours, it seemed he almost had the same reaction. You both were finally putting faces to some unknown part of your own subconscious selves. It was like electricity being exchanged at lightning speeds between you. Those curls, that voice, that smile, that smell…

You had no idea how long you stood and stared at one another in your bubble where time seemed to be standing still. It was the loud crash followed by an elated squeal from Mandy above that brought you out of it. 

You both blinked and looked away from one another as the telltale sounds of makeup sex started to echo out of the apartment’s windows.

You and Frankie went to the movie -  it was a pretty bad, poorly made action film - and neither of you wanted to acknowledge what had happened before. You were both in need of time to process what you’d felt and neither of you were really ready for it.

After the movie, you sat silently in his truck as he drove you back to the apartment complex, and you were nervously pulling at a loose thread along the hem of your dress. Frankie saw it out of the corner of his eye, then cleared his throat.

“So-uh… thanks-thank you for seeing the movie with me.” Frankie mentally kicked himself for how stupid it sounded coming out.

“Thank you for taking me.” You felt like an idiot trying to talk to him. “It was- the movie was-”

“Bad. It was bad.”, Frankie smiled.

You let out a small but genuine laugh. “Yeah, it was pretty bad.”

A silence fell over the truck again, save for the sounds of the engine plugging along the road. 

You didn’t know what to say to keep the conversation going, and you did want to keep it going. The anger and worries that plagued your mind before this seemed to have taken a backseat to the feeling that you want this man in your life.

You also weren’t sure you were ready to show your face at Mandy’s apartment just yet, unsure of the reception you would receive. But you said nothing and sighed as Frankie turned the truck into the parking lot and parked. 

He sighed then said softly, “I don’t wanna come off as a creep and Benny said that you’re not really looking for anything… but I figure that - ummm - everyone could use a friend and-”

Turning to you, he paused and your eyes connected again. His eyes searched yours in a daze and his lips were parted like he was trying to find the words he was trying to say. Your mind swirled and you nodded dumbly back at him, the same dazed glint in your eyes. 

“We can be friends…”, you murmured, and Frankie nodded. 

You skittered getting out of the car, feeling like your body was filled with stockpiled electricity that had nowhere to go. No sooner had you shut the truck door before Frankie pulled out, tires screeching and peeled out of the parking lot. 

You had no idea what was going on and you stood staring at the stairs up to Mandy’s apartment door. There were no lights on and you breathed a shaky sigh of relief as you went up and into the dark apartment.

“Oh fuck… yes…”

Frankie’s eyes darted back and forth under his lids, his breathing short and shallow. 

You looked so good on your knees between his parted thighs, lips pulled tight around his cock. Your eyes were wide and wet, tears on your face and choked whines and gagging sounds seeped out around his girth. 

“That’s it… fuckin’ gag on it… good girl, good girl…”

The flat sheet clung to his sweat coated body as he writhed in his sleep.

“You love this, don’t you?... chokin’ on my cock?... yeah, ahogarte, hermosa… eso es todo…” [choke on it, beautiful… that’s it]

He cupped your face, brows tented as you kept your eyes on his. He breathed out harder and faster, feeling your throat constrict around the tip, sending him over the edge…

Frankie’s eyes shot open as he came. As he caught his breath, he lifted up the sheet, seeing how it stuck to his thigh and he flopped back and huffed. He hadn’t jizzed in his sleep since he was in middle school.

“What the fuck was that?”

Your toes curled as his tongue found the right spot. 

“Fra- oh baby, right there!”

You were on your side, gripping the pillow under your head. Your knee came up and you moved semi onto your front.

His lips opened and he mouthed your pussy, his tongue roughly prodding your clit. His big hands held you firmly to his face, not allowing you free reign to escape or grind down.

“Please- don’t stop! Right there! Oh fuck-yes, right there!”

Your hips rolled and you opened your mouth, panting softly. 

Two of his fingers pushed into you and you keened. He started at a steady pace, but quickly began to go harder and faster. Your eyes found his, dark and blown out, brows furrowed in lust and determination. 

“Fra-oh god! Please-I’m cl-...I’m close! I’m-oh god!”

You woke yourself up with a moan, the final ripples of your orgasm washing over you. Shakily, you pushed yourself onto your back, feeling the aching bloom of a passed climax, and you rubbed your face.

“What the fuck was that?”

Frankie couldn’t go back to sleep, not with the mess he’d made. He’d been awake since he'd stripped his bedding and loaded it into the washing machine. He ruminated over his dream as he sipped his black coffee, quietly consoling himself by affirming that it was a dream - yeah, he knew it was a dream; it was definitely a dream. It was a very realistic and mind melting dream, but that’s it… right?

He swore though, as he sat and sipped, that he could still feel the tingle in his dick that your teeth grazing his skin left behind. And the way your throat would tighten as you gagged. He didn’t even think he was into that kind of thing. Sure, he’d watched porn and seen the girls do that, and sure, he’d gotten blow jobs where that happened, but it had never been anything that caused quite that reaction before. 

A smaller part of him felt bad: Benny hadn’t gone into details about you, just telling him that you’d just gone through a divorce and your ex was a piece of work. Frankie wasn’t sure if that meant that the guy was just a dick or abusive or what, but he’d just met you and he felt inexplicably drawn to you and was dreaming that you gave him the blow job of his life.

He groaned. The sun hadn’t even risen yet and just the thought of what you did in that dream was making him hard again. He threw back the rest of his coffee and got up to pour himself another cup.

You didn’t go back to sleep after waking from your dream. You couldn’t get the way Frankie’s eyes burned as he ate your pussy out of your mind. You laid back in bed, staring at the ceiling and fidgeting your hands. 

You’d yet to hear any movement from Mandy or Benny and the sun wasn’t out yet. You wondered if Frankie would really feel that good with is mouth on you, fucking you with his tongue, and you felt a twinge of guilt. In an effort to convince you to go to the movie with him, Mandy had given you a brief overview on Frankie; how he’d been in a long term relationship that ended when he was told she was pregnant and it wasn’t his. How he’d spiraled into drugs and alcohol and lost his pilot’s license, but he’d just gotten it back after working really hard. All the information she gave you left you wondering what Frankie was told about you.

But what really got you about what Mandy said was how much she thought of him, how bad she felt for him when his relationship fell apart, how hard it was to watch him struggle but also how proud she was of him for fighting so hard to get his life back on track. The way she spoke about him was now igniting something in you, in tandem with his words, “...everyone could use a friend.”

Why was that making you horny?

You got up and went into the bathroom to have a cold shower.

The next week went by in a haze for Frankie. He went to work, flew the helicopters, came home, ate, jerked off in the shower and slept. Repeat. The only thing he had any clarity was his dreams -  with you on the sidewalk of a busy city street in the rain at night. It was the same thing every night - just as before -  but now it was your face filling the foggy, blurred void of the woman who kissed the back of his hand reassuringly. 

Frankie had pulled away from the group that week, not answering phone calls and only replying to texts with Busy. Santi had enough and showed up, unannounced, at his front door. 

“Hermano, you look like shit. What is the matter with you?”, Santi pleaded as he sat heavily on Frankie’s couch. “It’s like you’re falling back into bad habits… what happened? Carrie call you or something?”

Frankie bristled at the mention of Carrie, his ex. “No. Fuck… no nothing like that.”

“Then what?”

Frankie sighed and dropped his head into his hands, palms pressing into his eyes. “It’s the dreams.”

He didn’t see the grin take over Santi’s concerned face as relief spread out over it, and he didn’t see his friend sit back on the sofa with his hand on his chest. Frankie only looked up when he heard Santi let out a laugh.

“The dreams!”, Santi exclaimed in a breathy laugh. “Oh thank fuck! I thought you were on coke again.” He suddenly sat up and put a hand on Frankie’s knee. “You’re not on coke again, right?”

“No! And why are you laughing? How is this funny?”

Santi shook his head and waved off Frankie’s question with a smile. “Tell me about your dreams, gilipollas.”

You avoided spending much time at the apartment unless it was in your room. The dreams were back at the beach, and now for sure the man who held you from behind and whispered things in what you assumed was Spanish into your ear was Frankie. You felt awkward and in the way and you didn’t want to lose another person in your life and you had started looking for your own apartment to try and salvage what you had with Mandy. You didn’t even know if she or Benny were angry or mad at you, but you couldn't bring yourself to find out without having a back up plan. 

Your solitude was broken finally on Thursday night when there was a knock at the door and upon calling out Come In, Benny opened and poked his head into your room. 

“Hey… was wondering if we could talk.”

“Yeah, sure thing.” 

You adjusted yourself to being seated on your bed and Benny pulled out the desk chair and sat backwards on it, resting his arms on the backrest.

You watched as he cleared his throat and seemed to look anywhere but you. 

“So, I wanted to-uh… I wanted to say sorry to you.”, he said softly, picking at his cuticles. “Mandy hasn’t told me much but from what she’s said, you’ve been through the ringer and having an asshole like me shove his-”

You interjected with a sigh. “You’re not an asshole, Benny.”

“Fine, but I was acting like one. I threw a bitchfit because I had blueballs.”, he said point blank and you couldn’t help but give him a small smile and huffed chuckle. 

“See? You laughed, I was being an asshole.” 

You looked down at your hands and nodded, pursing your lips. You looked up with a resigned shrug. “I get it though. You’ve had Mandy all to yourself for what, two years? And then I come along and threw a mopey wrench into the mix and took away your computer room.”

Benny’s shoulders dropped and he shook his head. “I’m the youngest out of five kids. Three sisters and a brother. I’m used to getting my way and not having to share. So just let me be sorry, okay?”

“Fine.”, you acquiesced as you crossed your arms. “You can be sorry and I’ll be apologetic. Yes?”

Benny smiled and shot his hand out and you took it, giving him a firm handshake. 

“But you won’t have to share for long. I found an apartment.”

Benny’s face fell. “Mandy’s gonna have my balls.”

“So wait - the girl in your dreams became Mandy’s friend? Or did you finally realize it was her all along?”, Santi asked seriously, his eyes narrowed and his finger moving through the air as if drawing a connection between two points.

Frankie groaned and fell back against the back of the couch. “Does it matter?? What’s the difference?”

“There’s a massive difference, Frank!”, Santi laughed, being somewhat astounded at Frankie’s lack of comprehension. “In one way, you got the whole ‘love at first sight’ thing going, but in the other, this girl is your soulmate.”

“Fuck off with the soulmater bullshit!”

Santi shook his head with a tight smile. “Uh-uh, pendejo! You’re up shit creek without a paddle and I am your fucking life line! You’re stuck with me on this journey! Unless you want me to tell my abuela about that dream you had that was so good it made you cum like a-”

“Okay! Okay, just - fuck… not that. Never speak of that again!”

Santi nodded, pleased with himself. “Okay then. So I guess the next step is to put yourself at the mercy of fate.”

Frankie looked at Santi, completely over his superstitious bullshit. “What the fuck does that even mean. Pope?!”

The end of month came quicker than you anticipated and Mandy cried as she helped you load up Benny’s car with your bags.

“You know you don’t have to leave right? Benny promised to be better and I won’t force you on any more dates.”

You turned to her, trying to suppress a grin and nodded. “I know I don’t have to but you’ve already done so much for me. Getting me a job and giving me a place to live for the last few weeks… I can’t accept any more. Plus I’m like less than a five minute drive away. Same complex as Santi. I’m not far!”

She nodded and wiped a tear away. “I know, but-”

Benny interrupted with a deep, beleaguered sigh. “Ladies. Please. Can we get a move on?”

Within less than an hour, you had all your bags unloaded and Benny had set up the bed for you from the guest room, noting that they didn’t need the bed anymore because that room was going right back to being his gamer sanctuary. 

You’d already ordered furniture that was going to be delivered the next day. After the pizza was eaten and the internet tech had come and gone, Mandy and Benny bid you good night and you were alone. For the first time since you left the house you and Tony lived in empty, you were truly alone. 

Frankie was up early, reading the news on his phone and drinking a coffee when he got a message from Benny in the group chat.

Benny: Hey anyone around to help kit put furniture together? Busted my back putting my gamer sanctuary back in place last night. Laid up in bed

Before he could answer, another message popped up. 

Santi: im super busy. frankie is available. send catfish. 

Frankie sucked in a breath and froze. Fucking Pope. He sighed and replied.

Frankie: Sure. What time should I head over?

It was midmorning and you were contemplating murder. You had pieces of a dresser, an entertainment unit, a bookshelft and two bedside tables all over the living room floor and the instructions didn’t make sense.

Your doorbell ringing snapped you out of your rage for a moment and when you opened the door, you were met by Frankie, awkwardly smiling and holding a box of donuts and two coffees in a cardboard tray.

“Hey. Heard you need help with furniture.”

Two hours later, your couches had been delivered and Frankie had made sense of every single piece of furniture. 

“Where do you want it?”, he huffed as he backed the top half of the dresser down your hallway as you carried the bottom.

“Uh… as soon as you go in, just to the left of the doorway.”

He nodded and guided you and the dresser into your room. He puffed a few breaths out and had his hands on his hips, and he couldn’t help but let his eyes wander up and down your body. The denim shorts you were wearing clung to your ass and the way they pulled just so between your thighs made him feel light headed. The tank top hugged your tits perfectly and your neck looked so good with the slight sheen of sweat over it. 

As he watched you move about the room, figuring out what to put on and in the dresser, he heard rain. Heavy rain. And traffic. The smell of engine exhaust and wet pavement surrounded him along with the ambient sounds of a city on a rainy night… 

As you flitted back and forth from a suitcase to the dresser loading it up, you had no idea Frankie was watching. If you had turned and looked at him, you would have seen his eyes boring into you and unfocused. You smiled to yourself, feeling accomplished when you got a whiff of Frankie’s scent. Deodorant, clean laundry and a bit of sweat and you paused with your back still turned to him. 

You heard the ocean coming closer and your feet seemed to sink into the carpet like it was sand, warming between your toes. A sea breeze blew gently through your hair, and you could hear gulls in the distance…

Frankie heard you calling his name, and his head swiveled around, taking in his surroundings. A street corner in a busy city. You were on the other side, beckoning him to come closer with a smile, your motions slowed and surreal. He tried calling out to you, telling you to stay there, but no sound came out of him. You started to back into a shadow with a smile, still welcoming him, but the cars didn’t stop and no matter what he did, waving at you to stop and trying to scream for you, you disappeared into the darkness.

You stood on the beach side and time seemed to stand still. You heard your name and you looked towards where the sound came from and Frankie was calling out, a smile on his face, telling you to come to him. You tried to lift your feet to walk and they wouldn’t move; the sand was sucking you down, pulling you into it and the tide was coming in. Frankie laughed and waved you towards him and all you could do was scream as the sand pulled you right down into the abyss.

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[bookshelfdreams]

(cw: animal cruelty)

Inside the abandoned warehouse, the Cat King is holding court.

Or what he, who wears the title of King like humans wear plastic jewelry, counts as such.

He is splayed on the throne – like his kingdom, built of palettes and rags – and listens to his subjects’ complaints.

It is not terribly interesting. The stories and woes blend together, always the same: squabbles with seagulls, a beloved brother gone under the wheels of a car. Territorial disputes. Nothing the Cat King has the power to solve, or the want to mediate, and they do not expect it from him. They mostly just want someone to complain to.

For his part, the Cat King enjoys the ritual and routine of it.

A young mother steps forward, and tells him of her litter of four, gone without a trace when she came back from hunting. Vanished, with nothing but their milk-sweet smell left behind. Stuffed into a sack and drowned, most like, the Cat King knows.

Hm. The life of a street cat is short and brutal, but still, this is unacceptable. Kittens this young, deaf, blind, helpless, they are off limits, all his cats know it, and the humans ought to know it, too. Clearly someone out there needs a reminder.

He suspects he knows who the offender is – a dock worker, one of those who like to kick at strays looking for food – but finding out which one, specifically, that is bound to be tricky.

Mother Rat will surely know, she knows everything, but she will not help. Lots of bad blood between them. Lots of regular blood, too. The humans are cruel to her tribe too, true, but a kitten that never grows up is one less sharp-toothed maw her children have to fear.

The seagulls will have seen, too, but they do not accept leadership, and are not the ones to go to for any kind of information. Too scatter-brained to ever be useful.

No, the Cat King will have to find someone to blame himself. If he is honest, it does not matter all that much to find out who, exactly, scooped up those kittens. The important thing is that an example is made, not who it is made of.

The mother is not particularly devastated. She knows there will be a new litter soon enough, and kittens are more trouble than they’re worth anyway. Still, it is about the principle of the thing, and the Cat King tells her he will look into it.

The next petitioner is different.

Healthy, for one. Glossy fur, well-fed, no parasites crawling out of his ears, no injuries to be seen. He still comes to court, so he does not have a true home with the humans, but he clearly lets the humans feed and care for him, when he wants. Clever. The best of two worlds, if one can pull it off.

The Cat King knows this one, one of his own, if he is not mistaken. It is hard to keep track of them all, but he usually tries to remember the ones that survive to adulthood.

Goes by Terry, he thinks. (Strays pick up names like ticks, some stick, some don’t.)

As he comes closer, there is something off about him.

The Cat King perks up, ears turned forward, nose trembling. Yes, there it is: the smell of magic, residue that clings to Terry’s fur like an oil stain. Strange magic, too. The Cat King knows what that witch, Esther, smells like and it’s not this. She leaves a trail like smoke and old blood. Organic, visceral, only partly human. This is fainter, delicate, smells of dust and fog and spiderwebs. Abandoned, forgotten.

A ghost, most like.

Interesting.

“What happened?” he asks.

“Little fucker put a binding spell on me”, Terry admits.

Oh, that is embarrassing.

“You let a ghost put a binding spell on you?” the Cat King asks just to see Terry squirm a bit.

“Hm,” Terry grumbles. “He had a sardine!”

That’s understandable then. Still.

“Ghosts around here usually know better than to mess with us,” the Cat King muses. Not to mention, he has never heard of a ghost with this sort of arcane ability in his territory. Binding a cat is not easy.

“He’s new”, Terry says. “Only been in town for a day. He and his buddies were sneaking around that witch’s house. He wanted information on her, that’s why he caught me.”

Now that is something, isn’t it?

Of course the Cat King knows what is going on in that house. There is a new little human, trapped in there. Not that he would do anything about it.

He and the witch stay out of each other’s way, for one. She leaves his subjects alone, he does not poke his nose into her business, but their truce is fragile. He calls himself King, but between them, he is not the more powerful one. She could crush him, if she wanted to, and they both know it.

One day he will have to confront her. It is not going to end pretty.

Not today, though.

“What did you tell him?” he asks Terry.

“Well, what was I supposed to tell him?” Terry’s tail swishes. He is tense, the memory of the binding spell still fresh, and like all cats he hates being interrogated. “Told him what that bitch is doing to the little humans, or he wouldn’t have let me go.”

Hm. So there is an unknown ghost, new in town, knows enough about magic to put spells on his cats, thinking he can challenge Esther Finch. Of course the Cat King himself is too smart to pick a fight with her, but.

Well.

He wouldn’t mind if someone else did, would he?

“Now.” The Cat King jumps down, slowly walks up to Terry. The arcane residue is even stronger up close. Must have been a mean little fucker of a spell. “We can’t have ghosts walking around, putting spells on us. Bring them here.”

Terry blinks and off he goes. He must truly be unnerved, obedience usually is no cat's strength.

As soon as he is out of sight, the Cat King hears him yowl.

"Get out of here, you mangy little rat!" someone yells. A human male. Hmm. How very stupid of him to antagonize his court, the Cat King thinks. Just when he has a scapegoat to find, and time to kill.

Heads turn toward him. The Cat King sees the same question asked a dozen times over in twitching ears and quivering tails.

This one?

The Cat King licks his nose. Yes. This one.

---

The Cat King watches quietly as the example is made. He does not participate; he has more interesting things to think about.

Here’s the plan: get the newcomers to him, find out what exactly their purpose is, whether they indeed are looking to pick a fight with Esther Finch, and if there’s a way the Cat King can subtly assist without letting them know he has an interest in her demise or too obviously involving himself. Easy.

Or so he thinks.

---

Eventually, Terry brings the newcomers to him.

One is a human girl, with an aura of something more about her. Cat-eyed. A medium, he thinks, is what the humans say, and an inexperienced one. Her gaze drills into the Cat King, and he is sure she has no idea what she is seeing. Just at the brink of discovering the full extend of her power. For human mediums, this usually means nothing more than seeing ghosts and maybe reading the thoughts of weak-willed fuckwits, but the Cat King is willing to bet that this girl has plenty more to her. She is worth keeping an eye on, if any can be spared.

Then there is the angry one. All tense, shoulders tight, eyes turned forward. Drawn up to his full height, light on his feet: someone who expects a fight. He has about him the air of a tom who full well knows he’s in someone else’s territory and is just waiting to be jumped. Or no, that is not entirely right. Of someone who has been hurt early and often enough to never expect anything else, and is now determined to always get the first hit in.

His stare is a challenge and the Cat King is sure he knows it.

And then. There is him.

The Cat King recognizes him immediately, and not just from the unmistakable arcane aura clouding him. Ghost magic, that smells of dust and fog, empty rooms, forgotten things. The illusion of something that is not quite there, a memory just out of reach.

He is clearly a skilled sorcerer, strong enough to be remarkable, especially for a ghost. And he is old. Not as old as the Cat King, of course, but probably a century and then some. Far older than most human ghosts ever get to be. Usually they hang on for a few years, maybe a decade or two, if they are particularly restless.

As all three of them walk closer, the Cat King realizes that the there is something else strange about the two ghosts. They seem so – present. The Cat King has known his share of ghosts, and most of them are very obviously echoes, impressions left behind, lost, confused.

These two have purpose. They know exactly who and where and why they are. They are here by choice.

Yes, the Cat King is sure this lot will prove useful.

He sits up, rolls his shoulders and, in a cloud of purple flames, changes into human form.

For the fraction of a second the sorcerer’s eyes catch on the hem of his skirt, before he snatches them up and keeps them firmly locked on the Cat King’s face.

Oho. Oho.

Yes, there had been a plan, but the Cat King is nothing if not a creature of impulse, and things have just turned in a much more fun direction.

So scratch everything. New plan.

“Hi”, the Cat King says, with the smile of a predator who just discovered something small and squeaky.

---

The ghost, as it turns out, is not something small and squeaky.

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

Sweet on you event, romantic chocolates for malleus, giving him mini chocolates shaped as the diasomnia groovy candies. “I love you malleus, I hope you know how precious you are to me and your family.”

💝Thank you 💝

You know what? That last line of dialogue in the ask sure is painful given what’s going on in the main story right now 😂

Sweet on You.

Malleus marveled at the assortment of chocolates offered to him. There were jagged thunderbolts and pointed swords, tricky bats and the heads of noble dragons, shapes all set in creamy brown confections. So very different from one another, yet joined in the same container.

“Family…” He mused, his voice low like the quiet, distant rumble of thunder. “Many of those in the Draconia lineage were lost long ago. Now all that remains are myself and my grandmother. She is the only family I have left—but as of late, I had begun to wonder if it is truly possible to forge a bond so strong as to defy that of blood.”

Malleus indicated a chocolate bat. “Lilia has been by my side since I have hatched fro my egg. My mentor and confidant.”

His finger trailed to a sword crossed with a lightning bolt, tapping each in turn. “Silver and Sebek, my loyal retainers.”

He slowly lifted his eyes from the sweets, lancing your heart. “Then… there is you. A rare being able to look beyond the boundaries of the powers and titles that be. At the very moment our paths first crossed, so, too, did our stories collide… and irrevocably change as a result.

“We are nothing alike, yet here we are, having been brought together by some unknown magic.” Malleus chuckled into the night. His soft laughter was simultaneously bitter and sweet, like a curl of dark chocolate melting between the lips.

“Solitude so often came to me that, before long, it became the natural order. The value of such intimate relations… I fear I cannot understand it as you humans do. However, I once heard from a wise man that lives such as yours are as delicate as the threads on a spinning wheel. It is in weaving together that they can become something stronger Only now do I see the truth to his words.

“Different as we may be, our bond is still as strong as that of any other—and it can become stronger still.” Malleus’s fingers slipped between yours, locking them together, palms pressed against one another. His gaze intensified, smoldering like embers fanning into a great flame.

“You are my most precious piece of the world. Accept my hand, child of man—for there is no other whom I wish to be bound to for eternity. My heart if yours, if you will have it.”

[eri-pl]

Silm reread interlude 2: more Lay of Leithian [canto 4-5]

Canto 4

Again: Beren is sick to upfront pay for the fact of Luthien loving him. Huh. OK.

But we get the beautiful line: "and in his doom was Lúthien snared, the deathless in his dying shared; and Fate them forged a binding chain of living love and mortal pain".

Beren learns new things and gets more elflike, for lack of a better word. Also, they do dance and… if I haven't read LaCE, I might have had some assumptions about what happens here in between the lines. TBH because this is an early text, I'm still not sure how to read it.

Dairon (Daeron) is angry and jealous and curses Doriath with silence. Also, snitches on Lúthien for having a lover (this wors is used in the text, I do not claim that they are lovers in the modern sense, but I don't have a better fitting word for this. "boyfriend" seems too anachronistic and not intense enough.).

Thingol's crown described: it's silver and green. And his people wear armor.

More beautiful lines (similar as in the published Silm): "what I sought not I have found and love it is hath here me bound".

Also, a declaration of how strong the love is, which does our favorite "nor X nor Y" scheme, best known from a certain ill-fated oath: "nor rocks nor steel nor Morgoth's fire nor all the power of Elfinesse shall keep the gem I would posess".

[But Beren doesn't swear to harm anyone, also it's romance not greed so it's not bad. Just sounds cool. TBH I think the nor/nor/nor was a common literary thing in the kind of poetry Tolkien based his writings on. It feels like it.]

Dairon calls Beren "baseborn mortal", which is quite a burn.

The Ring of Barahir is described. Speaking of it, I am really curious what does this design mean and why does this ring look like this, it is really strange tbh.

Melian calls Thingol out on being prideful.

Thingol ignores her and sends Beren on a quest, nicely echoing his words: "A treasure dear I too desire, but rocks and steel and Morgoth's fire from all the powers of Elfinesse do keep the jewel I would posess."

The Sindar laugh at Beren and we get a recap on where the Silmarils came from. Feanor kindled them slow[ly], which is interesting. Oath of [sons of] Feanor mentioned, but by narration, not by characters. Also, it's said to be sworn in mandess.

Beren laughs at the Sindar, bitterly, and agrees to the price and walks away like a boss "he turned, and thrust aside the ring of guards about him, and was gone".

Luthien cries and is afraid. Thingol is certain that Beren will die.

"But Melian smiled, and there was pain as of far knowledge in her eyes; for such is the sorrow of the wise."

Relateable. But, excuse me for correcting the Professof himself, I would kick out the "for", for rhythm and made the last line a new sentence.

Canto 5

Lúthien talks with Melian, we got the most alliterative of lines: "and dare the dread in dungeons dim", I love it!

Dairon snitches at Lúthien again. "Thingol was wroth and yet amazed; in wonder and half fear he gazed on Dairon". I love the description. Again: Thingol is the not best, nor the worst, but definitely the most psychologically realistic, slice-of-life-ish guy in the Silm. And agais: "In angry love and half in fear Thingol took counsuel".

Lúthien is imprisoned in a treehouse: "up she clomb" (it means "climbed"). I love Tolkien's arbitrary past tense forms. She forgives Daeron, because ha makes sad enough songs about it (no, Maglor, a song can work with "sorry I snitched on you", not with "sorry I murdered your family", you need to, idk, stop murdering people is a good start)

Luthien does magic, which has a very fairytale description."'At middle night,' she said, 'in bowl of silver white it must be drawn and brought to me with no word spoken". Also, she gets a spinning-wheel! Daeron doesn't snitch on her anymore, "though his heart feared the dark purpose of her art". Mmm... scary!Lúthien!

She sings magic songs, also we get one of the few Tolkienian examples of one of my favorite things/vibes, which is "darkness but good" (or at least not evil): "another song she sang, of night and darkness without end, and flight and freedom."

Darkness without end, you say? Haven't we, umm, heard this idea somewhere already, Professor? I have thoughts. I do have questions. Sir.

So, on one hand: Feanor with sons goes to chill at the edge of the Void, but after he became, umm, more questionable, "everlasting darkness" is the scariest thing he can think of. Also, here darkness seems to be a good thing. Also, accordint go that one text, early Mannish tales have darkness, or at least "beyond darkness" as clearly positive.

On the other hand (which I do not posess anymore) you have scary darkness-spiders and "Darkness" used as a term for extreme-scary-unknown even in the context of the Valar.

On another hand, you have "darkness" used as symonim for "evil" in narration, I think, even in places where the narrative frame is nonexistent. But let's ignore this a little. :D [Also, "shadow" but it's not the same thing.]

OK, so … I do have thoughts. I should probably pull them into a separate post when/if I figure out what precisely those thoughts are. TLDR something about/around the Gift of Men, but I'm not sure, I can't pinpoint it well yet. Or maybe I can but I'm afraid to. Unclear.

And also also, coming back to the reread, of all the Elves, it is Lúthien who sings of darkness. Hmm.

And for a less interesting, and more lighthearted song, we also get a list of "longest things", including Uinen's hair and my favorite chain, Angainor "that ere Doom for Morgoth shall by Gods be wrought, of steel and tornment". Because of course, as a half-Maia she is allowed to put some foreshadowing in her songs.

BTW what was Tolkien's problem with the 's possesives? I mean, what was the problem of Tolkien with it? :D

We get a really weird poetic choice where two lines end on "dark". Also, Lúthien's hair grows long and pools on the floor (I imagine it roughly like the dress of Morticia Addams)

Short-haired Lúthien! "and cut the hair about her ears, and close she cropped it to her head". And her hair is now darker (less gleaming?) Also, "she wove a web like misty air of moonless night". I absolutely love the mix of "what I am afraid of" (spiders, darkness probably) and "what I am fascinated by" (Edith) that Tolkien does here. But I do have peculiar emotional connections sometimes, I guess it doesn't work well for everyone. But. I love dark!beautiful!spider-ish!Luthien. She needs a fanart.

Also, speaking of fanart, we get a description of her clothing, which is white dress and blue mantle with jewels that look like golden lilies? I think? The language is difficult. OK, sir, we get it, she is as cool as you can write. I am not laugh— no, actually I am laughing a little (yes, yes, the way I described her in the previous paragraph, I know). But ok. And tbh it does make sense with her color palette.

And in the notes we get a suggestion that Thingol couldn't believe that Lúthien actually loved Beren without any weird spells doing that. Which explains a lot of his bahavior tbh, but, Your Highness, maybe you could have asked your Maia wife to have a look at this and tell you if there's some magic going on?

OK, enough for one post.

[prismaticpichu]

Hey uhh… could I maybe suggest some ZackSeph fluff in the Gold Saucer? Like helping him win little plushies and stuff? 🥺👉👈💞

Heck yeah you can, my friend!!!!! That is TOO cute!!!! 😭😭😭❤️💕

~

ZackSeph, Gold Saucer Floof: Rigged Toss!

When Zack came bounding into his office that Friday afternoon, asking him with a luminous smile if he would like to take a trip to the Gold Saucer once off-duty, Sephiroth thought the answer would be obvious. What a ludicrous question… bubbled the reflexive response in his throat. Do you have any idea as to what kind of people spend their time and money at such a nauseating establishment? Do you really think you’ll be entertained by ferris wheels and video games of lower quality than the ones you own now? Do you truly think that is an appropriate place for SOLDI…

Somehow, the question had ended up dying on Sephiroth’s tongue, dissolving away into nothingness as he stared at those jubilant blue eyes gazing sunrays into his own. Maybe it was magic; a spell, some kind hypnosis, some kind of hidden mana of Zack’s to manipulate and change his mind.

Or maybe it was just that Angeal would say the same things he so desperately wanted to.

Regardless, as they stood within the bustling prism that was the Gold Saucer, bathed in all its blinding lights and golden roars, Sephiroth couldn’t help but spare a glance at Zack; smiling, a bag of caramel popcorn in his hands, his eyes wide and glistening and full of untainted youth that stood strong even after bracing the horrors of this world…

And Sephiroth knew he made the right decision.

“Having fun?” the warrior asked sincerely, veiled in a rich black cloak both he and Zack had suggested would be best to wear, granting them a private and un-swarmed experience at the theme park.

Zack turned to him with a grin of lightning. “Heck yeah I am! It’s everything a guy could ever dream of!”

“Heh.” Sephiroth chuckled. “You have quite the dreams then, my friend.”

Zack melted a little at the comment, beaming. “Yeah? And you helped them come true! One-hundred and ten percent attained!”

“Well… I don’t know about that.” Sephiroth crossed his arms, idly wondering what the other ten percent of that achievement was going toward. “You could have always come with your other companions. People who you wouldn’t have to persuade.”

“Yeah, but where’s the fun in that?” Zack laughed, then adding with a playful elbow, “Besides! Need someone to make sure I’m being responsible. Keep me in-check.”

“Oh? Is that what I’ve been doing?”

“Sure!”

Sephiroth eyed the bagged snack in his friend’s hand—also known as his “double dessert” after a funnel cake, cheeseburger, macaroni bites, a whole other plethora of fried food wherein Sephiroth couldn’t even remember their contents, an ice cream cone, lemonade, cotton candy, and a Mako Monster energy drink.

…Hmm.

“Well.” Sephiroth gave way to another chuckle, his eyes softening to something warm and genuine as he reached out to fondly ruffle his lieutenant’s nest of spikes. He couldn’t help it. “You know I said I’d look out for you.

Zack’s expression melted even further under the gesture, words and names unspoken tying them together, a touched and loving countenance brightening the prismatic night

Sephiroth couldn’t help but mirror it.

He was about to say something further when, suddenly, Zack pulled away, blue eyes widening to gaping oceanic caverns as his arm flew up like a bullet.

“Holy herring… look at that!”

Blinking, it took a Sephiroth a few moments to figure out exactly where Zack was pointing, peering through the starry clusters of tourists and decorations to eventually find he was directing toward none other than one of those classic carnival stands across the plaza.

Or, more specially, pointing at the gargantuan stuffed prizes flaunted above it.

…

Oh no.

Ohhh n—

“C’mon, bud…!”

And he was being yanked across the square, the hood of his nunnish cloak bobbing with the motion as they raced toward the stand, two chains linked, only coming to a stop once they were directly in front of the semi-startled employee.

“Whatcha gotta do to win one of those guys?!” Zack chirped, bullet-hand shooting toward the jumbo Elfadunk, Behemoth, Mu, Tonberry, Chocobo, Moogle, Cactuar, and—

Oh.

OH.

Oh you gotta be be kidding him—

Why was there was a jumbo Sephiroth plushie?

He pulled the cloak over him further.

“S’Real simple!” the employee drawled, then gestured to the game behind him—a phalanx of colorful bottles and a load of plastic rings stacked beside them. “Just gotta land every ring you got. Don’t miss a single one; our biggest prize is yours!”

“Sweeet!” Zack chirped. “Whad’ya say, bud? Should I try it?”

“Mmm?” Sephiroth blinked, snapping away from the exaggerated feline bowling balls that were the plushies eyes. “Oh—yes. Of course.” He withdrew the Game Pass from his pocket, having bought it upon Zack’s request that he wanted the full experience, then showing it to the employee like an ID for the Honeybee Inn. A nod and hum of approval later, and Zack was being a hand an arsenal of elliptical projectiles.

“Alright…” Zack took a couple steps back, steadying himself as if ready to pitch a fastball. “Let’s do this!”

“Take your time,” Sephiroth advised, watching Zack’s eyes crackle. “Concentr—“

And he was flinging the rings, one after another, thrusting them over the bottled terrain in rapid succession—one, two, three, four, five, six, seven.

Miss.

Miss.

Miss.

Miss.

Miss.

Hi—no, miss.

Miss.

“Aww, darn.” Zack signed once he was out of projectiles. “Was close.”

Sephiroth shook his head.

“Good shot,” came his (rather pitying) response, the man tossing him a smile as he reached over to collect all the ricocheted rings. “Sorry, kid. But good news! You do get one prize for skimming one of the bottles.”

“I do?” Zack’s eyes lit up. “What is it?”

“This here!” the employee chirped, bending down retrieve something from behind the stand, then straightening back up to reveal a—

Oh.

Oh for the LOVE OF—

“A Sephiroth duckie!” Zack burst into spirited laughter, happily accepting the small rubber toy offered to him. “Thank you!”

Sephiroth studied the cursed toy, a plastic cascade of silver hair racing down its coated back and slitted green orbs staring death in the eye over a cheddar-orange beak.

“That is…” Sephiroth cleared his throat. “Interesting.”

As if remembering who he was with—or not, and just finding the situation amusing—Zack turned to him with a playful smirk. “Here! You can have this one, pal. Sephiroth’s an awesome guy, y’know.”

He plopped the toy in his hand before Sephiroth could protest.

“Can I try again?” Zack chirped, his eyes gravitating back toward the highest prizes like a magnet. “I really want one of those big guys…” And then, as if really remembering who he was with—or not, and just realizing he probably didn’t have a shot—Zack turned to him with a pleading smile. “You wanna give it a go, old pal? I’d bet my bottom Gil you can get all of them blindfolded.”

The employee let out a chortle before Sephiroth could even respond.

“No offense, SOLDIER kid; I like your spirit. But I’ve worked here for four years, y’see, and never has anyone actually gotten all seven rings.”

“…Why’s that?” Sephiroth narrowed his eyes, a ghost of suspicion rising. “It’s ring toss.“

“Yeah!” Zack agreed. “I mean… it’s skill, right?”

The man rested his elbow on the counter, leaning in closer. “Look. You seem like a respectable duo, right, and I don’t want you wasting your time here. So just believe me when I say it ain’t gonna happen.

“But—“

“It’s intentional, kid. Trust me.”

By now, Sephiroth’s eyes had narrowed to slits, his suspicion all but confirmed in a matter of seconds. What was this now? The game was rigged? Yes, he expected a claw machine to have such cruelty… But a ring toss game? An activity meant to test and reward one’s patience and concentration? An activity that was luring innocent hearts—his best friend—in with their wondrous, tantalizing prizes…? And his face was representing this treason?!

He squeezed the ducky so hard that it squeaked.

“Aww… Well, I guess we can always—“

“Let me try,” Sephiroth said suddenly; hard, focused, indisputable.

The man’s eyes widened. “Pal. Did you not just hear me…—?”

“Oh, I heard you.” The velvet voice had grown cold, almost cunning. “And I would like to test your little game.”

“Seph..?” Zack blinked, almost in awe. “What are you…?”

“Well, ‘suppose I can’t stop ya,” the employee (gladly) shrugged, gladly reaching behind his back to hand him the stack of rings. “Got plenty of rubber duckies in the stash.”

…

Alright.

That. Was. It.

Feline eyes constricted to needles as Sephiroth accepted the projectiles, taking several steps back, feeling the cheap plastic (wider than the necks, easily bounced), the man’s lips pulling back into a vague sheer and snarl.

“You see…” he said slowly, purposefully. “My friend here wanted one of your plushies. Very badly. And i made a vow very long ago to protect him—from monsters. From the evils of this world. And I do not appreciate him being manipulated in such a manner.”

Neither the employee or Zack had a chance to respond before the first ring had been thrown.

…

One.

Narrowing his eyes, focusing, Sephiroth threw the next projectile.

Two.

And again, and again, and again.

Three; four; five; six—

And he threw the last ring, calculated and perfect.

…

Seven.

The emplyee’s eyes blew to saucers.

Hit.

Hit.

Hit.

Hit.

Hit.

Hit.

…

And, yes.

Hit.

A perfect score; all seven landed; flawlessly rung the necks of seven bottles, all in a neat duck row. Sephiroth relaxed from his concentrated state as Zack let out a cheer, rushing over to his side and squeezing him with all the love and strength that a caffeinated, sugar-fueled SOLDIER could give.

“Yes..! Yes! That’s my bud! That’s my bud!!!” he cheered. “Woooooooooooooooooo! Woooooooooooooo! You’re the best you’re the best you’re the BEST! I love you I love I love you, man!!” And he pulled back, smiling sunbeams at his friend, his eyes wide and glistening and youthful…

And Sephiroth was smiling right back at him.

He was happy, after all.

Because Zack was too.

“Now…” Sephiroth said warmly, unable to mask the satisfaction in his voice. “Which one would you like?”

His smile blinding, Zack turned around, blue eyes tracing all the options once more.

“Hmmm… I’ll take the Behemoth!”

Meanwhile, the employee had become almost completely paralyzed; mouth ajar, eyes cavernous, skin slightly discolored. And it was in that moment when he turned around, his expression unchanging, reaching up to grab the jumbo Behemoth from above, that Sephiroth felt a sense of victory and justice unlike anything he had ever felt before.

He never smirked so hard as when the man relinquished Zack’s selected prize to its new and rightful owner.

“Yessss! Thank you…!” Zack took the plushie into his arms, its beastly frame nearly grazing the ground. “He’s so cute! Wait ‘till Aer sees this…”

It was only moments later that they were leaving that devilish stand behind, one plushie and one rubber duck less, off into the blinding wilderness that was the rest of the night to come. More food was consumed; arcade games were played; a ferris wheel was ridden up into the starlit sky, both SOLDIERs smushed to the corner in favor of their monstrous companion.

And when they returned home that night, Zack having fallen asleep on the train, Sephiroth carried his friend all the way back from the station.

It’s alright, Angeal… the warrior mumbled as he set Zack down on his couch, reaching to drape a blanket over his cherished companion. I think he had a good day.

[insipid-drivel]

Getting a new wheelchair! The XTSO M4

If you're wondering what model of power chair this is, it's this in the readmore:

Here's the website.

Here's my family friend's website with even more variety and options.

I'm brand new to wheelchairs and power chairs, but have recently invested in this one as my mobility has been an increasing issue as I'm getting older. A family friend of mine has MS and owns a wheelchair and powerchair company, and just recently went to a floor-show of new models in Miami, FL, and emailed me back with the XSTO M4 as a recommendation for my first chair.

These chairs are expensive. They may not be affordable for you. I'm only getting one because I know a guy who sells them and he's willing to help me out when it comes to the financials. However, if you're curious, shopping, or interested to know what kind of new tech is starting to be incorporated into electric wheelchairs, here are some product deets about the M4:

Comes with an automatic balance system, which balances out the seat even when I'm going uphill. This prevents the "I'm going to fall and hit my head" sensation if a slope is steep.

Can clear vertical obstacles of up to 2" vertically or 6" horizontally (such as rolling over grass between paving stones) , so if a city's infrastructure sucks for chair-bound people, I can at least brute-force to a sidewalk or park when necessary.

Can handle slopes of up to 15°

Breathable back and memory foam seat for no more Ass Sweat Prints on warm days.

Designed not to slip or skid on slippery surfaces or going up or downhill

Self-adjusts the seat to stay level even when on a slope so I don't tip over or fall off the chair. Also has a safety-wheel in the back so it can't be tipped backwards, either.

Travels up to 11 miles on a single charge

Has both "casual" (indoor) and "off-road" settings.

Can adjust the seat up or down up to 8" to Reach Things Better or Be More Visible To Traffic.

Has no rear handles for assholes to grab and try to move me around without permission.

Comes with an app (ugh I know) that makes my phone make an alert noise when the battery is low or a part or component is malfunctioning, gives me the ability to remotely control it to wheel it closer to me if it's out of reach and I can't walk to it (honestly a selling point for me; I never know when I'll have Bad Issues and need extra help), switch its modes from casual to sport mode, and make it fold/unfold for space.

Breaks into 3 separate parts for easier storage in the back of a car.

Goes up to ~4mph, which isn't bad for me, since my normal mph at home without a chair is 0.

Has a tight 32" turning radius courtesy of the front tires, making it good for moving around indoors too.

Seat reclines and has a small leg-rest for if I want to lean back.

The manufacturer recycles parts, so if something like the battery needs replacing, I can send the old part in and receive a new, replacement part for free.

Almost every feature covered by the app is also available on the LCD readout beside the joystick, so I don't need to use the app if I don't want to.

It doesn't look like I stole it from a retirement home or a WalMart.

[princeash28]

The Room (And What it Took from Me)

First chap of a fanfic I am writing about the unspoken, innate connection Natsu and Lucy share post-Alvarez. In which Natsu has no memory but he does have Her.

New chaps are up on Ao3. Started as a Whumptober prompt and then spiraled out of control from there, lol!

CW: Experimentation, Body Horror

---

He couldn’t remember how he got here.

Try and try as he might, anything leading up to the Room was blurry, like trying to grasp at watercolor paints of memories. He did not have memory. He did not have a name. There was nothing.

There was only the Room.

There was only him and the Room.

For a while, he could not move. He just stared at the Room, and the Room stared back. White walls. White floors. The Room was bare except for him, and he was bare, too.

Then, eventually, feeling crept into his naked body with small pinpricks, dancing up his feet and making his fingers twitch. His hands were bound. A cold, metallic muzzle clogged his mouth and forced him to breathe through his nose. He couldn’t smell anything. Nothing but himself and the Room.

He’d been awake for a while. Time was strange in the Room. It could have been hours. It could have been days. He didn’t know, and some part of him was worried about that.

A greater part was worried about the why and the how and the hunger gnawing in his belly.

He was weak. His limbs were like jelly. His head was full of cotton.

So when the walls parted in the Room, he blinked several times to make sure he wasn’t imagining things.

His heart leapt when people stepped into the Room, and he lifted his head. They would help him. They would untie him and—

“Get him prepped,” one said.

Then a cot was wheeled in. It squeaked and the people chatted lowly. All the sounds in the Room were making him dizzy.

They ran cloths coated in sharp smells over his nude body. He tried to pull away, but his limbs were drunk with something he did not remember having. They kept him bound. They looked into his eyes and no emotion crossed their faces.

They put him on the cot, and they took him out of the Room. The swaying made his stomach sick. Sconces on the walls passed by, lighting up stone hallways and reinforced doors, maybe to other Rooms. Maybe to the outside world. They wheeled him on and on until he felt like he would be forever sick, forever trapped on this cot beyond the Room.

A heavy door opened with a clu-clunk, and then bright Lacrimas were shining sterile white light into his eyes. He winced. He smelled chemicals. Blood. Dark magic. The stars.

His body tensed.

The stars?

He had no memory, but he recognized that scent.

Panic ripped into him like the teeth of a great beast. He bolted upright, startling the people who hadn’t come to help him as he whipped his dizzy head around. This new room that wasn’t the Room was full of sharp tools for the body, and potions he didn’t recognize. A few more people were dressed in white, and they were changing crimson gloves from their hands for clean ones.

There She was, on a table and bloodied and stitches winding up her arms. Her eyes were open and empty. There was a pink mark on her hand that made his right shoulder burn, but he couldn’t explain why. Her blonde hair was cut short, and he had no memory, but he knew that was wrong.

He tried to shout for Her, a name that he couldn’t remember but a name he tried to say anyways. But his mouth was gagged, and no sound came out other than a muffled grunt.

Her head turned slowly to him, as if all her joints were rusty and She forced herself to move anyways. She opened her mouth as if to speak.

Gloved hands pulled him back down to the cot, and his bound hands were re-bound to the railings on the side of it. He thrashed and grunted and fought. A sinister heat ignited in his chest that he couldn’t remember but knew was familiar. It threatened to overtake him, dark and malevolent. It bubbled up like magma in his throat, trying to escape but stopped by the muzzle on his face. It went to his nose instead, small flames and smoke shooting out uselessly.

A prick of pain in his arm.

His body surrendered. It knew to do this. It had done this many times before; a part of him knew. He had his own stitches, after all. They ran up the center of his chest. They coiled around his arms.

His vision grew blurry. Time passed as it did in the Room; odd and slow and fast and wrong.

Then they were cutting, and then there was pain. They split the seams of him back open, they stuck in their tools and un-pieced and re-pieced him. They poured magic blacker than ink into his chest, and he saw visions of fire, blood, and ash. It made him excited. It made him sick.

He watched them, because he could not do anything else. He could not cry. He could not fight.

He had no mouth and so he could not scream.

The frigid black magic soured in his veins. It was burned away by the dark fires within him. The perverted flames clawed to get out somewhere behind his heart; it roared to be released, but something held it back—a seal that he knew without knowing would hold steadfast, as long as…

…as long as what?

She flashed in his mind.

“Any change?” one of those who cut him asked.

“Somewhat,” another said, “The Black Core inside of him grows, but it does not transform him, still.”

“The tumor should have worked by now. What shall we do?”

“What we always do. We try again, and we wait.”

“What of the girl? She brings no changes to him each time.”

“She is the key. Without the book, we must improvise.”

He knew these words but could not remember their significance. Something urgent prodded at the back of his mind, something he should know but was just out of reach.

They sewed him back up, leaving him a little less whole each time they opened him.

He looked into their eyes. They looked back. One of them had an emotion, though he could not remember what it was called.

They pet his head, and he knew the emotion: pity.

“Apologies, E.N.D.,” they said it like it was his name, but that couldn’t be right. It didn’t feel right. “Bear with us. We will free you, yet.”

Free him? His heart lifted in hope.

His heart plummeted to his stomach when they took him back to the Room. Feeling returned to him. They took off his muzzle. Steam left his mouth with a heavy exhale, and he worked his stiff jaw. He was feeling and yet he was numb.

They fed him, and he ate.

They put the muzzle back on him. They left. This was the routine; some part of him knew even as his thoughts grew hazy and his eyes grew heavy.

He did not sleep. He could not. The seams of him did not hurt, not anymore—not in the Room.

He thought of Her, even as the details of her face became fuzzy in his mind. Like watching a painting melt, it all dissolved away: the cot, the hallway, the cutting, the black magic, and the people who had done it. The Room took it all.

He couldn’t remember how he got here.

Try and try as he might, anything leading up to the Room was blurry, like trying to grasp at watercolor paints of memories. He did not have memory. He did not have a name. There was nothing.

There was only the Room.

There was only him and the Room.

He’d been awake for a while. Time was strange in the Room. It could have been hours. It could have been days. He did not know, and nor did he care. He was unfeeling.

He was weak. His limbs were lead. His head was buzzing with an emptiness where it was supposed to be full.

So when the walls parted in the Room, he blinked several times to make sure he wasn’t imagining things.

He felt nothing when people stepped into the Room, their vibrant colors sharply contrasting against the whiteness surrounding them. He had not the strength to lift his head. They looked into his eyes; they had so many emotions which he did not know the names for. They said so many words which he did not know the meanings of.

They took off his muzzle. They unbound him. They lifted him up, and they took him out of the Room. Scarlet locks of hair danced in front of his eyes and tickled his cheeks.

Sconces on the walls passed by, lighting up stone hallways, bodies, and reinforced doors, maybe to other Rooms. Maybe to the outside world. They carried him on and on until he felt like he would be forever carried, forever in these arms beyond the Room.

A heavy door opened with a clu-clunk, and then bright light flooded him, warm and unforgotten. He smelled nature. Magic. The stars.

His body tensed.

The stars?

He had no memory, but he recognized that scent.

He lifted his head; it wobbled on his neck.

There She was, held by someone with a blue mark on his bare chest; she was thin and pale and stitches wound up her arms. Her eyes were open and full of tears. There was a pink mark on her hand that made his right shoulder burn, but he couldn’t explain why. Her blonde hair was cut short, and he had no memory, but he knew that was wrong.

He tried to shout for Her, a name that he couldn’t remember but a name he tried to say anyways. His voice, neglected and newly freed, gave nothing but a pitiful, squeaking grunt.

Her head turned slowly to him, as if all her joints were rusty and She forced herself to move anyways. She opened her mouth as if to speak. Her voice, equally disused, cracked and squealed as she formed words. The arms carrying them both brought them together, and their trembling hands touched.

“Natsu.” She said the name like it was his, and it felt right.

Another name came to him, then; something the Room had taken that he was given back. The sinister heat in his chest fizzled and whimpered away, for its seal was unbroken and whole where he was not.

He felt, and it was overwhelming.

“Lucy.”

---

Thanks for reading!😊

Read The Room by Prince_Ash_28 on Ao3

[random-introverted-blog]

Shadows of Shar [F!Reader x Selunite!Shadowheart]

NOTE: THIS IS PART 3 and a half TO FLICKERS OF LOSS

Told you it existed

Previously - No More

Intended Audience: Mature [scroll the age requirement wheel until you come to a year where you can bypass the age check, we all know you do]

The Bit: You're learning to sleep again with the help of your patient, cleric lover. But can you learn to live again? Or are the shadows of your past too hungry to resist?

Warnings/Advisories: Implied SA, emotional abuse, torture via magical wounds, mental abuse, gaslighting?, cute but cringey pet name, tickles, a distinct lack of sandcastles (that's in the end half, which I am still working on)

Words, all the word (count): 3,553 baebeee

Dedicated to my bestest bestie who also made and provided and chose the gif - @ethelspetals

MINIMAL EDITING - WE FORGET AND DIE LIKE SHARRANS (ALWAYS - PRAISE OUR DARK GODDESS SHADOWHEART)

Finally delivering (half) of my promise in 3...2...1

-ˋˏ’✄┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈--ˋˏ’✄┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈--ˋˏ’✄┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈-

Chains...

Chains and prayer. Prayer and chains. And ceaseless prodding. All at the hands of an obscene mockery of a god. Eyes remained closed, fixated on perfect, endless darkness. Finding the comfort of her Lady's embrace even on the knees of her failure.

No.

This was many things, but a failure it was not. It was a test. A sacred task bestowed upon her by the Lady of Loss. Even across the vast expanse of stars and time, her goddess would not tolerate derision.

Darkness is where she derives her faith. Darkness is where she thrives her soul.

And it would come. In time.

For now she would withstand the well lit room. She would reach out across the links that represented the bond to her pet, forever bound through the Dark Lady's blessed markings, etched into your flesh. Claimed as hers for eternity. Through them she could remain somewhat vigilant over you. Attempt to keep you from straying so far down those delusions the inferior version of her was poisoning you with.

Sure, you stumbled and struggled in your training... but you still excelled far beyond her expectations. In time, she was convinced you'd make a fine Dark Justiciar... And once she freed herself, well... it would only be a matter of time.

The Nightsinger had plans for both her, and you. And those plans were far from extinguished.

______________________________________________

Sunlight filtered in through the closed curtains, it's warmth on your skin denied by the covers you've been tucked into. It wasn't odd for you to wake up alone and she was trying not to coddle you so much, but that doesn't mean you have to like it. You had begun your ritual of smelling her side of the bed when the sound of the door closing has you perking up and looking down the bed toward it.

Shadowheart, with her hair plaited and already dressed, can't help but huff a small laugh when she sees you. "Just as I left you." She teases, swinging her arms a little as she crosses the room and sits on the edge of the bed, folding her hands on her lap. The twinkle in her eyes accompanied with her soft smile as she watches you makes your belly flutter.

With a curious tilt of her head, Shadowheart lifts her hand to tenderly brush her fingers against your hair. "Time to greet the day, lazy bones..." the words laden with honey. The showering of her affection has your eyes drift closed a moment. "I would let you sleep longer if I could, but we have company arriving soon." She hums, her perfect nails delicately graze your scalp in that way that turns you to putty for her. Even as she reminds you of the trouble, you caused her last night.

There's been an improvement. Some nights you fall asleep easily, but wake up with a lurch, muttering Sharran scripture until she coaxes your mind back to her. Other nights you toss and turn in her arms. The first time she thought it was because you felt... trapped. After all, she shares a face, voice and body with your former "mistress". So that night she encouraged you to sleep on your side of the bed uninhibited by her hands or arms. On your own.

You woke up in the middle of the night, on her lap in the middle of your shared bed. Throat raw and Shadowhearts arms squeezing you against her, pinning yours to your sides while she finessed her soft hands, radiant with divine magic, onto your right one, which burned and stung. Tears were drying on your face, but you couldn't remember why. Shadowheart's voice in your ear alternating between whispering and murmuring promises of love and safety. And you could feel a warm wetness under your fingernails on your left hand. It took too long for you to realize you had apparently clawed your right hand in your sleep. Possibly in an attempt to destroy the markings.

That was the last night she let you sleep without being tucked deep in her arms, the soft lullaby of her heartbeat in your ear and her fingers in your hair. To her credit, that hasn't happened since she's insisted on holding you every night.

But you were finding nights where you slept peacefully, visited by pleasant dreams or dreamless. They were becoming frequent enough you actually felt hopeful. Maybe, little by little, she would regain the confidence to let you sleep outside her protective arms again.

Wait, she mentioned company... what company? Your eyes peel open, reuniting with the tenderness and love in hers she's lavishing you with, and she must read the confusion. "Do you remember? My parents arranged to come by and see us," Shadowheart explains patiently, not once allowing her smile to completely falter.

A white cat that you recognize, Pawtato, hops onto the bed, nudging Shadowhearts arm up to demand attention from her. Lifting her hand from your hair. Apparently, the ridiculous name was your fault. "Come, don't be shy. You may only remember meeting them once, but they care about you almost as much as I do. You made quite the impression... That hasn't changed." She encourages with a knowing smile, pulling the covers off of you to reinforce that going back to sleep wasn't an option for you.

Still, you try. Curling into a ball and burying your face into her pillow. "Oh no, you don't..." Shadowheart warns. You feel her shifting up the bed, shuffling closer...

Then her fingers dig into your ribs, and you cry out in pained laughter. Your arms and legs flail. In a chaotic mess of movement, a playful battle erupts over your shared bed. "I'll tickle you right out of this bed if I have to!" Her laughs blending with your own.

You nod feebly, struggling to use words between gasps and cries, but fate is kind, and she mercifully ceases her assault. As the dust of your short-lived war settles, you realize the position you've inadvertently found yourselves in.

Shadowheart's knee sits between your thighs, effectively straddling your leg. Her hands smooth over your now exposed sides in gentle, soothing circles.

Her knee forces your legs open wider for her, dark hair framing her even darker eyes, "keep these open nice and wide for me, just like I've taught my good girl... you're my good girl, aren't you?"

A kiss. Just beneath your ear. That's all it takes, and you're back in her arms. "You're safe here..." Shadowheart murmurs in your ear, her fingertips drawing circles and hearts on your sides before she uses them to pull you into her. "And loved. So very loved." The gentle sincerity in her voice could almost bring you to tears as your arms slide around her back. Her warmth, the smell of her, how you melt into her embrace... it's intoxicating.

She tenses slightly, pulling her head back to give you a pointed, teasing glare. The tiniest of smirks giving her away.

Then you realize where your hands are. "Cheeky... Part of your scheme to keep us in bed, I presume?" Shadowheart's smirk grows as you blink stupidly at her. Your hands unmoving from her ass.

With a soft laugh that bubbles from her chest, she presses a tender, lingering kiss to your lips before slowly untangling from you. "I'll leave you to get yourself ready, then. They should be here within an hour or so." She smiles as she rises from the bed and departs the room. Pawtato hops onto your chest, and you briefly consider using him as your excuse but know you'd disappoint Shadowheart if you did.

You sigh and gently lift him off of you and at last roll out of bed. Before long, you are cleaned up, dressed, and presentable. You think you made good time when you start down the stairs.

...Until you smell fresh tea and hear the sound of chit chat from the kitchen. "There she is!" Her dad is the first to notice your arrival, rising from his seat at the table in what you recognize is an instinctive move to hug you.

But you tense. And you hate yourself for it.

Clearly, these people know you and care about you, but everything in you is still... jumbled. Confused. Your memories are still foggy at best, and what you do recall is Sharran training. And... obedience.

Let no one close, leave only room for The Blessed Nightsinger in your heart. And your ears pure for your mistress...

Despite everything in you that wants to let that go, it clings to you like moss to a wet rock. Some days, it feels inescapable, deeply ingrained into your very being. Shadowheart has told you before the key to shaking yourself free of those webs, those shackles... is to move forward, no matter how daunting it may feel.

So you do.

Your feet close the rest of the distance where he stopped to provide you space. And force yourself through the motions. Stiff as they may be, the moment you actually embrace the man, it floods back to you.

The last time in your memory you saw him was when you and Shadowheart emerged from the portal. He had been staying in the home and tending to it, and its inhabitants in your absence. And until now, that was all you knew of him and Emmeline. But now you see flashes of times they came over for visits with their beloved daughter, embraced you into their family like you had always been a part of it...

And as you separate from the embrace, it shatters. "Godsdamnit, now?" You barely hear her voice before it dies in your ears to the agony.

Intense, searing, almost all-consuming, your right hand glows deep violet up to your wrist. Strong enough, it buckles your knees, as if a firm hand was pushing you down onto them. Without any indication or clue you knew exactly why, you somehow still understood the reason. It couldn't prevent you from pursuing Shadowheart, though it had tried. But it could still interject with others.

This was punishment.

"By the hells, how can she be this petty?" Shadowheart's voice was barely audible in your ears as the pain persisted. Vaguely, you felt her arms around you.

As suddenly as it came, it vanishes. Leaving behind a faint throbbing ache in its place from your traumatized, trembling nerves. "I'm sorry..."

"Hush, you..." Shadowheart soothes, giving your body a reassuring squeeze in her arms. "I, of all people, understand exactly what you're going through. You have nothing to be sorry for." She continues, moving one hand to tuck some loose hair behind your ear.

Once you seem more composed, she pulls away and helps you to your feet. Guiding you to sit on a chair at the table. A cup of tea waiting for you, right next to hers. Shadowhearts hand clasps to your right under the table. You waste little time swirling the spoon around the rim of your little cup to distract your thoughts

Conversation passes easily after that. While you're more an observer than a participant and your love tries to include you where she can, it's still difficult and not just because you still only barely remember these people.

Every time they talk about Selûne, practicing her faith, visiting her temple, it makes your skin itch and you hate it. Almost every time they opened their mouths about it, you had to bite back a retort from all your time spent studying Sharran scripture, listening to Her teachings.

Selûne's light will penetrate the deepest darkness. Find courage to embrace the truths that lie beyond, for her illumination is a beacon of clarity.

Falsehoods to fattened cattle fit only to be slaughtered. In the Moonwitch's light lies temptation to embrace false hope and misguided paths. For in Shar's dominion, shadows are not deceitful, but honest companions, revealing stark truths that the Moonwitch's light seeks to obscure.

The Moonmaiden's light will guide the way.

Only the blind need guidance. For in Shar's endless dark, one only needs to abide and embrace her wisdom to find their way.

Incredibly, it was like Shadowheart could read your thoughts when this happened. Every time you felt yourself slip, she would give your hand a small squeeze and it would be enough to pull you back.

You weren't so naïve. The weight of the amulet hanging around your neck, a gift as direct from the Moonmaiden as it could be, was the only thing preventing Shar from dragging you back to Her. If your... mistress got free, and you didn't have the amulet... It's like this thing was helping keep your thoughts your own.

Though sometimes it didn't seem that way.

"Love?" she says softly beside you, pulling your attention from absently swirling your tea with your spoon. "I'd written to my parents about this already and they've agreed... Perhaps some time outside the cottage would accelerate your healing."

Your hand stills and catches the spoon before it can circle the rim of your cup. Though you're not entirely sure why, a sinking feeling nestles deep in your stomach, strong enough you wriggle your right hand free of hers to hold your tea with both hands. This isn't the first time she's suggested the idea and despite her desperate pleas with you to elaborate on why you reacted this way, you didn't answer.

Because you couldn't. You couldn't put it into words and you doubt you ever could.

Little pet, whatever do you think you're doing?

As best you can to stifle your reaction to the intrusive echoes of her words in your ear, you can't hide the slight twitch of your brow, your right hand squeezing the cup. No, you're not letting this happen here. Even Shadowheart is hardly aware of these moments where you hear... this. Urgings of your former mistress to be obedient. Behave. Faint reminders of her teaching.

Still aware of the subtle tingling in the back of your skull like a tangible presence in your mind. The moment you try to push it back and out, your hand flares again. Not for nearly as long, but enough that if the cup weren't on the table, you'd have dropped it.

Relieved when her voice doesn't return, having successfully shut it out. You're starting to worry her voice would haunt you for the rest of your life. How were you supposed to keep it from Shadowheart like this? "Where would we go?" You inquire shyly.

Your favorite cleric flashes you a warm smile. "A little trip down memory lane, nothing overly excessive or taxing." As she lifts her cup and sips from it.

"It really is no trouble." Arnell insists with a gesture of his hand. "Jen—Shadowheart believes getting out into the world would do you good, and I can hardly fault her reasoning."

Blinking awkwardly, and realizing you're outnumbered, you sigh and drop your shoulders. Shadowheart takes this as your silent surrender. Her hand settles on your shoulder, rubbing it soothingly. "I may have already packed some of our belongings for the journey... We can depart at first light." She says with an encouraging, gentle smile.

All of these blatant acts against Shar and your mistress, and you have yet to feel the sting of your marks, demanding your submission.

Has she finally turned her back on you? "I... I'm going to check on the barn." You sputter pathetically and shrug out from under your lover's gentle touch, scurrying toward the door of the cottage. You don't dare to turn around and face their confused, probably disappointed faces.

Are you nothing more than a constant source of disappointment now?

‐–‐–‐–‐–‐–‐–‐–‐–‐–‐–‐–‐–‐–‐–‐–‐–‐–‐–‐–‐–‐–‐–‐–‐–‐

It was a very roundabout way of getting here. You'll give her that. You set your heavy pack of supplies next to hers. Her altered Justiciar armor gleamed in the bright sunlight in contrast to your dark leathers. Better to be safe than sorry, she insisted.

Your feet gently dipped into the soft, shifting sands of the beach. It looked cluttered with a variety of small debris, but otherwise it seemed like any ordinary beach.

But Shadowheart's gaze fixed on a spot in particular. Almost in the center. A smile touched her lips, her eyes distant... in a memory of her own, perhaps. "This is as close as we can get to the beginning." She says in an almost reverent way.

Though you try to ignore the awkwardness, it must still show in your face when her eyes meet yours. With a sigh, she takes your hand and leads you closer to this random spot in the sand.

Like she knows.

More than a little dazed from your own rude awakening, you hesitate over the unconscious cleric. Her dark hair framing her fair face, almost deceptively appearing... at rest. The strange dongle clutched in her hand.

Perhaps you should... gods, what should you do? She had been nothing but a valuable ally so far, but... this half-elf was not all she presented herself to be.

Against your better judgement, you bend down, gingerly rest your hands under the spikey pauldrons of her armor and give her a firm shake.

She stirs almost instantly, eyebrows furrowing until her gaze meets yours. "You're alive." She mutters in surprise, "I'm alive... how is this possible?"

If it weren't for her hand on the small of your back, you'd probably have fallen backward with how abruptly you reenter your body. "This is where it all started, the beginning..." The words fall from your lips, but they don't feel like they belong to you. They taste foreign and strange on your tongue. Shadowheart slowly slides beside you, in your line of sight. You lock your eyes on hers. A brief flicker of the dream you just saw flashes before you, and for a second her hair is dark, she's wearing bangs and a mysterious circlet. "The beginning of what?"

Even if you tried, you couldn't miss the subtle sadness that weakens her smile. As if disappointed. Still, her hand tenderly takes yours. "The beginning of us, love." Her words gentle, careful. Expectant...

She's waiting for your markings too...

After a brief moment, Shadowheart guides you to kneel next to the spot on the sand, and she takes her place opposite you. "Think, Tav. Relax and let it come back..." she says encouraging, sitting on her knees with her palms flat on her legs.

While you're unsure at first, you humor her and take a deep breath. Easing the tension in your shoulders and staring into the warm grains of sand...

"We need each other, and we both know what's at stake." The cleric, Shadowheart states confidently. "I can't think of better company."

Well, when she says it like that, how are you to argue? "Suppose it would make the most practical sense. Two heads are better than one and all that. Very well. We're burning daylight standing around" You nod, once again hating how you're somehow shorter than a half-elf even if only by a few inches.

Her hand catches your arm before you fully turn away. "Before we go... I just want to thank you. For saving me." Shadowheart says, her hand lingering on your arm. "It would have been all too easy for you to run right past my pod. But you didn't." She pauses before she ends with a heartfelt, "I'll remember that." And nods.

"All too easy..." echoed in the distance. Shadowheart paid no mind as she started up the beach beside you, "all too easy to forget yourself, more like."

You watch helplessly as she admires the dark, ominous spear in her hand, before she grips it in both hands and glares at the mysterious Nightsong.

She rears the spear back

You taste blood—

And your hands fly to your skull, jumping backward from anything and everything, pushing back on your hands until the sand scratches your palms raw. Desperately bringing your knees into your chest, hugging them closer to you before burying your face against them. "Talk to me, please." Her voice pleads next to you, her touch on your hand.

All too easy...

You jerk away, her voice worming into your ear trying to find purchase in your mind again but you won't let her... you won't be brought to heel again.

Tense silence falls over you like a blanket, cold, wet, heavy. Suffocating, drowning, your chest coiled tight and ready to implode on itself. "Tav... it's me." The voice is different. Sweet. "Whoever you think I am," she continues, like a warm caress in your ears, "I'm not her."

She tries again to touch your hand and though you twitch; the response is more subdued and so instead she grips your hand. You feel her slowly, carefully moving closer to you, her other hand stroking the top of your head. "You're safe here."

Just like that, the seas calm and the waves subside. Timidly lifting your tear-stained face from the fortress of your knees, and Shadowheart, your Shadowheart wastes no time wiping away the lingering tears. "We'll get through this together, my love. You're not alone. I won't let you face this on your own."

For a moment, you dare to feel a flicker of hope in her words.

-ˋˏ’✄┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈--ˋˏ’✄┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈--ˋˏ’✄┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈-

I'm going to give a shoutout to my bestie who motivated me to write this and my biggest cheerleader and fan @ethelspetals

Go send her lots of love and appreciation and check out her youtube. The gif used here was picked out by her.

[warlocks-and-phoenixes]

A while ago the discord got me thinking about Vincent. So naturally that concluded in me making a whole shiny new partially-canon-compliant backstory for him

So, to begin, I was previously considering making him East Asian (specifically Korean). I honestly can’t explain why but I feel like it’d be cool if he was, and it’d also be nice to have an asian character who wasn’t a meif’wa. However…all of east asia is in the region of Jin’tal, and geographically, that’d be like having a Mayan character in Eastern Europe in the 12th century. So…how does that happen is a question I had been pondering. But then the beloveds gave me the idea of Vincent being much older. Older enough to…well you’ll see.

Background: meif’wa are from Jin’tal, but they’re in Ru’aun and Tu’la because over the century preceding MCD there was an exodus driven by societal strife. Thousands went across the sea and it became the first time in history that a Jin’tali diaspora settled in the eastern hemisphere. That was a good couple centuries before reliable charting of the globe came to be, and even more before transit and trade between the hemispheres became common.

Okay. There’s some worldbuilding. Now, there’s one exception to this isolation: Kulzak Fucking Aran’ask™️

AKA, the guy with magic that can cause him to disappear for several months and then you find out the man was waltzing around a continent that your whole society didn’t know existed. So…what if, in this time 300 years before the meif’wa exodus, in the equivalent of the 6th century, one of two things happened. Either a force out of their control (such as magic or a very very bad storm) sent the DWs really, really, really far off course, OR Kulzak & Co decided “what could go wrong” and let the Fates take the wheel. No matter how, they wind up in Fantasy Korea.

[note: kulzak’s main magical ability is teleportation, except most of the time, he’s not in control of where he goes. He wanders, and lets the world decide where to take him. And, logically, there’s nothing keeping him within the bounds of what’s known by his own society]

So while these strangely dressed and stranger-looking people are turning heads in the Fantasy Three Kingdoms, they meet a few people who they actually befriend. Two of these were the parents of Kwan Hae-sang. Or, Vincent Kwan. At this time he’s a little kid—as in, no older than 4—and these locals help the Ru’aunians find their way home. Maybe those few dozen Jin’tali were just as adventurous as Kulzak, or maybe they didn’t have much to their names in their homeland, but for whatever reason they went along to the unknown east with strangers. Vincent’s father, Kwan Ri-yeon, specifically had been a fisherman; he knew the ocean of the west better than anyone, and he spent the rest of his own life as Kulzak’s right-hand man.

This small group of strangers who were now in a strange land themselves were one of the reasons the divine warriors decided to erect their own city on a protected island. This island was where Vincent grew up. (His birth name was Hae-sang, but he went by Vincent his whole life to fit in with the melting pot city mostly comprised of european-Ru’aun and mediterranean/arabian-Tu’la.)

As Vincent grew up, his family were always close to the warriors. He joined the city’s elite Guard; the force under Sir Esmound’s command. Around then, or when he’s between 16-18, is when the War of the Magi begins.

In the Guard, Vincent grew close to a man who technically outranked him, but who nevertheless became the brother he’d never had. Esmound’s personal apprentice, Enki’s apprentice’s brother, an admirer of the Six Warriors, and a stranger to this world in his own right. A man named Xavier.

They became like brothers for the rest of Vincent’s life in the grand city. I’m not sure exactly how Vincent dies in this scenario, but it’s after the War of the Magi has ended, meaning he’s now known Xavier for at least 16 years, likely closer to 20. (Also, his mother died because of the war, and that caused Vincent and Ri-yeon to drift apart. The last time they saw each other was when Kulzak and Enki left the island and all of Kulzak’s sailing crew, his first mate included, went with them.)

But, in whatever scenario it was, Xavier was definitely present. Perhaps the still-experimental magic of the resurrection messed with Vincent’s brain and mixed his memories around, making him think it was Xavier who had killed him. OH. Sadder idea. Mercy kill. [in discord at the time we had just previously been talking about this subject]

Then, Vincent became one of the very first Shadow Knights. At this point, the Nether is little more than a barren waste, and the Shadow Lord is still learning the extent of its newfound power over souls lost in transition. Also at this point, the Nether Portal isn’t established, and so there isn’t a way back to the Overworld for the next…let’s say, 100-150ish years. Thus, portal isn’t opened until well after Irene’s departure from the world. There are only two people still alive by then whom she or Vincent knew: Xavier and Hyria. Siblings, and elves, and each left with a duty by Irene.

To Hyria, she gave the staff that would summon her back to their realm; the world could not know this staff existed lest it be used for evil, and so Hyria retired to the forest she and Irene planted, where it would be safe.

To Xavier, meanwhile, Esmound’s apprentice had succeeded him as protector of this city. While the Divine Warriors together were seen as the leaders of the island since its discovery, Irene acted as the city’s de-facto lord. A role she entrusted to Xavier in her absence.

Irene disappeared, Hyria left, Xavier was lord of the grand city, and many decades later Vincent was one of the first Shadow Knights to feel the sun’s light again. With the portal, the Shadow Lord instituted a new law: all Knights had to find whoever their loyalty previously belonged to, and kill them in the name of their new Lord. This was how they proved their loyalty to the SL, and in return earned their place immortally in the army destined for vengeful greatness.

Xavier in his own right did many things of note in the years between Irene and his death, all across Ru’aun. But then Vincent was sent after him. He hunted him down on the island; he believed Xavier had killed him, and he mistook the city’s decline as being caused not by the loss of Irene, but by the gain of him and his lordship; clearly he hadn’t been the man Vincent thought he was. Xavier had murdered him and was now killing their home too.

To Ru’aun, Xavier the Admirer was a Divine Warrior by association; he carried on the Protector’s legacy, solidified Irene’s Lordship and Guard systems, founded the first incarnation of the Jury of Nine, and did his best to lead the island despite its slow dissolution in the absence of the people who’d attracted its inhabitants there. In Vincent’s memory, he was a betrayer who the region falsely remembered for deeds he never saw, and a man who he didn’t have any remorse in killing because he was a corrupt, sorry excuse for their Lady’s successor.

The idea of Shadow Knights was still in its infancy during Vincent’s time. The concept was there, but so were many flaws yet to be ironed out. Vincent still possessed his many good memories of the Divine Warriors, and his small part in fighting the Magi War. The Calling is not as overwhelmingly strong after an SK’s immortality has been earned, because as far as the magic is concerned, they’ve already proven their loyalty. Vincent learned how to deal with the remainder of its pull, and he simply…never returned to the portal.

After the destruction caused by Xavier’s murder, the question of his succession, and other factors against it as well, the city on the island soon became nothing but forgotten ruins. 300 years later, Vincent found himself as a guard of a town named New Meteli.