#flower imagery be upon ye!!!!!

[quarterlifekitty]

Thinking abt fairy tale twists

cw: conspiracy to commit murder, a lil bit of graphic imagery

König as the huntsman of your tale. Known throughout the kingdom for his brutal efficiency, he is feared by all and a pit of loneliness eats at the bottoms of his lungs as it grows in his stomach. He will not deny– the queen, your mother, wordlessly offered him more than a sum of gold. Her nails grazed his arm, just close enough for the tips of her fingers to blaze along his skin. He felt the skin burn and tingle as if raised by scars. She was keen to his true desires, and at the time he was more than happy to be preyed upon.

Ironic for that to be a huntsman’s wish.

You’d been hidden from the world for a very long time. Not seen or heard by anyone but the queen and some select castle staff for over a decade. Even in the walls of your own home, you are veiled– covered like grass after a frost.

And you are no fool. You know why you’ve been let out of the grounds, told to gather spring flowers just past the edge of the forest. But the queen’s word is law, and you can only hope the end will be swift. The loneliness in you is like gnashing gears, chewing through nerves until all of your sensations have frayed and distorted. Even without knowing your face, his emptiness feels magnetized to yours. The hand that grips the serrated blade begins to shake imperceptibly.

You lift the veil so you can see the sky unburdened for the last time. It is in that moment that he thinks to himself– it’s difficult to tell the difference between the heart of a pig and that of a girl.

“Kleines mädchen,” König calls, almost flinching as you gasp, turning to find the source of the words. “You are in danger. The Queen, she… she wishes you dead. But I cannot bring myself—“ he lets out a deep breath, trying to regain some modicum of composure in your presence. There was a reason your stepmother envied you as she did. You had a beauty that men would conquer kingdoms for.

“Come with me,” the huntsman entreats, “I can keep you safe. I won’t let her find you. Please…” he steps forward, nearly stunned when you do not step back. For so long all he has known was distance maintained.

The world had turned from him and you had been turned from the world. He can so clearly picture your bodies fitting together in a way that seems only possible in paintings. Two broken things forming a single whole.

“You… you promise not to harm me?” There’s a crack in your voice, quieted from disuse. “I have nothing to offer you,” you remind him. Almost as if she wants for him to go through with his work.

“You do not turn away from me. That’s more than anyone has given me in quite some time.” Another step forward, with you standing rooted in place, eyes not wandering from his form.

“You’ll be in danger if she even suspects that I still live.” The words warm him from the inside.

“You’re very sweet, mädchen. To be worried for ein alter jäger… I could not see you harmed. Not even at the cost of my own life.” This time it’s you that steps forward, directly in front of him now. You reach for the hem of his hood.

“A face for a face. That’s my one condition.” Your voice gathers in his ears as he strains to memorize each note, like an animal trying to remember the sweet taste of morning dew on grass.

“You may not like what you see.”

“Any face can be beautiful if it holds affection, huntsman.”

Yes. A pig’s heart will do.

[nyashykyunnie]

˗ˏˋ One-Sided Love: In Which, you realize Jinwoo was always for ???... ◛⑅·˚ ༘ ♡ ˎˊ˗

ₓ˚. ୭ ˚○◦˚𝕊𝕦𝕟𝕘 𝕁𝕚𝕟𝕨𝕠𝕠˚◦○˚ ୧ .˚ₓ

・┆✦ Entry : 017 ✦ ┆・

‼️[tw: ANGST TO FLUFF, HAPPY ENDING, strong imagery of depression, hanahaki disease, hurt, subtance-abuse, suicidal-imagery, mention of death]‼️

‧₊˚ ☁️⋅ Part 1 || Part Two ♡𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ☾.

╰┈➤ ❝ [ He Lied. He Had to Lie. He Needed to Lie. ] ¡! ❞

It is his first, and his final gift to you.   The you who is no longer by his side. He bids you a farewell, a farewell he never thought he would do. For a friend.       "Goodbye, may your dreams be pleasant as you drift in purgatory. May your soul rest. I'm sorry."

…

As Jinwoo walks away from the stonehead, a sudden sharp ring stabs through his head. He groaned, almost stumbling on the muddy ground from the sheer agony.

He continued to struggle for a while, before finally removing his hand that had been gripping the side of his head. His fingers that had been wrapped around the umbrella hilt loosened, causing the object to flutter and fall down the floor. Splattering down on the muddy floor.

Ah… Yes.

He finally remembers. 

Everything that he had erased in his memories,... Have finally come back. The things he had buried in the sea of forgotten memories, have suddenly come back to him like a dam bursting open. It swallowed everything at its wake.

Everything that Jinwoo swore he would never have again, has finally come back.

His gaze lingered back on the stonehead in front of him. The lonely, lonely rock that was hollow and devoid of anything.

Though the flowers he had offered were beautiful as they were, it didn’t matter as the rain dampened the pretty petals down into pathetic, lifeless things. Those flowers were beautiful when he had offered it, but now, it looked drained of all its colours.

Jinwoo took a step again, turning his back and walking away.

He was trying desperately to ignore the hammering feeling ripping his heart apart.

Maybe it was of guilt, of sadness, of shame, of remorse— No.

Maybe it was all of it.

As Jinwoo comes home, his gaze would linger upon Cha Hae-in, who greets him warmly with that beaming smile.

She was beautiful, like a precious gemstone gleaming amongst the cobbles.

Jinwoo wanted to admire her, he truly did, but the memories he has regained caused her image to become muddy.

He tried everyday, he tried to be happy, he tried to play the perfect role of boyfriend to her. He kept up his appearances as the most beloved and hailed hunter.

But everything was slowly starting to swallow him into the abyss.

Ironic, isn’t it?

He was the embodiment of the darkness, the face of death, the persona of all the shadows.

Yet somehow, his own darkness was finally starting to destroy him from within.

The more the days passed, the more his grey eyes would lose their life, the more empty they became. Eventually, Jinwoo’s normally calm gaze—

Would become faded.

His eyes were still there, but for some reason, it felt that they were far gone. The little light that he had in his brilliant orbs has finally disappeared.

Jinwoo was rotting from the inside-out. As if his heart is beating out black ichor. He felt vile and disgusting, he wanted to rip himself apart, he wanted to stab himself and put an end to it.

Jinwoo was drowning now. 

Not even Hae-in’s loving words and affectionate advances weren’t doing it for him.

The more Jinwoo looked at her, the more muddled his gaze would become.

He didn’t know if it was hate or disgust.

He still needed to be a good man, so he politely asked her to break off the relationship. He didn’t want part of this anymore, he didn’t want to keep up the illusion anymore. He just wanted to disappear.

Jinwoo started to become an alcoholic, he would douse bottle after bottle but to his dismay— He could never be drunk. He couldn’t drink his sorrows away. He can’t get lost in the blissful euphoria of being lost in the toxicity of debauchery.

Even his family can't stop Jinwoo’s descent into silent madness.

He felt pathetic and guilty whenever he would see the pained expressions they would make when they see the amount of bottles he had already empty.

So Jinwoo would isolate himself in the land of eternal rest, where not even his children can call out to him unless absolutely necessary.

Jinwoo really just wanted to hide here, to bask in the darkness he had first mastered but now is a representation of his dying consciousness.

He would disappear and reappear again and again.

Whenever he hunts, his methods are especially brutal and unforgiving, as if he is projecting all of his pain onto the poor creatures that would cross paths with him.

He would often come out of the gates completely drenched in blood, creating an image of utter horror but somehow the bloodbath he showers in suited his broken gaze.

Jinwoo felt more like a wanderer now.

Ceaselessly taking one step in front of the other, wandering aimlessly like a lost spirit that is nothing more than a fleeting illusion.

Wander. Wander. Wander.

And eventually, he wanders over to your resting place. Jinwoo found himself unconsciously walking to your grave eventually, his distant gaze reading the stonehead over and over as if expecting something of some sort.

The memories he was trying to repress so badly, are torturing him again.

Jinwoo had spent… 800 times regressing over and over.

The reason?

You.

The you who is now dead.

But why is that? Didn’t he make you suffer such a torturous heartbreak? Didn’t he himself push you away and abandon you to your own woes? So why?

Those 800 times he had regressed, Jinwoo had lost you over and over. No matter how hard he tries to save you, no matter how hard he attempts to change your fate— Jinwoo would keep losing you and in the end your cold corpse would be in his arms while he screams into the air; cursing the gods and everything that is alive. 

Why?... How come everything else could have a happy ending but you? You who had always been there for him, you who cradled him in most miserable days? You who had always been the one to patch his wounds up? Why can’t he have you? Why can’t he give you everything? 

Jinwoo had tried every goddamn method.

He killed the gods, he murdered the monarchs, he sealed off the gates, he tried every outcome he could ever think of— And yet… And yet the outcome is always the same.

Jinwoo kept gambling, pulling card after card after card after card… And now he is empty handed.

All of it always ends with him having the fool in his hand. 

He cries, laughing like a madman as he knelt in front of your grave as if he was begging for mercy.

Jinwoo thought that removing himself from your life would solve things. He attempted to remove your memories and it didn’t work.

So Jinwoo instead tried to remove his memories of you. Because if he had kept those memories of you, he wouldn’t be able to resist himself and would run back to your arms where he felt so safe and sound.

Even after he removed every trace of you in his brain— His heart stubbornly yearned for you and reversed the curse he had inflicted on himself and once again showed him the hell he tried so desperately tried to escape.

“Child, you’re weeping again” Jinwoo’s gaze would snap up, finding himself in the presence of Ashborn who is sporting his image. “Your plans have failed once again, I see”

Jinwoo bitterly laughs, getting up from his pathetic position. “Of course I did, and you as always— Had predicted it. You’re right, I lost that person again.”

“...”

“I tried everything, Ashborn” Jinwoo chokes up, his look far gone from sane now. “I tried ever fucking method in hopes that my bet would have a sliver of hope and make a break through. I always… Always considered all the possibilities that could destroy the ending that I want but for fuck’s sake I keep losing everytime.”

“You haven’t tried everything, child” Ashborn says, transforming into the image of you.

Jinwoo purses his lips, his eyes watering at the sight of you. Although it was just an illusion by his predecessor— Jinwoo still felt a strong tug in his heart that of which longs to embrace you.

“What do you mean?” Jinwoo asks, his gaze falling down. 

“Have you ever wondered why that child was immune to the potions and how you couldn’t remove their memories of you?” Ashorn hums, circling around Jinwoo. “Why do you think so?”

“....”

“Because they’re not from here” Ashborn answers immediately, catching Jinwoo off-guard.

“What?” Jinwoo glares at him.

“That child’s body doesn’t respond to your powers because they are an anomaly that shouldn’t have been in this world in the first place” Ashborn explains. “The world in which that lover of yours hails from is far different from our homeland that is tainted by meddling gods and monarchs, mana doesn't flow through that world. None of our ailments with the divine or anything else taints their homeworld.”

“So you’re saying that my biggest mistake was not figuring that out soon and I was the fool who made my lover suffer through those painful things when I could have solved it just by sending them home?” Jinwoo bitterly laughs, choking in his sobs. “...I’m so… So stupid”

“....” Ashborn chuckles, patting Jinwoo’s shoulder. “Do you want to be with them? Your beloved?”

“Why wouldn’t I?”

“In exchange, you will give up your throne as the shadow monarch, everything that you have with you right now including the system—” Ashborn turns to him “Are you willing to give that up.”

“Yes.”

There was silence between the two, Ashbron’s eyes would bore into Jinwoo’s as if waiting for the man to falter. 

But falter he didn’t.

“Alright” Ashborn hums. 

“I’ll be an anomaly in that world, won’t I?” Jinwoo asks.

“That would be the case if it weren’t for the fact that I am your predecessor” He muses, “My last gift to you will be me taking my place back as the shadow monarch. All of which that are yours as my heir will be returned to me.”

“Including my kids?” Jinwoo inquires.

“Naturally.”

“Then let me say farewell to them” He requests.

Ashborn merely nods, letting Jinwoo turn around.

He takes a deep breath, his deep grey eyes turning purple as for one final time he says his command, “Arise”

“I’m sorry,”— Was the first thing Jinwoo had said, bowing his head to the shadows he had grown to love. “And thank you,... For everything. For all of your services, for all of the memories you all have shown me. Even if you’re all just undead creatures I summoned for my own greedy pursuit, I thank you all for everything that you have done,... My kids.”

The shadows wail, from sadness and from joy. Their voices would mix and howl, urging Jinwoo to pursue his dream. They would miss him, yes, but they value their master’s happiness over their own selfish wishes.

They had been there, they knew how much heartache and mourning their master has gone through for that person, how much pain Jinwoo had gone through, how much he cried in those lonely nights. 

They listened to all of his screams.

And they, his shadows, his soldiers, his children,... Yearn for nothing more than to give Jinwoo the happiness he deserves.

So for a final time, they salute to Sung Jinwoo.

As the man himself fades into pieces of fleeting white petals.

For a final time, it is now farewell.

Farewell to the shadow monarch, Sung Jinwoo.

⋅˚₊‧ ଳ ‧₊˚ ⋅⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪

You were admiring the pink petals falling beside your window, not noticing a pair of grey eyes lovingly admiring you from the classroom door. 

A tender gaze so full of love.

“May I?” The deep and smooth voice inquires, snapping you out of your daze and you turn.

He was handsome, pristine and upright. Perfectly carved out features as if made by divine hands. Everything about his features was absolutely symmetrical, even his gentle eyes and straight brows. Even with his puffy ebony locks— He looked so otherworldly and yet familiar at the same time

You nod and he sits down, throwing you a small smile.

“Jinwoo.” He speaks, the sound of his voice causing the tips of your heart to tremble as your stomach fluttered. “My name is Sung Jinwoo."

ʚ(੭´͈ ᐜ `͈)੭ .｡✧･ﾟ: ~♡ —! stories written by kyunnie; translations, reposts, plagiarism are strictly forbidden.

[fxtalitygod]

Survival. IX

Summary: You were determined to survive longer than anyone, even if you were set to marry him.

Genre: Historical AU, angst, mature, suggestive, arranged-marriage

Warnings: Dark themes, gore, graphic imagery, theme/depictions of horror, body horror, swearing/language, suggestive, mentions of suicide, arguments, mentions of adult murder, Pet name (Little Flower 1-2x) implied Stockholm Syndrome, grief imagery, images/depictions of dead bodies, child death/murder, character death(s), slight misogynistic themes (if you squint)

Word Count: 3.4k

JJK Mlist•Taglist Rules• • Pt.I • Pt. II • Pt. III • Pt. IV • Pt. V • Pt. VI • Pt.VII • Pt. VIII • Pt. IX • Pt. X • Epilogue

You remembered the most content morning you had ever had. It was a relatively beautiful and tranquil day in the garden. The sky was clear, and the sun was beaming brightly, yet the weather was pleasant. It was the most satisfying day you had ever had within the temple.

It was also the day your twins spoke their first word.

You had been spending quality time with your twins, your attendant joining the activities as you both basked in their childish nature. She had grown as close as family and acted like an aunt to your kids, and if you were being honest, she felt like a sister to you in some sense. You truly appreciated her company and assistance throughout the time you had known her— especially when sharing this memorable moment.

It felt like it was out of a dream when the word effortlessly slipped from your daughter’s mouth. Moments ago, she was a child who only knew how to babble, laugh, and cry, but now she was a little girl capable of speaking. And if your daughter hadn’t surprised you enough, your son letting the same word slip next had left you paralyzed with shock.

“Mama.”

Yes, it was a standard word for a child to speak first other than Dada or Papa— a cliché, as most would say, but that was the last thing on your mind. To hear your child acknowledge you for the first time and know they recognize you as their mother was a pleasure that could not compare to the joys of sex, alcohol, or money– it is a pleasantry of its own. You swore you would do anything to hear them call you their "Mama" for as long as possible.

And if anyone took that away from you, they would be damned to hell.

The screams of a woman echoed through the temple. The shrieks were ear-splitting and could cause anybody's ears to bleed upon walking into the hearing radius. You could only listen as the screams continued, the sound muffling out as your ears began to ring again.

Why was she screaming? The woman in question should have been thrilled that your children were deceased– they would have been a threat to her. She was probably trying to win Sukuna's favor in some fucked up way. The bitch had no right to grieve in your presence nor in solitude. You had every want to strangle her soundless; however, something stopped you from that impulse.

Your throat began to burn.

At that moment, you realized the screams of grief and agony were those of your own. Nobody was present in that room, just you and Sukuna, as your cries echoed in the room and nearby halls. You were blinded by your own tears as you stared at the now-blurry image of your twin's hanging corpses, choking on your own sobs as you collapsed to the ground, holding your midriff with the painful thought that the life you had cultivated within you for nine months and raised for six years was now reduced to carcasses hanging from a wall.

Your blessings had been snatched from you, from right under your nose.

You should have known things would have not been so simple. You should have never let your guard down for even a second. This was your punishment for being so blissfully ignorant when you should have analyzed all the possible faults in your plan and anticipated any threats that remained to perform a clean escape.

You stood on weak legs, shuffling to the wall that was covered in blood. In your mind, you always thought that the blankness of those walls would drive you mad– you never anticipated that the splash of color would be the thing that forced you to insanity. The crimson dripping down the wall proved you wrong.

Your hands shook as your fingers hovered over the pins that were holding your children in place, flinching back as you swallowed the bile rising up your throat before reaching for one of the pins again. You made an attempt to hold back your sobs but with little success. Huffs, spittles, and gurgles continued to resonate from you as you held back your cries– you looked pathetic.

Your hands felt weak as you pulled the pin, the audible squelching sound of the flesh rubbing against the item sickening you to the core, yet you persisted. You pulled the lower pins that you could reach from your son and daughter, tears gushing out of your eyes as you did so. No torture was as great as this, especially when you went to reach the higher ones. You stood on your toes, stretching for the pins that were sunk into your twin's hands, but it was futile. Under normal circumstances, you could have reached that high; you would have improvised a way to do it, but your mind was numb, and your body felt weak.

"Help me," you choked as you continued to reach.

The only response you got was silence.

"Please," you weakly whispered, "Please, help me."

Silence lingered again, but before you could plea a second time– your husband spoke.

"Why?"

You paused in your movement, your breath hitching as the simple word echoed in your head.

"Why?" you repeated, bewilderment found in your whisper, "Why?"

Your head slowly turned to look over your shoulder, your eyes gleaming with fury as you looked at Sukuna.

"I'll tell you why," you seethed, "For eight years, I have lived in this temple with you and your sickened whores and bastards– lived in your residence with little to no complaint. I have endured everything bestowed upon me and have managed to keep my spine straight with my head held high– and when in your presence, I have given you nothing but the lowest bows of respect despite the falsities of that action; I sacrificed my pride!" you paused to breathe before continuing, "I bore you children and dealt the blunt trauma of my impossible pregnancy and labor without complaint or ask of favor because you and I both know I would have gladly died in the process. In my life here, I have asked you for ONE SINGULAR FAVOR that would benefit both of us!"

Another pause as you caught your breath.

"The very least you could do," your voice shook with exasperation, "is grant me this one selfish wish."

"Do you understand the line you are crossing, Little Flower," Sukuna threatened as he took a few steps forward.

"Well aware," you answered without hesitation, "but at least if you killed me now, I would reunite with my children and be rid of you," you grinned mockingly at your partner.

You watched as the menacing man raised a hand, keeping eye contact with you as he did so. Normally you would have feared that this was the end of the line, but that was before your worst nightmare had already came true. Some part of you wished that he would hit you, hoping that once he did, he would snap you out of what you hoped what was an illusion of some sort, a night terror, a cursed technique, possibly a hallucination— all three were very much possibilities, but deep down you knew you were in denial, however, you did not want to accept it.

The slap never came.

Instead, your companion reached his arm above you, removing the pins that held your twins hostage against the wall. Sukuna took his time, clearly in no rush, leaving you antsy as you began to wriggle in impatience. You just wanted to hold them and look upon their innocent face. Maybe they were not dead, maybe there was still a breath of life in them, and you could somehow convince your husband to use his curse reversal technique on them due to the terms of your contract.

Maybe, just maybe…

Once the last pins restraining your children were removed, you were quick to cradle your twins, holding them close to your chest as more sobs escaped from your quivering lips. Your fingers lightly touched their skin as you caressed their faces with motherly gentleness. After moments, your cries subsided into a quiet lament as you continued to hold your little boy and girl.

You would have done anything to prevent this fate.

"Mama..." a voice spoke, but excessively strained and quiet.

You jumped up to see your little boy's eyes open no more than a slit. Without hesitation, you rushed to grab his face, babbling words of encouragement for him to stay awake. You were eager as you prepared to attempt to perform reverse cursed technique, but before you could, another strained voice sounded.

"Ma-Mama."

You panicked once more, moving to face your daughter as her condition was nearly the same. You were torn on what to do and had almost turned to Sukuna for his assistance, but it was useless. As quickly as those words were spoken were as fast as they faded back into eternal sleep.

What was this? You had to ask again, but what had you done to deserve this? To be worthy of this torture? Was there not a more deserving candidate for this cruelty you were enduring? Had you just been born to be cursed like this?

Questions raveled your mind, and thoughts ate at you alive– you were beginning to spiral. Your voice, along with many of the other voices from your past, flooded your head, screaming at you all at once as the memories began to invade your consciousness. Your head was starting to hurt from lingering in your mind, far away from reality. If anyone were to look upon your form, you would seem like the hollow husk of a woman based on how you sat there unmoving and totally silent as you stared blankly at the bloody wall– it seemed like you were looking through it like a piece of glass, that is how lost you were, until...

Everything went silent.

The voices in your head had settled, and all you could hear was Sukuna's breathing and your own echoing throughout the room. It was eerily quiet as the two of you remained.

"Their first words were their last."

You spoke without thought; the words had just slipped as you turned back to the father of your children, being met with his expressionless stare. You did not expect a response, but you could tell by the look in his eyes that he was no happier about this situation than you were; however, Sukuna was not grieving like you were. Your reasons for your dour moods were different, but that did not matter– you both were upset about what occurred.

As you held your husband's stare, it was almost as if you had some sort of understanding with one another, communicating without speaking before turning your attention back to your twins. With caution, you gently lifted your children into your arms, slowly standing as you managed to balance their limp bodies in your hold as you walked toward the door.

Your feet moved without command as you walked through the corridor, Sukuna walking at your side as you ventured in silence. The experience was almost that of your arrival at the temple– all eyes were on you; however, there were no whispers of gossip or vial comments and disgusting displays of arousal as you departed. The tension radiating from your aura was too great for such ill manners to be publicly displayed.

You had no clue where you were going and were hardly thinking about it. Your mind was void of consciousness as you reached the grand doors of the temple, stepping out into the cool night air. A part of you wishes you could have enjoyed it, to relish your first time outside the temple walls since your marriage, but the feeling was bitter and dull, especially as you looked upon the lights illuminating from your village.

Trekking through the terrain, you watched the lights grow brighter and more prominent, similar to the unknown feeling festering in your chest. You could hear their voices, their chanting of uprising as you approached the crowd, stopping just at the border of your village. One of the village elders was the first to notice you and Sukuna's approaching figures before ceasing the noise, focusing on your arrival.

"Y/n L/n, you have finally come home. Your family will be happy to know that you have finally returned," pausing to look at Sukuna before bringing his attention back to you, "It was wise of this monster to return you as requested. Come now child, we shall reunite you with your family."

You could hear him speak and understand his meaning and indirect stab at Sukuna's pride, but the words flowed from one ear to the other as your body remained rooted at the barrier.

"Come now, child, you are free!" the elder insisted as he motioned to you, confused and seemingly irritated at your lack of response.

"No."

The word slipped out seamlessly as you blankly stared at the man, watching his expression turn into shock.

"What do you mean, 'No'?"

"It means what I said," you simply responded before continuing, "Why would I come back to a home that sent me away like a lamb to the slaughter. You presented me like a slab of meat to the man you call a monster as if he were some valued patron, but suddenly, I have become worthy of retrieval after how many years? Why is that?"

"You ungrateful woman! We have pursued you for some time due to your parents' request. They paid handsomely to bring you back home, paid enough to fund our cause."

"And what cause was that?!" you retaliated.

"To kill that vile creature who stole you from us, my dear daughter!"

"...Mother," you whispered to yourself as your mom came into view, your father following her as they made their presence known.

"But it seems his influence has already tainted your mind," your mother spoke with a solemn look in her eyes, "But we can fix that if you just come home." the woman persisted as she held her arms out for a welcoming embrace.

Her comfort was tempting, but there was a lingering feeling of hesitance the longer you looked at the picture. This was something you wished for a long time, to be welcomed home with open arms, but the dream seemed stale as you stood there unmoving.

"Then why were harmless children slaughtered in his place?" you questioned.

"Harmless?" your parents uttered, baffled by your statement, "Those children were born to become monsters along with their father! They were far from harmless! That is why we had to cut them out of the picture!" your father yelled.

"...You did it?" you softly asked.

You could see your father's mouth open before closing, moving his gaze from your eyes to the motionless bodies in your arms. The disgusted faces your parents held were replaced with one of bewilderment and fear. They could finally understand your reluctance.

"Y/n..."

"They were harmless..." you started in a mutter, "They were not monsters! They were innocent! And you accused them of crimes they have never committed!"

"With their upbringing, it would have been inevitable! They were their father's children, after all!" the village elder interrupted, disdain laced in his voice.

"They were not guilty of Sukuna's crimes! They were innocent children!" you voiced, outraged with the small-minded thinking.

You looked to your parents for support but were only met by them avoiding your stare. They believed their actions were reasonable and considered them valid. You were not the one who was influenced... they were.

"Damn you all," you muttered, turning your back to the villagers.

"We did this for you to survive, Y/n! And here you are, well and alive. You kept your promise, so please come home!"

"Survived...survived..." Your chest heaved as you began to laugh hysterically. You placed your children down before rising, "Is this what survival is, just staying alive? Well, if that is the case, then yes, I have survived just like I promised, but with the cost of my life! I may have survived, but I will never live...not without them."

"There will be other opportunities to have children, my dear, with a far better suitor," your mother attempted to persuade, her arms still held open.

"Excuse me?"

That had done it.

"The man you practically sold me to was far from my first choice of significant other, but at least he managed to give my life some meaning, something to live for...and you took it from me, the last crowd of people I thought would do such a thing...how naive of me."

"Y/n, if we-"

"If you what?! Tell me, if you had known those children were mine, would you have spared them, given them mercy?"

No response.

"That's what I thought. You know I had hoped to come home with open arms, and shown by tonight, my wish came true; however, that was before I had the twins– the dream expanded to have all three of us welcomed with warmth...how pitifully optimistic of me."

"Y/n, I cannot tell you those events you hoped for would have come to fruition, but I can tell you this: you can start over, have a family you have always dreamed of... pure children."

Silence.

"They. Were. PURE!"

And just like that, the extent of that unusual feeling lingering in your chest had unleashed. The full extent of your furry had combusted in the form of your cursed energy and technique. Within the blink of an eye, what was once a bustling village full of chatter and laughter was now a blazing inferno filled with screams and cries.

You could see the fire, smell the blood, and hear their screams as they begged for mercy. They cried out for their children and loved ones whose bodies were now burning in the roaring flames, reduced to cinders and ashes. Those who threatened to charge were killed before they could make contact, their bodies contorting in ways the human form was incapable of, causing cries of pure agony as they were left to bleed out in their mangled state– they were retired to suffer in their pain as the life slowly drained out of them. If a suffering soul was fortunate, the fire would catch them aflame and kill them faster, or debris would land in a fatal spot or crush them whole to end their misery.

Viewing the demolished structures and flaming bodies, both dead and alive, was a petrifying view– yet you felt nothing. Your breath was methodical, your expression blank, your body unmoving. Pity and remorse were thrown out the window– fear and anguish had long vanished; however, anger and resentment lingered like a tiny flickering flame that continued to grow with each crumble and cry that could be heard.

Although your exterior appearance seemed calm and collected, your heartbeat said otherwise as it accelerated, pounding against your chest so hard you could eventually drown out the hollers of distress with its rapid thumping.

They were now suffering the pain and torture you had suffered for years to its full extent...

Unlike you, it was the kind of punishment they deserved.

You allowed yourself to view the sight for a few seconds longer before picking up your son and daughter, balancing them in your embrace again, and turning your back towards the village. You began to walk toward the temple, knowing better than to run off, but it was not like you had a reason to go anywhere else. There was no life for you. You were to remain by Sukuna's side until you died, and you were content with that.

"Y/n."

With all the heightened emotions and events that occurred only moments ago, you had forgotten Sukuna was there. The curse user had not muttered a word nor made a movement. He idly watched your wrath unfold, watched as you burnt your home to the ground.

You paused for a minute, looking blankly ahead as you thought of the past and reflected on your choices. Out of every action you committed, there was one you regretted most.

"I should have killed myself that morning, the morning after the ceremony. It would have saved me a lot of trouble and heartache."

With that, you walked off into the night, letting that thought of regret linger in your mind.

Taglist:

@littlemochi @mistalli @youngbeansprout @bbylime @bangtan-forever1479 @idktbhloley @izayas-rings @o3o-aya@pyschopotatomeme @persephonehemingway @otomaniac @meforpr3sident @fourcefulcupid @nezuscribe @my-simp-land @zukuphilia @niya729 @spiritofstatic @bbittersw33t @kashasenpai @decaysan @honeybaegle @ygslvr @outrofenty @esposadomd @ali2426 @anmath @yazzzmints @lovingnahida @sincerest-one@rosemaydone321 @j0dios @k-ki3rd @maki-zenin1944 @shadowywizardarcade

[misc-obeyme]

Mer!MC Headcanons - Side Characters

Well, one person asked as we know that's all it takes! So here are the side characters. Yes, that includes our three undateables! (But not Luke... I coulda done a platonic one for him I suppose but well... I didn't lol.)

Some of these got a touch lengthy but I still like how they turned out. I hope you all enjoy them!

read the older brothers here and the younger brothers here

GN!mer!MC x Diavolo, Barbatos, Simeon, Solomon, Mephistopheles, Raphael, and Thirteen

Warnings: just a little bit of drowning danger/imagery in Mephisto's

Diavolo

Diavolo is lingering in the castle gardens after a particularly entertaining tea time with Lucifer and Barbatos. He’s alone - the others have gone inside. He’s walking around the garden when he notices an unusual ripple in the water of the pond there. He stops to watch it and catches a glimpse of your tail, just barely breaking the water’s surface. He is instantly curious and crouches close to the edge. You peer up at him from beneath the still waters, unwilling to surface at first. But his smile lures you out despite yourself.

He wants to know everything about you. How you got there, where you’re from, anything you’re willing to tell him. He’s amazed to find you’re from the human world. How did you manage to end up in the Devildom? Diavolo settles in beside the pond and you talk for hours. Eventually, Barbatos comes looking for him and you hide in the pond plants.

He comes back every day to check on you. He’s working on finding a way to send you home because he thinks you must long to return. He scolds himself when he realizes he secretly hopes he never finds a way. He wants you to stay here, with him. He’s drawn to you. When he isn’t with you, he’s thinking about how you must be lonely there in the pond’s depths without him. He rushes to return to your side as soon as he can.

He can’t help wanting to touch you. Your skin, your scales, your lips - you’re so unusual and he’s captivated by how gorgeous you are. He constantly brings you gifts, little things that remind him of you. He’s thrilled when you bring him things, too. Pretty pebbles you find or a particularly lovely flower you could reach from the water. You only ever reject one gift when he brings you a way to return to the human world. He’s relieved. He wouldn’t be able to concentrate on anything if you left him now, MC. He works on finding a spell that will give you legs instead.

Barbatos

He’s in the forest area behind the castle, looking for specific Devildom tea ingredients. He knows the area well, having spent hours foraging there. He makes his way to a lake he knows that is further back in the trees. There is a specific flower that grows here that he likes to include in certain tea blends. But this is the first time he’s ever seen a merperson in the waters. You don’t see him at first, sitting upon a large rock, your tail just barely trailing in the water, your skin glistening in the starlight.

Barbatos watches you for a little while, not wanting to disturb you, but also not able to walk away. You’re mesmerizing and he can tell from a glance that you’re from the human world. He thinks of all the ways you could have ended up here. Likely some spell or possibly a spot in the river where the veil between worlds was too thin. It would be a simple matter to send you back. Too cautious, he leaves you alone. But he can’t stop himself from returning. The flower is an easy excuse to see you again.

You spot him, finally. Perhaps you’ve always known he was there. Perhaps he deliberately didn’t hide himself as well as he could have. You bring him a handful of flowers from the other side of the lake. You know what he’s there for. He asks for your story and you tell him everything - how you ended up here, how you’ve adapted to your new surroundings.

Barbatos suggests sending you home. You surge up onto the rock he first saw you on so you can take his hands. He’s startled by your boldness, but he finds he can’t pull himself away. You tell him that you would miss him if you left now. You have plenty of time and you know he does, too. Why not spend some of that time together? He smiles - soft, gentle, full of unexpected feeling. He would love nothing more than to stay by your side, MC.

Simeon

He’s on his way to the local Devildom fish market because he’s looking for ingredients for a dish he’s planning to make. But on his way, he gets a little distracted by the dark waves of the ocean nearby. He takes a detour to appreciate the sound of the water and finds himself squinting at a glimmer in the distance. As he watches, it comes closer and closer until eventually, you’ve washed up on the shore at his feet, glittering with water and brightly colored scales, a net tangled around you.

Simeon falls to his knees in the water, not caring about his clothes getting wet. You're struggling against the net and he can see that it's hurting you. He talks to you gently, calming you enough so that you'll stop thrashing. He works slowly and methodically, doing his best not to hurt you further. He finds a sharp shell to cut through the net, carefully detangling it from around you. When you're free, you swim out a ways, but you come back to him shortly. You're holding several of the exact fish he had just been on his way to purchase. He takes them gratefully.

He can tell right away you're not from here. When he asks you, you answer easily. He's gained your trust and you're not afraid of him at all. So he learns you're from the human world, that you aren’t sure how you ended up here. He knows how it feels to be out of place. He talks to you for some time, hoping to find out if he can help you return to where you belong.

Simeon brings you some of the food he makes with your fish the very next day. You continue to supply him with freshly caught Devildom fish, some of which are admittedly a little concerning. He always suggests finding a way to send you home. You always tell him that he has made the Devildom feel like home for you. Eventually, he stops asking. You find he likes to trace the pattern of the scales on your tail, his soft fingers making you shiver. You're unlike anything he's ever seen in any of the three worlds, MC. He can't help but feel happiness that you're here in this world with him.

Solomon

He’s experimenting in his laboratory as usual when the magic circle he’s working on suddenly activates. He’s surprised when you appear in the center of it, somehow summoned here from the human world. How did he even manage to do that? He doesn’t have time to figure it out because there’s a merperson glaring at him and flapping their tail angrily on his lab table. He picks you up right away, to prevent all his magical items from being knocked off and smashed.

Fortunately, Solomon has a large tub-like bucket he can put you in. He fills it with water with a simple spell. Then he has to spend several minutes apologizing profusely as you chew him out for summoning you at random. He’s also laughing, though, and you can’t help but start laughing along. It is pretty funny. And he is really cute.

You start asking him what he was trying to do. Your curiosity gets the best of you, but you find Solomon is ready and willing to explain the intricacies of the magic he was trying to perform. His enthusiasm is really adorable. You can’t help but continue to ask questions, if just to keep him talking. But inevitably, he mentions that he now has to find a way to send you back. You’re instantly opposed to this idea. You like it here, you tell him. As a merperson, you have your own natural magic. Maybe you could help him.

Solomon agrees to let you stay for a bit. He gets a large tank that he alters with magic so you have a whole ocean habitat inside of it. You help him with experiments and he finds he lingers near your tank much longer than he really needs to. He can’t stop watching the way your scales glitter in the water. When you’re partway out of the tank, he can’t stop himself from reaching out to touch your skin, leaving his fingertips damp. One day he tells you the truth. He wants you to stay with him always, MC. He teaches you how to use your magic better, how to do spells and make potions. He’s amazed at your abilities, as well as your ethereal beauty. He starts sleeping in his lab to be closer to you. In the end, neither of you bring up the idea of returning you to the human world again. But if you do go back, it will be because you’re going back with him.

Mephistopheles

As a member of the Devildom elite, Mephistopheles has access to what can only be described as a yacht. He takes it out into a calm bay, simply because it’s a nice day for sailing. Or at least it was until an unexpected thunderstorm closes in. The yacht is tossed about violently and high waves pouring over the deck wash him overboard. He’s sinking and fighting until his vision goes dark. When he comes to, he’s looking up into your eyes. It takes him a moment to realize his head is pillowed on something soft, that he’s still halfway in the water, but mostly on land.

Mephisto sits up and looks at you, realizing that his head was resting on your tail - bright, shimmering scales that sparkle in the moonlight. He’s amazed, staring at you in surprise, but all that registers on your face is concern. He didn’t know there were merpeople out here - he’s never seen one. That’s when you tell him you’re from the human world.

Perhaps he would have been unlikely to consider befriending you if you hadn’t saved his life. There was no question that he would have drowned if you hadn’t pulled him out of the agitated ocean. Human world or not, he knows he owes you. He offers to find a way for you to go home and you agree. He spends hours researching to find the best way to send you back. It takes some weeks, but he returns to the bay to give you updates on his progress. He won’t admit that he’s captivated by the way your eyes light up when you see him.

He finally finds the spell and he's about to say the words, but he stops when he looks at you. There's always a been a watery sheen to your eyes, but he can still tell you're about to cry. He stares at you for a moment and then deflates a bit in defeat. He's grown fond of you and at this point he'll say anything to bring back your smile. He can't look at you, though, his eyes on the sky and a blush on his cheeks. Do you want to stay here in the Devildom, MC? If you do, he'll make sure you're comfortable. He peeks at you to find the smile restored and he tries not to be irritated by the way his heart squeezes.

Raphael

He's returned to the Celestial Realm temporarily for a short visit. There's a long stretch of beach where he likes to practice with his spear, so he goes to see it again only to find you playing in the bright sunshine with a pair of celestial dolphins. When they spot him, the dolphins hide, but he watches as your eyes go wide and you swim a little closer to shore.

Raphael is concerned immediately. There are no merpeople in the Celestial Realm. How did you even get here? He wades out into the water, not worrying about his clothes - they can dry later. He gets as close as you'll let him. You seem to be okay with his presence, even allowing him to reach out and touch you. The soft dampness of your skin makes his gut twinge, but he ignores that feeling. He asks you questions and finds out you're from the human world. How you ended up in the Celestial Realm is a mystery. All he knows is he has to get you out of here.

He realizes quite quickly that his best bet is to simply carry you out of the Celestial Realm himself. But when his visit is over, he has to return to the Devildom. He explains this to you, but you seem unperturbed. You tell him that you don't care what world you're in, as long as you get to be with him. It makes him blush quite prettily.

And so when it's time for Raphael to leave, he picks you up out of the water and walks you out of the gates. He gets some odd looks from a few cherubim, but his threatening glare is more than enough for them to look the other way. He brings you to the Devildom where he finds you a nice lake near Purgatory Hall to live in. You're his responsibility now and he'll be sure to take care of you. But don't misunderstand him, MC. It's your inner light that keeps him coming back to you.

Thirteen

Thirteen's cave is quite large, but she's intimately familiar with every part of it. She's re-enforcing the traps in its various locations one day when she's startled by unexpected ripples on her underground lake. It's a large lake and sometimes there are fish there, but she's never seen ripples like these. And then a pair of eyes are peeking at her from across the water as you rise up just enough to see her.

She's immediately concerned. How did a merperson end up in her cave? And how long have you been there without her noticing!? When she learns you're from the human world, she's irritated. Who sent you here? Is this some kind of prank? She highly suspects a certain sorcerer. But in the end, it doesn't matter. You don't know what happened. And she needs to send you back.

You're reluctant already. You've been in this lake for some time now and it feels like home to you. Thirteen tries to argue with you about it, but she can't help letting you stay on for a while. You're pleading eyes get to her. She brings you food and finds herself sitting with you nearly every day. Sometimes you talk for hours. You have a lot of questions about her life and she's surprised at how easy it is to tell you all about it. She also notices the way your skin shimmers in the dim light of the cavern, the strange and watery look of your eyes and your hair and your scales.

You become a permanent fixture in Thirteen's cave. She builds a trap for that particular location that incorporates you. Any time it catches someone, you tell her all about it in excitement. One day she asks you if you miss your home. You tell her that you do sometimes. But that if you left, you would miss her more than you miss your home now. The blush this produces is the sweetest thing you've ever seen. That's good, MC, because you're part of her set up now! She's not likely to ever let you go.

older brothers | younger brothers | masterlist | Thank you for reading!

[jozor-johai]

Ser Arthur and Ser Jaime, the Maiden

Jaime’s knighting by Ser Arthur is, in so many ways, Jaime’s deflowering. I did not come up with this idea on my own—credit to @mylestoyne for pointing this out first, or at least for bringing this idea to my dash—but I’ve been thinking about it for a few days now, and I wanted to do a closer examination of this idea.

It had been years since his last vigil. And I was younger then, a boy of fifteen years. He had worn no armor then, only a plain white tunic. The sept where he’d spent the night was not a third as large as any of the Great Sept’s seven transepts. Jaime had laid his sword across the Warrior’s knees, piled his armor at his feet, and knelt upon the rough stone floor before the altar. When dawn came his knees were raw and bloody. “All knights must bleed, Jaime,” Ser Arthur Dayne had said, when he saw. “Blood is the seal of our devotion.” With dawn he tapped him on the shoulder; the pale blade was so sharp that even that light touch cut through Jaime’s tunic, so he bled anew. He never felt it. A boy knelt; a knight rose. (AFFC Jaime I)

Arthur Dayne reaffirms that “blood is the seal of our devotion,” which is true for this religious vigil just as it is true for the marriage bed. A marriage that is not consummated can be annulled:

Do I need to remind you that a marriage that has not been consummated can be set aside? (ASOS Tyrion IV)

Therefore, the revealing of the bloody sheet after a bedding is proof that the oath of marriage has been matched by a blood oath:

“Did you chance to see the marriage bed the morning after?” Cersei asked. “Did she bleed?” “No sheet was shown, Your Grace.” (AFFC Cersei VI)

So Jaime’s memory of his knighting ceremony is like a metaphorical wedding—and deflowering—in this way.

The imagery of the bloody sheet is present in this knighting ceremony, too. Jaime is cut through his plain white tunic, leaving a bloody mark on his clothing identical to the blood of a maiden on a white sheet.

We can also look to Barbrey Dustin for the significance of a bloody sword used this way:

Brandon was never shy about taking what he wanted. I am old now, a dried-up thing, too long a widow, but I still remember the look of my maiden’s blood on his cock the night he claimed me. I think Brandon liked the sight as well. A bloody sword is a beautiful thing, yes. It hurt, but it was a sweet pain. (ADWD The Turncloak)

Like Brandon with Barbrey, we have Arthur Dayne bloodying his sword on Jaime. For his part, Jaime “never felt it,” because of the significance of the moment—not unlike Barbrey, who says it was a “sweet pain.”

Finally, we have the significance of deflowering as representative of the transition to adulthood.

Sex is frequently described as one marker of the transition from boyhood to manhood:

His sweet innocent Tysha had been a lie start to finish, only a whore his brother Jaime had hired to make him a man. (ACOK Tyrion VII)

For Sansa, we see that her blood, as well as the image of the bloody sheet, marks her transition from girlhood to womanhood when she wakes in a bloody bed after “flowering” —a term notable for the implication that she can now be deflowered.

The blood is the seal of your womanhood. (ACOK Sansa IV)

Unpacking the reasons why a girl would ascend to womanhood with a natural process, and not an action, while a boy’s ascension to manhood would be an act would be a whole other issue, but it’s significant here that both situations result in the “bloody sheet,” whether it be Sansa’s flowering, a maiden’s deflowering, or Jaime’s knighting with the blood welling up through his white tunic.

The loss of innocence and skipping manhood

Part of this relationship with Jaime and Arthur is tragic: let’s not forget that Jaime is knighted and then subsequently is elevated to the Kingsguard both at fifteen, after having been entering tourneys and melees at thirteen. While he was clearly capable, there is something tragic about his youth here: this is someone who was clearly barely out of childhood being thrust directly into an adult role without any of the preparation required.

Consider how Jaime thinks of this transformation:

A boy knelt; a knight rose.

He’s skipped over manhood here—he’s gone directly from boy to knight. Soon after this, he will enter the Kingsguard and be expected to take a vow of chastity and forsake his familial ties in service to the king.

Consider a similarly young man—Jon Snow—considering a future in a similarly chaste and isolated role, and the difference in his mentorship here. Benjen warns him that he is too young to understand what he is entering, and tries to insist Jon live more of his life—to become a man first, and then a Man of the Watch:

Uncle Benjen studied his face carefully. “The Wall is a hard place for a boy, Jon.” “I am almost a man grown,” Jon protested. “I will turn fifteen on my next name day, and Maester Luwin says bastards grow up faster than other children.” “That’s true enough,” Benjen said with a downward twist of his mouth. He took Jon’s cup from the table, filled it fresh from a nearby pitcher, and drank down a long swallow. … “You don’t know what you’re asking, Jon. The Night’s Watch is a sworn brotherhood. We have no families. None of us will ever father sons. Our wife is duty. Our mistress is honor.” “A bastard can have honor too,” Jon said. “I am ready to swear your oath.” “You are a boy of fourteen,” Benjen said. “Not a man, not yet. Until you have known a woman, you cannot understand what you would be giving up.” “I don’t care about that!” Jon said hotly. “You might, if you knew what it meant,” Benjen said. “If you knew what the oath would cost you, you might be less eager to pay the price, son.” Jon felt anger rise inside him. “I’m not your son!” Benjen Stark stood up. “More’s the pity.” He put a hand on Jon’s shoulder. “Come back to me after you’ve fathered a few bastards of your own, and we’ll see how you feel.” (AGOT Jon I)

Benjen fails to convince Jon, of course, but he tries to warn Jon of this experience, of the tragedy of growing up too suddenly.

Jaime receives no such warning, especially not from Ser Arthur Dayne; instead, Dayne coldly acknowledges that “all knights must bleed,” even those who are fifteen.

This too is a common theme with this loss of virginity, especially in connection with a sudden ascension to power. At the same age Jaime was entering and winning melees against grown men, Daenerys Targaryen was losing her virginity to Khal Drogo and cementing her role as khaleesi. With her, the shock of her young age is much more clear, and GRRM makes it much more clear, closing a chapter with these haunting words:

They were on the far side of the Dothraki sea when Jhiqui brushed the soft swell of Dany’s stomach with her fingers and said, “Khaleesi, you are with child.” “I know,” Dany told her. It was her fourteenth name day. (AGOT Daenerys III)

However, she’s in a similar situation as Jaime. Whereas Jaime’s deflowering was metaphorical as he bypassed manhood and ascended from boyhood to knighthood, Dany’s deflowering is literal—with all associated horrors—as she ascends suddenly from girlhood to the role of khaleesi.

Like Jaime, this is tragic, and we shouldn’t forget that it should not be the responsibility of one so young to bear the weight of a khalasar, of her blood and heritage, and of her for a lost people. Like with Jaime, whose childhood becomes increasingly sad the more we learn of its nonexistence and corruption, we should not forget to mourn Dany’s age and loss of childhood even when we cheer her successes.

The Kingsguard White

As an aside: especially since Jaime and Arthur enter the Kingsguard later, we can also imagine the bloody white Kingsguard cloak, another even better analogue for the bloody sheet of a deflowered maiden. This image appears in a major way elsewhere when Sandor visits Sansa at night and leaves behind his bloody Kingsguard cloak.

Since the Kingsguard are expected to hold to their vow of chastity, we can see the bloodying of the Kingsguard cloak to be as much a deflowering as the bloodying of the white sheet on wedding night. For the Kingsguard, who share the same notion of chastity-as-purity as a virginal maiden, this deflowering can almost be seen as identical: it is the loss of innocence, chastity, and purity all in one.

Consider the circumstances that lead one to bloody the Kingsguard cloak, however: simply the act of killing, an act which is expected and demanded of the Kingsguard from the moment of their initiation.

Killing is the realm of knights, as Sandor points out to Sansa:

“Just as if I was one of those true knights you love so well, yes. What do you think a knight is for, girl? You think it’s all taking favors from ladies and looking fine in gold plate? Knights are for killing.” (ACOK Sansa IV)

So it is no surprise that Jaime’s deflowering—and loss of innocence—comes with his ascension from boyhood to knighthood.

A boy knelt; a knight rose.

However, it is therefore ironic that all Kingsguard are expected to be knights, and knights are meant for killing, and yet killing results in the red blood spatter on the white Kingsguard cloak, a symbol of their metaphorical virginal purity and chastity lost.

Here, then, we see that the bloody white cloak, when placed in comparison to the bloody sheet of the maiden’s wedding bed, illustrates the inherent contradiction of the Kingsguard.

In this scene with Jaime and Arthur, we see that this begins from the moment of knighthood: Arthur initiates Jaime into a world where “all knights must bleed.”

The myth of Maidenhood (and it’s significance)

I do want to add a disclaimer that I know (and we should all know in this century) that the concept of a virgin bleeding when she loses her virginity is pretty much a myth, and that if there is blood with penetration it has nothing to do with the “virginal” nature of the woman and rather more to do with arousal or other circumstances.

GRRM includes a passage, eventually, that seems to hint that even in Westeros, this is unofficially understood to be a myth, even as the practice of “examining” to prove the maidenhood of those marrying the king is still carried out, and even as the “bloody sheet” of the wedding night is still trotted out to appease family and tradition.

“Did you chance to see the marriage bed the morning after?” Cersei asked. “Did she bleed?” “No sheet was shown, Your Grace.”A pity. Still, the absence of a bloody sheet meant little, by itself. Common peasant girls bled like pigs upon their wedding nights, she had heard, but that was less true of highborn maids like Margaery Tyrell. A lord’s daughter was more like to give her maidenhead to a horse than a husband, it was said, and Margaery had been riding since she was old enough to walk. (AFFC Cersei VI)

Cersei, at least, has an understanding that the “maidenhead,” and perhaps even “maidenhood” does not actually work the way that is believed, although this even is a poor excuse for an explanation because it still allows for the existence of the myth elsewhere, and for allowing the idea that the “maidenhead” will bleed, only not in the ways that are alleged.

Since this concept of the virgin bleeding is really an outdated myth with little real-life relevance and yet is foregrounded so often in the story, I tend to imagine that GRRM has included and highlighted the concept so frequently because there is some non-literal importance to the idea or the symbols it offers.

For one, it’s one way to being the ever-present blood motif to yet another relationship, which I think is probably the key point here. Blood is a huge motif in ASOIAF; it appears in many different contexts with many layered meanings. There’s blood sacrifice, blood magic, blood heritage, blood ties, blood oaths, bloody weirwood sap, bloody weddings, blood sausage, blood and fire, black blood, etc etc. Being able to add blood into the wedding rite offers beneficial symbolic opportunities.

In that vein, highlighting the concept of “virgins bleeding” allows for a lot of the comparisons between swords and penises I’ve mentioned above which I assume are thematically central because of the penetration of Azor Ahai and Nissa Nissa.

Arthur Dayne

The one remaining notion here is that which I began to think about this scene with.

While Jaime spends so much of his storyline unpacking what this means for him, I wonder what this interaction says about Ser Arthur Dayne, who played this role in Jaime’s life?

If it’s about devotion and oaths, what does this deflowering say about Dayne’s relationship to Jaime’s relationship with oaths? If it’s about innocence, what does this say about Dayne’s relationship to Jaime’s innocence? If it’s about sex, what does this say about Dayne’s relationship to sex?

What does it mean for Dayne’s character that he’s the one who metaphorically took Jaime’s innocence here?

Or, alternatively, perhaps this says something about Dayne more directly. “All knights must bleed” and “blood is the seal of our devotion” may be true in the grander sense of Westerosi culture, but they’re hardly normal things to say. Does this say something about Dayne’s attitude specifically?

Should we be seeing this as Dayne personally being somewhat responsible for Jaime’s loss of innocence? Should we be seeing this act of metaphorical penetration as a power dynamic which Dayne is specifically enforcing?

[quitealotofsodapop]

A completely unrelated note, since the queen mother and PIF are big cats in your verse(PIF being half), would catnip effect them?

Big cats can be effected by catnip and there are some cats that develop a tolerance to it. Catnip was discovered around the late 1600s and surprisingly is in the mint family. And on contrary to dogs it brings calmness and relaxation.

So for the queen mother, I imagine Erlang brings back this nice looking bunch of flowers that were near wild mint that relaxed Quan to the celestial realm. Jade Emperor saw it and asked Erlang if he has some more bc the flowers look nice and thought it'd make a nice bouquet to send to his wife. Unfortunately once it was presented to her she face planted on the catnip. She has developed a tolerance so it wouldn't be used against her.

PIF accidentally stumbled upon catnip by accident during DBK’s imprisonment and ended up rolling around it eventually developing a tolerance to it to ease her depression during the time.

What about Redson, Nezha, Bai He and other cat related characters in the AUs?

Ref. Yes!

Catnip and Catmint are in the mint family, and are related to Snapdragons - something more obvious when it's in bloom. Some cats are more affected than others, my own elderly house cat doesn't care for it but loves silvervine.

Other plants that cause a similar reaction in cats are Valerian (Honeysuckle family) and Silvervine/Matatabi (kiwi family). Hilariously, all are used frequently in traditional Chinese medicine, Catnip for cough medicine, Valerian as a sedative, and Silvervine to prevent hypertension. Silvervine sticks are also sold as teething aids for cats.

I love the imagery of Erlang grabbing some catnip cus Quan seems to like it (catnip calms dogs down), and the Jade Emperor asking for some as decoration in a bouquet for his dear Tiger Lily.

The Queen Mother looks at her husband's bouquet, and after an adoring smile, shoves her entire face into the flowers whilst purring loudly. The Emperor at first thought he just did really well when his wife then proceeded to pounce on him hungrily. One lesser known side effect of catnip - makes larger cats randy. XD

Xiwangmu embarrassed by her reaction, at first thought it was an attempted poisoning or seduction. Li Shou, the goddess of cats, overheard the incident and was there to defend Erlang from punishment.

Li Shou: "Mao Bo He! It's a breed of mint beloved by my subjects! It blooms very briefly and the oils help keep biting insects away." Xiwangmu: "But what of my... undignified reaction?" Li Shou, giggling: "Oh thats normal! In order to spread its pollen, the plant causes a euphoric reaction in cats, and since the oil of the plant is released when bruised - it encourages you to rub into it." Xiwangmu: "Goodness! However, if it's meant for your subjects, why am I affected?" Li Shou: "It seems Mao Bo He is indiscriminate which type of cats it affects." (*the two look over to where Erlang and some of the celestial agents are watching Azure Lion rolling in the remaining flowers.*) Li Shou, laughing: "No matter the size!"

The Queen Mother doesn't want the plant used against her in the future, so she secretly has it planted in her Jade Pond garden so that she can develop a passive resistance. The first couple of years were a little awkward though - it appears half her daughters are affected too!

Funnily enough, catnip oil has been used as an insect repellent for cattle since ancient times - so it's not out of the realm of possibly for DBK to have some on hand. Imagine slapping on some sunscreen and your gf start rubbing all over you. DBK wouldn't be 100% upset by PIF's reaction, but he'd make sure to switch to citronella or similar so he doesn't accidentally dose her in future. PIF appreciates his consideration, but keeps some around for fun. >:3

PIF canonically "hits the bottle" in Jttw when her marriage is on the rocks, so I could see her "hitting the 'nip" as well to deal with the pain of losing DBK during his imprisonment. She's managed to wean herself off of it, and bars Red Son from having any out of fear of him developing a similar reliance.

Red Son accidentally gets exposed to catnip when he joins Mei and MK on one of their snack runs. He passes by the pet section and gets entranced by a catnip toy. He buys it for himself, and while his reaction isn't as strong as his mothers, it brings him calm. He gets grounded when his mother sniffs it on him.

Nezha is more snake-like in his lineage, so catnip just smells nice like how lavender does to humans. He does however, have a stronger reaction to valerian - he took some to help with insomnia and he was out of it for the rest of the day. He chalks it up to a weird drug side effect.

Azure Lion has the most intense reaction to the 'nip - male lions especially become big kitty cats when exposed to it. He got introduced to it in the celestial realm on accident when Erlang brought it in. And you know he sneaking into the Empress's garden to roll around in it when no one's looking. The rest of the Brotherhood found out about this reaction when DBK had put on some insect repellent, and Azure got a little silly. It became a bit of a prank to leave catnip in Azure's armour for a bit to humble him. He hasn't been exposed to it in a long time, so if he happened to find a even a tiny cat toy he'd be out for the count. No plans for universe domination, leader of the rebellion too high rn.

Bai He is part cat-demon in the TMKATI au, so she's involved in all his catnip talk. Kittens actually don't get effected by catnip like the adults do till they're teenagers, so Bai He likely doesn't have a reaction until one day her parents find her face buried in Sandy's cat toys. The adults agree to keep catnip out of the house and the restaurant, but they keep some Silvervine sticks to help Bai He with her teething adult fangs.

And ofc Mo is a kitty-kitty cat and just rolls around in the nip like a cat do.

ty for sending this in! I'm a plant nerd at heart (horticulture course ftw) and this was fun to do a deep dive into!

[ryuichirou]

Replies

New week!

Replies mostly related to our recent posts, but some are miscellaneous (twst related and not). Also, there is a shitpost sketch at the end of the post lol

Anonymous asked:

Just a random question but what was your very first ship?

Can’t even say for certain because it’s been like 20 years already lol But the first one that I called a ship would probably be Cedric/Phobos from W.I.T.C.H.

Look at me loving backstabbing scheming douchebags since day one…

Anonymous asked:

I feel like their was two bodies after the twins delt with things, cause even tiny as heck I can see them taking bodies

(related to this post)

Aw come on, Anon, look at those innocent angels!! (you are absolutely right)

Anonymous asked:

hi i sent the cat dad ask, that was the CUTEST thing i’ve ever read in my entire life it was adorable and everything and more than what i’d hoped for omg!! my flowers are watered, my skin is clear, my illness is cure😭😭😭 THANK YOU SO MUCH!!

idia being the most enamored cat dad is so cute AAUGGHHH i think lilia would make matching outfits for him and his cat, maybe with pop music club’s help. vil cooking for his cat!!! 😭😭😭 oh his pretty kitty would have their own engraved bowl. i think vil would send so many pictures to his dad

all of this is extra cute to me with the idea that i had that these strays are probably leading difficult lives on the streets but aren’t scared of humans. it’d be a “to be loved is to be changed” moment (pls look it up it’s before and afters of sad cats and it’s SO CUTE). ok i’m sorry i’ll stop haranguing you about cats JSKDKDKS THANK YOU AGAIN

— shroudswap anon

(related to this post)

Aah, it was you, Shroudswap Anon!!

I am very happy you liked the post, once again thank you for the ask! <3 It really was a lovely one to write! Somehow, it’s easier to write wholesome stuff about boys caring for animals than for each other lol

But also, what have you done, now I’m thinking about Vil sending cat pics to his dad… His dad became a grandpa the day that cat chose Vil as his human lol I’m sure he is going to send them even more gifts than Vil buys for the cat + spoil the cat rotten as much as he can.

But also, what have you done [2], now I’m also thinking about how these strays would be so much happier and healthier with the boys taking care of them :( To be loved is to be changed indeed!! Just look at Jamil smiling to his cat lol

I’m always happy to talk about cats…

Anonymous asked:

Sister Idia must be the very image of a saint with his ethereal glow. Nevermind that the glow is coming from his hair, that's just a physical manifestation of God's grace, obviously.

Also be honest, are the sick nuns getting a healthy diet of shrooms in the infirmary? I guess that's one way to experience mystical ecstasy

(related to our new AU)

The symbolism is all here, Anon! That imagery suits Idia so well. I really want to draw him holding a lamb or something lol

To answer your question… people say that sister Jade cares for the sick ones so well that whenever it’s their time to go, they always die smiling <3 It’s like their pain just went away and they fell asleep peacefully~

So yes, he does feed them with stuff they’re not quite supposed to eat and add some funky additions to the stuff he injects them with lol

m1lk-n-cook1es asked:

The nun au reminds me of a Little Mermaid fanfic from the same author as "Once Upon A Nightmare" that I told you a while back, where mermaids are more inhuman, with tentacles that look like fins in the distance, claws and fangs, and Ariel banging Eric (who is a trans guy) and impregnating him with her eggs

Dark themes and mermaids are always fun!! In fact, I think people should consider merpeople to be dangerous more often lol

Fun idea for a fic though :) Poor Eric lol

Anonymous asked:

I saw your Gidel and Fellow doodle on your twitter about the name change and I LOVE THAT SO MUCH cause I'm also thinking the same thing 🤣

"It's for our disguise Giddy!~" 🦊

Everyone calls him all sort of different names, Fellow said so himself (Episode 1-3) 😆

This bitch probably has done a lot of name changes for his con jobs n shit. (¬‿¬) 💚

(referring to this sketch from a 🔑twt acc, since it’s not for ko-fi and just a shitpost, here you go. He can’t even read the papers...)

Thank you Anon!! <3 Just like any other person I really hate that name change, but thinking about Fellow having lots of different names pacifies me a little bit lol Well, at least it makes me laugh and not want to break walls.

I wonder if Fellow has a guy that helps him out with fake ids… maybe his bosses make it easier for him these days; he probably used to go to various shady people before. But then again, they probably don’t always need to have papers… just come up with a name and go! Right, Ernesto? Good grief…

tardigrade-misfit asked:

Silver looks so adorable in his lil hoodie meanwhile Sebek looks like he only agreed to wear it because it was Malleus themed lol

(related to this post)

Thank you! Yeah, Silver is a cutie pie, as always lol Sebek should wear that hoodie with pride! He is closer to his beautiful waka-sama with those little horns on his hood.

I love these hoodies a lot; they are from that one drawing that Yana did of Diasomnia boys going to a movie theater. Katsu and I both are so obsessed with it; they look so adorable wearing those! I wish Yana did more sketches with characters hanging out like that, but of course I am grateful for everything she already does…

Anonymous asked:

I saw the latest comic about Gidel and Fellow Honest (I refuse to use the English names) on kofi and I think I have a proposition. I’ll be their sugar whatever but I get to touch their fuzzy ears now and again. Do you think they’d accept my terms?

Since we got this ask the same day we posted previously mentioned sketch (also a comic), I assumed you were referring to this one as well, but come to think about it we did have a Gidel and Fellow comic posted on ko-fi the other week…

Regardless! I think you absolutely should be their sugar whatever (… parent?), their sponsor and their financier lol Fellow will refuse at first, but it’s just because he is a bit prideful; maybe after some fuzzy ear touching he’ll reconsider. Keep petting the fox! The little cat will help you.

Anonymous asked:

I too used to hate all things girly when I was younger. Now I’m grown and like to wear kawaii clothes and will kick the asses of those who say otherwise  (◕‿◕✿)

This is exactly what Vil would’ve wanted for you, Anon. And this is exactly what he wants for Epel. 💪😔

Anonymous asked:

Do you do any chesward here?

Nope! Sorry.

[agentrouka-blog]

Hi Rouka,

Do you think "the rising sun" can be taken to imply Elia Martell?

She will never wash the stain away, no matter how hard she scrubs. Ser Kevan remembered the girl she once had been, so full of life and mischief. And when she'd flowered, ahhhh … had there ever been a maid so sweet to look upon?

Young Cersei described as full of life and mischief. Like Elia?

[If Aerys had agreed to marry her to Rhaegar, how many deaths might have been avoided? Cersei could have given the prince the sons he wanted, lions with purple eyes and silver manes … and with such a wife, Rhaegar might never have looked twice at Lyanna Stark.]

Elia in the background above "with such a wife"

Kevan thinks Cersei would've given Rhaegar the children he wanted and it would've prevented him from straying but no one knows about Rhaegar's obsession for having children. Elia gave him a healthy son and daughter within 3 years. So she fulfilled her duty in other people's eyes

The northern girl had a wild beauty, as he recalled, though however bright a torch might burn it could never match the rising sun.

Cersei's motif is normally a lioness and she's from the Westerlands where the sun sets.

Can "The Northern girl" and "the rising sun" taken together in this context imply Lyanna and Elia?

I don't think so. Why would GRRM hide a secret reference to Elia and Lyanna in a text about Elia, Cersei and Lyanna? The irony is that no one's beauty was relevant in any of what went down. Rhaegar's prophecy obsession is what drove his actions.

Plus, it's not the only time this kind of metaphor has been employed.

"Not necessary, but some find it pleasant. What of love?" "When the sun has set, no candle can replace it." "Is that from a song?" Tyrion cocked his head, smiling. "Yes, you are seventeen, I see that now." (ASOS, Tyrion II)

Loras is talking about Renly, and while Tyrion rightfully points at the dramatic flair of youth, it generally reflects a popular image of the sun as the superior light/heat source to a flame, i.e. the deeper, truer love, or the more radiant beauty, compared to a lesser contender.

Where this imagery might come into play again, through Elia, is the "sun's son" rivaling the "bride of fire", Arianne (as the representation of House Martell) rivaling Daenerys (as the representation of House Targaryen) in Aegon's plot of inner allegiance. Mother or father, sun or dragon?

Then there's also the sun/dawn imagery connected to Sansa, who represents a similar rivaling image to Daenerys, representing a dream of spring for House Stark and the North and for Jon, vs. the revelation of his biological father, the fire-breathing dragon, the image of Daeron the Young Dragon, the idea of simple, violent solutions to complex questions.

[xamaxenta]

LMAOOOOO I did not imagine Dadan but now I cannot possibly picture anyone else!! Xam your mind is a gold mine!!!! Deities so old they've been disproven at this point in time but Dadan comes from the countryside where tradition is life so her odd habits are considered quirks among the castle staff... She constantly swears in the name of a creator that everyone literally thinks she's made up... As a running joke, no one has ever heard the same three names of minor gods Dadan prays to because theres so fuckin many that she's always cycling through that it is impossible for everyone to keep up!!!

But you bring up an interesting point with the magic. Had I been a different person or this a different AU I might've bit on the angle of Rouge being seen as a goddess after her passing. However religion is very not my scene so I am going to ignore. (I think I prefer anyway Ace returning to the castle and seeing all the hibiscus motifs that had been added since his and Rouge's deaths, and he can't remember his mother's face anymore so the image of the flower she adored is all he really has left of her memory WAHHH!)

Thanks for the heartfelt response though!!!!? I loved reading through it lots. The line about Sabo wanting Ace's garments treated with care had me crying in the club.

Honestly i have no other additions to this, youve summed up my feelings on all the points touched upon above

Like im just here nodding and groovin like yes yes exactly SEND TWEET!!! 👏🏽👏🏽👏🏽All I have to offer is my heart on a platter bc GOD. the hibiscus imagery and all Ace has left of his mother is this flwoer she adored and pquehdih

It means so much to him 🥹

I think Dadan’s stance would change when she realises its not because Sabo is being difficult but because he loves Ace so deeply that he won’t have him treated any other way, they come as a package deal now and well best get used to it because once Sabo succeeds Roger and Ace becomes next in line as Sabos, its just smart yknow learn what they need

I was chuckling over the ask abt many attempts in which other people vying for the throne would chance if it meant they could “assassinate” the crown prince skdhbe (more on that prommy)

And yes i fully agree this au can be called my prince we shouldnt, but oh my knight yes we should or however it was ypu wrote it as 🩷

[anghraine]

I’ve been following you for years now and my dumb ass just put together Míriel and Faramir. Between that and the wave dream it’s making me a bit emo I won’t lie lol

Aww, that's totally fair! And I appreciate the long-time follow :)

Miriel/Faramir anon, I just had another thought that just clicked thinking abt your aging post and Miriel remaining youthful/ageless while Pharazon ages and decays also foils with youthful Faramir contrasted against prematurely aging Denethor. One ends with drowning while the other (almost) ends with immolation. Ok bye lol

YES the water/fire youth/age visual imagery is so interesting, I think!

I've often vaguely associated Tar-Míriel and Faramir through the combination of the jewel imagery and the Akallabêth, yes. I don't think I've ever written about Faramir's dream/vision/ancestral memory of it without assuming that Míriel figures in some way, even though Tolkien never said so. Partly that's because the final image of her drowning on the Meneltarma is so much the image of the Akallabêth for me, but also the echo of the jewel theme.

One of my first fics ever (for any fandom) was about Faramir dreaming of Míriel drowning, and then waking up beside a pregnant Éowyn and adjusting. And it is not only for the coincidence of name elements that Faramir becomes Míriel in my f/f Aragorn/Faramir verse. I think that in canon, Faramir already has some intriguing associations with water:

fára in Quenya means 'shore' (though in fairness, he may have been named for his distant cousin, Prince Faramir of the House of Anárion, rather than meaning)

Faramir's first remembered grief is a dim memory of his dying mother, who "withered in the guarded city, as a flower of the seaward vales set upon a barren rock ... she turned her eyes ever south to the sea that she missed." He was five when she died, but pretty blatantly resembles her as well as Denethor in character.

Faramir often dreams of Númenor being drowned for completely unknown reasons (I mean, it actually happened, and it's Tolkien's dream, but we don't know why he gets the dreams about it in-story—though he's also particularly receptive to the prophecy-dream-riddle). Everyone knows his description of the Akallabêth dream, but the description is still pretty harrowing: "the great dark wave climbing over the green lands and above the hills, and coming on, darkness unescapable."

Faramir is standing by the water when he has the vision/not vision of Boromir's body floating down to the sea.

So it's even more interesting that Faramir's "case" of the Black Breath is different from everyone else's—the others grow cold/icy while he burns. Of course, that's potentially linked to his near immolation by Denethor, but the contrast with Míriel's death and the (metaphorical)(ish) shadow of the sea over him is really intriguing. When I was trying to figure out how f!Faramir-Míriel would get the Boromir vision, I was like "well she wouldn't literally be keeping watch by the river, but maybe it could reach her through some other water association, like ... oh! like the Akallabêth dream! and then I could have her relationship with Tar-Míriel's legacy and everything in it too..."

[hekateinhell]

Armand/flower imagery is THE unsung OTP of vc 🥹 there’s so much of it throughout the whole series. I’ve also been thinking about how Anne repeatedly compared him to female mythological creatures. Lestat and his “succubus” comparison immediately comes to mind of course (Anne could’ve easily had Lestat call him an incubus, the male counterpart, but she went with the female version), but also there’s Daniel saying Armand had pursued him the cunning of a “harpy” during the early stages of their relationship. So you have flowers, female demons/monsters/mythical creatures and that one red headed robot(?) lady who served as her original inspiration for Armand. Character of all time fr xoxo DA ❤️

DA! 🥹🌺🌸 I missed you (even though the fault is purely mine for purposely scaling back on Tumblr and not really posting much of anything to respond to lately, haha).

I don't think it's much of a confession if I say I'm never not thinking about Lestat referring to Armand as a succubus! Right, the distinction there with the gendered form is interesting to me as well and I got curious on the exact etymology because while Anne might have been all over the place in some regards, I do think she was very intentional when it came to mythology and overall symbolism in her work. And either way whether you take it seriously or not, it's just fun to think about!

So, aside from the obvious gender difference between male and female — incubus in itself is defined as and derived from:

"imaginary being or demon, credited with causing nightmares, and, in male form, consorting with women in their sleep," c. 1200, from Late Latin incubus (Augustine), from Latin incubo "nightmare, one who lies down on (the sleeper)," from incubare "to lie upon" (see incubate). X

Now compare that to succubus:

late 14c., alteration (after incubus, giving a masc. form to a word generally felt as of female meaning) of Late Latin succuba "strumpet," applied to a fiend (generally in female form) having sexual connection with men in their sleep, from succubare "to lie under," from assimilated form of sub "under" (see sub-) + cubare "to lie down" (see cubicle). X

Let's be clear, Lestat—proud, powerful, and apprehensive as he is during this meeting with Armand—is in no way, shape, or form going to be laying beneath anybody. It's subtle because both incubi and succubi do take advantage of their victims, but at least within the word itself, one positions the demon beneath and not above.

Fun, right?

Harpy is something to think about too! Literally a terrifying creature that carried its victims off of the face of the Earth, never to be heard from again. Yikes. Wonder if Daniel's family ever heard from him again aside from those checks going out... Oops.

Robot lady, my beloved! Moira Shearer in The Tales of Hoffman (1951). Anne did say this as far as her having served as an inspiration for Armand:

[...] there was a companion to Hoffman who had beautiful red hair and was very angelic. The character was played by a woman, but as a child, I don't remember realizing that it was a woman. I remember the character as a transcendent person, and I thought it was Hoffman's guardian angel.

Very strange, very beautiful, very Armand.

And one last thing since we're already speaking of 'guardian angels' and I can never resist this quote:

"You're looking for trouble again," he [Armand] went on, in the same slow manner, without anger or meanness. "The whole wide world isn't enough for you and never will be. This time I thought I'd try to speak to you before the wheel turns."

"Aren't you the most thoughtful of guardian angels?" I said sarcastically.

"Yes, I am," he said without so much as blinking. ~ Lestat, MtD

Armand, once again taking on the role of Lestat's guardian angel.

[a-sleepywitch]

Tarot Tips part 3; Learning how to read (any) card!

Learning how to read cards is, in my opinion, one of the most valuable skills you can learn, not just when dealing with tarot, but pretty much any form of cartomancy that you enjoy. This can be particularly valuable for people like myself, who don't really enjoy memorising cards and keywords. I find that after a certain point in one's tarot journey, you hit a point where you can manage to read most decks without necessarily reading the manual, and so I wanted to make a post to perhaps help speed up that process!

This is going to be a lengthy post, so I apologise for this beforehand! And if this is your first time stumbling upon my blog, here's a link to my other tarot tips post! I will not be tackling reversals in this post, as I already covered it in part 2!

Part 1 | Part 2

Before getting into the nitty gritty of reading cards, I'd like to propose what I consider to be the most foundational aspect of being able to read any deck of cards: Observation. What are you looking at? What do you see? Disregard any symbolism or implications for now, just state what you objectively see in the card. For this example, I’m going to use a relatively easy-to-read card as the starting off point, that being The Fool from Rider-Waite Smith.

What do I see? There's a figure standing near the edge of a cliff, they're looking forward and slightly upwards, they're carrying a knapsack, they're holding a white flower, there's a white dog standing on its hind-legs, the sun is shining and there's mountains in the background

What does this imply? So, what does all this tell us about the card? For one thing, the Fool is headed for the edge of a cliff, but isn't actually looking down. The Fool's attention is forward, yes, but they're not actually looking where they're stepping. Similarly, the dog looks like it's about to leap off the cliff as well, so one can infer that this card likely has something to do with taking a leap of faith. Additionally, the Fool is carrying a knapsack which would imply they may not be home for a while, perhaps suggesting they're setting out on an adventure or a journey. The sun is shining and the background is yellow, with beautiful mountains to complete the idyllic scenery. It looks like a very optimistic card, but one should also remember that the card is called The Fool for a reason. Like the sun, optimism and idealism can be equally as blinding as it is warm and inviting. While this journey may require a leap of faith from The Fool, The Fool is also perhaps a bit blinded by their optimism and naivety (potentially implied by the white flower) to fully realise what they're getting themselves into.

Here’s an example of a card that I personally found more difficult when I first started reading cards due to its rather blatant christian imagery; The Hierophant.

What do I see? The Pope is sitting on a throne, adorned in a red robe and an intricate gold crown of sorts. The Hierophant is holding a golden staff in one hand while pointing up towards the sky with the other, and before him are two golden keys. In front of The Hierophant are two men, presumably dressed in a uniform.

What does this imply? As mentioned, this card can be difficult to apply to casual readings due to its very religious imagery, but breaking down the main components can help us get to the core of the card. So, what does the pope do? The pope is a spiritual leader, whose main job is to centralise its religious doctrine. Now, what does religion do? Religion provides answers that can otherwise be highly subjective, such as the meaning of life, what comes after death, and offering moral guidance. So here, we have a figure whose purpose is to not only morally guide people, but also to set the rules. The two men are uniformly dressed, essentially stripping them of their individualistic traits, suggesting this card has something to do with conformity and creating a norm. The Hierophant has handed the two men a key each, the key to living a successful life; social conformity and following the strict social order set by the person before them. Now, depending on how this card shows up in a reading and the context of the reading/other cards, this card can also be about going against conformity.

You can also use this technique in comparing different cards to get a feel for the overall storytelling. A great example of this is The Lovers and The Devil.

What do I see? In The Lovers, I see a male and a female figure, and an angelic figure between the two of them. Behind them is a mountain, a blue sky, and the sun shining from behind the angel. Behind the female figure is a fruit tree with a serpent wrapping around the tree trunk, and behind the male figure is a tree that appear to be on fire.

In The Devil, I see a male and female figure again, but this time, there's a more demonic figure between the two of them. The background is completely black, and the male and female figures are both chained to the small box that The Devil is perched on. The Female figure has a tail that seems to resemble a fruit, while the male figure has a tail that appears to be on fire. The Devil is also notably holding a torch.

What does this imply? The Lovers have pretty blatant christian imagery as well, so let's break it down the same way we did with The Hierophant. The imagery is clearly referencing the story of Adam and Eve, the two of them standing in the Garden of Eden, and Eve being enticed by the serpent to take a bite from the Tree of Knowledge of Good and Evil. The Lovers are essentially being presented with a choice; to either give in to their natural curiosity and human desires, or to refrain. Perhaps this suggests a choice between heart and mind, virtue and vice, compliance or action, etc. Personally, I'm not a fan of interpreting this card as being a choice between good or bad, because, realistically, very little in life is as black and white as that. Rather, this card seems to imply that there is a dualistic choice being offered. Yes, we all know that Eve taking a bite from the fruit damns her, but not taking a bite would be compliance with the status quo. Not choosing is also a choice, after all.

Now shifting our focus to The Devil, storytelling wise when compared to the Lovers, this card shows the impact of the choice made by The Lovers. The Devil is typically associated with sin and evil (which is not a particularly nuanced interpretation), but it can also be associated with sex, giving into impulses, non-conformity, eccentricity, etc. Thus, while this card can seem incredibly negative and pessimistic about the choice that's been made, it can also imply something as simple as rejection of the status quo, a rejection of complacency, a desire to fulfil your own passions and desires even if it means sacrificing your own comfort (The Garden of Eden). However, I would still like to point out the chains, which suggests that, although this choice may not be as negative as The Devil card may seem at first glance, the choice that's been made is binding, in the sense that it may have long term consequences; think of things like addiction, co-dependency or submission to something else. In rejecting conformity, one still risks falling into a path of blind submission to a different higher power or belief.

(Note that The Lovers and The Devil don’t parallel each other in all decks, so keep that in mind when deciding how you wish to interpret your particular deck!)

Now the major arcana are often considered easier due to them having very rich imagery, so I want to provide some minor arcana examples as well with various level of detail.

We'll start off with the 4 of Swords.

What do I see? A statue of sorts of a male figure laying on top of a coffin, with the shape of a sword engraved into the side of the coffin as well. The male figure appears to be resting, and on the wall above the resting statue are three swords. Next to the set of swords is a stained glass window.

What does this imply? For one thing, a lot in this card seems to implicate death in some way, not only the coffin, but also due to the stained glass window, which I intuitively interpret as a sign of this taking place in a church. The statue appears to be sleeping or resting, so combined with the theme of death, there's a sense of stagnation, a moment in time where time appears to stop for the person resting. Another thing to consider is the number four. Four is a very stable, rounded number. Think of a table that has four legs, or four pillars holding up a ceiling. While stability is good, it also causes stagnation, as a lot of people may stop themselves from venturing out of their comfort zone in fear of losing said stability. The sword suit, associated with the element of air, is generally considered to be the suit of the mind. A sword cuts through the confusion and complications, it gets straight to the point and gets stuff done. It's blunt and logical, but when you're asleep, you lack that clarity. It may feel like a mental stagnation of sorts, where things become blurry and disorienting, and you can’t quite make sense of things. On the other end; maybe this rest is needed for proper clarity once you wake up. Thus, this card can also be a sign of contemplation and much needed rest. You may feel stuck now, but rest is necessary to move forward.

Below we have the 7 of Pentacles!

What do I see? I see a person who looks a bit exhausted, appearing as if they're taking a break from work. They seem to be in the middle of harvesting something, and is currently staring at the product of their labor. Behind them is a dry patch of land and a light grey sky, but they seem to be stepping on water as well. There are seven pentacles, but only one of them has been harvested.

What does this imply? This card is all about reaping the benefits of your work, but note that this is only the beginning of that process, as there is still work to be done. Pentacles, being associated with earth, is generally viewed as the suit of materialistic and physical needs, with the pentacle representing the five senses of the human body. As such, it's common to interpret pentacle cards as being related to things like work, finances and one's home life, which all serve to fulfil one's physical needs one way or another (money from labor is what puts food on the table, after all). Another thing that I think is worth noting with this card is not only is this just the beginning of reaping the benefits, but the person is also taking a break, with an almost contemplative look on their face. When working to pursue one's own comfort, it's important to not forget to self reflect and question whether this labor is worthwhile or even fulfilling to the person. Especially when you have yet to see the fruits of your labor, it can be difficult to find motivation, but the rewards are just around the corner.

And finally, here's a significantly more minimalistic card; the 8 of Wands.

What do I see? There's a luscious landscape in the background, with a small hill and a river. At the forefront are eight wands, which appear to be launching forward (at least if you're used to reading from left right).

What does this imply? The wands are launching forward, almost as if someone's thrown them with immense force. This is an energetic, action oriented card, brimming with rapid movement towards the future. The suit of wands, which is associated with fire, is all about passion, willpower, desires, creativity, etc. This could imply that the card is all about taking action in pursuing what you truly desire. Another way to look at this card is to compare it to the seven of pentacles we saw earlier. You'll find that a lot of the imagery you'll see in the seventh card in a rider-waite smith deck has to do with perseverance, taking a moment to introspect, reassess, choose, etc. With eight being the number after seven, eight is about taking action after all that reflection. Personally, I can't help but view the seventh card as a protagonist's darkest moment right before the third act of a story kicks off, when they finally decide to take action, leading into the eighth card. Of course, this is just a way I personally read those particular cards, but my point is that you can find a lot of narrative flows in the cards that help contextualise them and intuitively read them without having to necessarily memorise what they mean!

My most important Advice; Read cards a lot. Your intuition for picking up on symbolism and implications will develop as you get used to observing, and over time, you'll just naturally pick up on how to read a card!

And finally, there is no shame in having to look up meanings. Some days, I'm tired and exhausted. Maybe I have mild brain fog that day. Maybe I'm just not in the right mood. It doesn't matter, there are days where even the most obvious cards go completely over my head and I have to look something up. There are days where I'm sitting and staring at cards and can't get anything from it, even while knowing what the cards mean. There are days my readings feel clunky and contradictory and nothing makes sense, and that's completely ok! At the end of the day, like with most special interests, hobbies and practices, we can have our off days where nothing feels right, but don't let your worst days define your overall skillset. Have some fun with it! If you're really determined to put your cards to use despite your burnout, maybe do something less serious! Start reading for your favourite fictional character or something, or ask a silly question, like how would this deck define the color blue, etc!

If you treat it less rigorously, I promise you'll have an easier time reading cards intuitively, because you're not restricting yourself or being too harsh with how you read them. Loosen up and have some fun with your deck! As usual, I'm more than happy to answer questions that I'm capable of answering, and I'd love any additional input! My asks are always open!

[late-to-the-magnus-archives]

And Eat It, Too - Chapter Two: Once Upon a (Bad) Dream

In which Jon deals with traumatic dreams, makes a really unwise deal with Michael the Distortion, and pisses Elias right the hell off…

>>> NOW ON AO3!

Listen - Elias is on his bullshit in this one, so be prepared for emotional manipulation, gaslighting, etc.

Also, Jon is having Circus nightmares. The imagery is brief, but could be triggering.

(Masterpost including playlist)

-------

CHAPTER TWO

The smell of awful flowers wakes him.

Underneath it is something sour, all his own, from who knew how long in the same clothes and the same chair and only luck they let him use the bathroom twice a day. He feels gross. Ready to peel off his own skin, the Circus be damned.

His stomach rumbles. How long—

“A month,” says Elias from somewhere.

No, Jon doesn’t want to deal with him. Keeps his eyes closed. Petty and proud of it, thank you very much.

Elias sighs. “Really, is this necessary? I’d imagine you want to go home and get cleaned up as soon as possible. That won’t happen, however, until we have a little talk.”

I’m at the Institute, Jon thinks, remembering CCTV, remembering Helen, remembering that if he’s here, then someone will have seen him here, and he can be arrested, and he didn’t hurt anyone, and—

“Jon,” says Elias.

“Don’t you ‘Jon,’ me,” he snaps.

“There you are. I’d begun to worry,” Elias drawls.

Jon wonders if he still has the strength to deck him after all, potential broken hands be damned. “Wait. A month?”

“Yes.”

He sits up, room spinning wildly enough to make the Vast happy, and stares. “I was gone a month?”

“I understand you’re upset,” Elias says.

Maybe Jon was wrong. Maybe this was the nightmare, the real Corridors, and he was just going crazy with the worst possible scenario. He sputters, too many words trying to come out all at once and tripping over each other. “Did you even try to find me?”

The force of Elias’ gaze is heavier than Breekon and Hope’s fists. “Of course.”

“Then why didn’t you find me?” Jon sounds like a child, hates it, hates feeling betrayed, abandoned. Replaceable.

Elias sighs. “I’m not omniscient, as much as I would like to be. When you appeared on CCTV in front of the hospital, I was as startled as anyone, and deeply relieved.”

That’s probably all he’s going to get. “Right.” Jon swallows.

Elias rises from the desk and comes around, holding a plate.

Jon’s not done. “Are they coming for me? Police?”

“No. For some mysterious reason, they couldn’t get a good look at your face.” Elias says, absolutely deadpan, and hands him a small pile of finger sandwiches. “Eat something before you pass out. This should be light enough that you can handle it.”

Jon groans and lies back. “No.” This feels bad. Everything is bad. Secretly, he hopes he’s staining the couch beyond repair.

“Really, Jon,” says Elias. “Such childishness.”

“Go to hell,” says Jon.

“Very eloquent. There is a reason I brought you here instead of taking you home.” He places the plate on Jon’s stomach and returns to his desk.

“I’m sure,” mutters Jon, and looks at him again.

Elias smiles, his usual under-the-skin expression that Jon once saw as banal and now knows is anything but. “So very curious to find Miss Richardson alive after all this time. So very curious to see you hand-delivering her to the hospital, practically wrapped in shiny paper and a bow. So very confusing to see you turn around, ignore the medical help that, I daresay, you felt in need of, and walk back into the Spiral’s door.”

Was it an accusation?

It felt like an accusation.

No—it felt like condemnation.

Jon swallows, trying to imagine Gertrude’s end, being shot three times and left to bleed out under the ground, unseen.

He wouldn’t feed me if he wants to kill me, would he?

Maybe it was poisoned. “What are you saying?”

“Merely trying to prompt conversation, during which you will—hopefully—share enough of your experience to indicate where the Unknowing is taking place.”

On one level, that makes sense.

Stopping the Unknowing is the priority. It has to be.

Still.

It was hard not to take this personally.

“It isn’t personal, Jon. We’re running out of time.”

Plastic hands, reaching under his shirt, rubbing lotion on him. “It felt personal.”

Elias ignores that. “I saw you appear on camera like a rabbit from a disreputable hat,” he says. “I was preparing to come to the hospital and help you when you turned around and chose a monster instead of anything reasonable. Jon, I need to know what happened. I need to know I can still trust you.”

Jon gapes at him. “Still trust me?”

“Yes.”

Jon feels like a sputtering tea kettle. “I’m not the one who murdered two people!”

“Yet you are the one we’re all relying on to stop the Unknowing. I cannot replace you, Jon, but if you have been compromised, I need to know now.”

“So just take it from my mind, then!”

Elias sighs. “I could. But what would that accomplish? We already have a fractured working relationship, Jon, and I have no plans to fracture it further. I am trying to work with you, not against.”

Absolutely amazing, the amount of censure Elias was able to put into those words. Jon finally sits up, lifts the sandwiches. Cucumber. Boring. The best thing he’s ever had in his life. “I am not allied with the Spiral,” he says between bites. “Are you out of your mind?”

Instead of answering, Elias lets him eat. He puts a tape recorder on the desk, then folds his fingers and looks at Jon expectantly.

A statement. Of course. “I need to go home.” (This is home.) (No, it’s not.) “I need sleep that isn’t done upright, tied to a chair.”

“Jon—”

“No! No. I shouldn’t even be alive, and I wouldn’t be if a literal monster hadn’t decided to play some sort of game involving promises of my imminent death—“

“Jon.”

“They were going to skin me!”

He’d screamed that.

“Jon.”

Jon stops.

Puts his face in his hands and just tries to breathe.

Elias’ tone is gentle. “I am sorry that I lack your power to make this statement easier on you. That is the ability of an Archivist, and I am not the Archivist. I do know, however, that you will feel better if you give your statement. Our patron will reward and heal you.”

“Right. Not like I can haunt my own repeated dreams, can I?” Jon knows that probably made no sense, and he laughs. It’s a bad sound.

“I’m listening.”

It’s soft.

It’s a command.

Someday, Jon wants to know how Elias can put so much authority into so little.

Jon tries.

Explanation is slow to come. He is tired; he’s pulled on his fledgling skills too much; he’s half-starved. He’s probably in shock. And it’s hard to think around Elias on the best of days.

For some reason, he elides Michael’s statement. What Gertrude did. The sacrifice she made of her assistant.

He also skips Michael’s dialogue toward the end. He doesn’t know why.

But at last, he’s nearly done. “I… Helen was… I had to promise to go back in order to save her, and …” He trails off. “It let me go. I don’t know  why. I  think I was too tired to entertain it anymore.” He swallows. “I think it might come back.”

Elias sighs. “The Spiral’s entire goal is to leave you fearful because you doubt your own judgements, ideas, and circumstances. Jon. Do you understand why I am concerned that you went back into it willingly?”

“I had to. If I’d lied, it would know.”

“Jon.”

Jon stands, thinks better of it, sits again. “I know. I know, Elias. But it wants to stop the Unknowing, and that matters more than any of the rest of this.”

“Does it?”

“Elias—”

“Here is the hard truth: as much as I would prefer to have options, there is no one else suitable for your role.”

“I—”

“Should you die, go mad, or, say, sacrifice yourself for some stupid woman who doesn’t even know your name, you are condemning us all to the Stranger’s new world.”

“That’s not—”

“It won’t bring Sasha back.”

Jon gasps. Can’t release that breath, not for a long moment.

The words cut him, burn, cauterize all the way down, searing unseen scars.

Elias lets him sit in it.

“That’s… not fair,” Jon finally manages.

“But it is true. I cannot hold your hand through this. I cannot stop you from throwing away the lives of your assistants, your friends, the entire world, if that is what you truly want to do—but I can and will make sure you know the cost.”

Jon stares at the floor. It’s too much. Sasha’s mention has undone him, cut the legs out from under his fight. “Did Gertrude know the cost?” he whispers.

“Gertrude… was very good, in her very limited way. Unfortunately, she became quite adept at hiding herself from me.”

“How awful for you.”

Elias sighs. “She was not a good Archivist, Jon, no matter what you may think. I only let her carry on so long because it made for an excellent distraction while I researched other things. Her violence, her ruthlessness, did not matter, but now things do. You will take risks as you learn. You will be harmed. That is unavoidable. But throwing yourself into death, especially for some woman whose survival changes absolutely nothing, is something I cannot ignore.”

Jon won’t take it back. Won’t apologize. Tries to say that if he stops caring about the Helens of this world, then he won’t be saving anyone but himself.

Nothing comes out.

He’s so tired.

Elias seems happy to see him cowed. “Was there anything else? Any details. Anything about the place where you were held.”

As though he hadn’t just eviscerated his Archivist.

Jon clears his throat. “It was a wax museum. Old, mostly abandoned, I think. I don’t know exactly where.”

“That narrows it down significantly. I’ll have the others start digging.”

“The others. Did… did they look for me?”

“They didn’t know. It wouldn’t have helped matters. Martin’s research, at the very least, would have been sloppier.”

Oh, good, there was more heart yet to cut out of him and boil.

Jon already knows what this means. They all just think I abandoned them, he thinks, and it wouldn’t be unfair, he did before, he went deranged and paranoid before, and nevermind that the Eye did it to him, that Not-Sasha did it to him, made him crazy—that detail didn’t matter.

Jon presses his hands into his eyes. There really wouldn’t be saving any friendships after this.

“I am going to give you some statements,” says Elias, kind now that he’d finished the butchering. “And I am going to call you a cab. Go to bed, Jon. I do not expect you in tomorrow, though you will need to fill out a return-to-work form when you do.”

Jon groans. “Really?”

“Bureaucracy is a little like the Corruption, Jon—ignore it at your own peril.”

That pulls a laugh—unwilling, unsteady, but true. “Maybe you should fill it out yourself.”

“Jon! That would be unethical.” Elias puts a hand over his heart.

He shouldn’t want this easy banter, shouldn’t accept this kindness, but there is nothing else, is there, nothing left that Jon hasn’t burned. “I don’t…” Don’t what? Don’t want to leave the Institute? Don’t want to miss an appointment? Oh, yes, my upcoming murder, he thinks. Speaking of which: “Georgie’s going to kill me,” he mutters.

“Miss Barker has been informed. She is expecting you.”

Jon stiffens. “Informed?”

“Jon, it is eleven o’clock at night. You’ve been unconscious on my couch for two hours. I had more than adequate time to make preparations.”

The image of Elias in the break room, painstakingly slathering cucumber with cream cheese and Worcestershire, feels completely unreal. “You called her?”

Elias sighs. “I didn’t think either of you would appreciate you banging on her door after midnight.”

Again, it makes sense.

Again, it hurts.

He wants to say, Leave her alone!, but it doesn’t come.

Georgie won’t be left alone as long as he’s in proximity. The only way to keep her safe will be to leave.

To put distance between.

Jon grinds his palms into his eyes again.

“Come along, Jon. It’s going to be alright.” Elias is positively gentle as he takes the empty plate and deposits it somewhere.

Jon lets Elias guide him to his feet. Ignores the hand at the small of his back, mutters thanks when his feet stop working and he nearly falls but for Elias’ grip, then goes silent until he’s in the cab and on his way to Georgie.

He hopes the cabbie doesn’t have a working sense of smell.

It was the second time today a monster had been gentle about guiding him to what it wanted. The thought didn’t feel very good.

“Long night, eh?” says the cabbie. “I know the feeling.”

Jon refuses to engage.

#

Georgie lets him eat ramen, lets him promise to explain tomorrow, lets him shower for nearly forty-five minutes, lets him throw his clothes away in a sealed bag (the map has inexplicably smeared, gone to one gray and useless mass), lets him commandeer The Admiral for the night.

The cat doesn’t mind. Purrs, rubs his scent all over Jon, flops onto his lap with expert grace, and doesn’t seem to mind when Jon cries into his fur.

“You don’t care about Gertrude, do you?” He says to the demanding fluffball, pulling his face back as the cat shows his tail. He manages a watery laugh. “I’ll bet she didn’t even like cats. Would’ve thrown you into the Lonely, or something, with a bell around your neck to shatter it.”

The Admiral curls up, still purring, and hides his face against Jon’s thigh.

Jon signs and leans his head against the wall.

He wants to sleep.

He doesn’t want to sleep.

Doesn’t want to wander people’s nightmares tonight.

Elias’ words still hurt, throbbing in his chest as if the blade broke off in there.

“They’d manage,” he tells the cat, “if I didn’t come back. Martin, and the rest. They already did for a month.” He flinches. “Longer than that, if we count the being framed for murder subplot. Don’t think I like this series much. Shall we cancel our subscription?”

But that sounds far more dire than he intended, and he thinks that’s his sign to go to sleep.

He hopes Georgie still cares enough to be mad on his behalf in the morning.

#

Nikola laughing in his face, her own nothing more than wrong indentations, eyes nose mouth moving and uneven and hungry

Jon wakes, panting. Sweating. He goes to the bathroom, washes his face, tries to return to sleep.

Nikola laughing with stolen voice box and spraying him with blood from someone else’s throat

He’s sick this time, heaving over the toilet bowl. Nothing comes up.

Breekon and Hope holding him so tightly it hurts, forcing his head back, bruising his jaw open

The bruises are there on his dark skin, visible once he’d shaved, and he stares at them in the mirror as he shakes and tries to steady himself.

Sarah Baldwin’s stolen face slipping from her plastic head as she pours water down his throat, more and more and more and

Sleep is cursed, he decides, as he wakes choking.

Tells himself he’s free, he’s not being drowned, he’s all right, no one is forcing him down or rubbing him with oil or skinning him alive or looming with stolen faces—

His sob catches him by surprise, and he claps his hands over his mouth, hoping Georgie didn’t hear him in the other room.

“What interesting sounds you make, Archivist,” comes from behind.

Jon flings himself forward, tangles his legs in the sheet, and faceplants on the floor with a thud.

He grunts.

That thump had to wake Georgie. He looks toward the wall.

“Your friend is a very deep sleeper, Archivist,” says Michael, who can’t be here, who shouldn’t be here, who is going to kill him here— ”Do not worry. We are alone. I do like your cat.”

Jon kicks loose the sheets and scrambles to his knees, white-knuckling the bedclothes. “Don’t hurt him!”

Michael is on the bed, on the bed, oh gods, stretched out like it’s waiting for its closeup. A brand-new door looms behind the bed, bright yellow against the outside wall.

(How did it even open? Why did it choose there? Does it make the Spiral happier when the door is against an outside wall and therefore makes you doubt it is an outside wall, after all?)

The Admiral is playing with Michael’s long, curly hair. “I don’t believe you have much left to trade, Archivist,” says Michael, and raises its hand.

Jon gasps, thinks impalement, cruelty, The Admiral’s blood—

Michael pets the cat. Its fingers are too long, jointed in incorrect places, but they tease the Admiral’s back without causing damage. Judging by the purr, the cat likes it.

“What are you doing here?” Jon hisses. “Stop that!” He reaches.

Michael goes still, eyes on his, fingertips dimpling the Admiral’s fur.

Jon freezes, too. Closes his eyes, swallows. “Isn’t it enough you’re going to kill me? That’s not even my cat.”

“But it would hurt you to hurt it,” says Michael.

Oh, gods. “Please.”

Michael sighs. “I am not going to hurt your cat. There would be no point. While some of my ilk began with animal fear, and in fact, still enjoy it, I do not. Your cat’s fear would do nothing for me, and would only upset you. And I’d rather you be upset for… better reasons.”

Jon just stops himself from asking What reasons?

“I would like to talk,” it adds.

“Does talking involve my death?”

“Not tonight, Archivist.” And Michael pats the bed with its long, sharp fingers.

He doesn’t move.

It waits.

Jon shakes as he sits down, as close to the edge as he can manage without falling a second time. He stares at Michael. At Michael’s human face, expressionless except for the eyes.

Whatever looks at him through those eyes is too much, but it would be—the thing that became Michael is much.

How far back should I go? it had said.To the beginning of me? Centuries? Millennia? How do you define the start of your being when, in some ways, you have always been?

The words of Michael’s statement linger in Jon’s mind, teasing. Tickling. “What do you… want to talk about?”

“Our partnership.” Michael says, and grins with far too many teeth.

It’s petting the cat again, and the Admiral clearly likes it. Legends about cats being fay creatures scroll through Jon’s head, but he ignores them. “Partnership? What are you talking about?”

“I have gone out of my way to save your life several times,” Michael points out.

“And then you promised to take it,” Jon snaps.

“Oh, I’m still going to do that,” says Michael cheerfully. “But stopping the Unknowing… as much as it pains me to admit, Archivist, that must come first. I think we can… benefit one another.”

“How? For what purpose? What do you get out of it?” (Why now? What changed? Is it going to kill me the moment we succeed? Is it tricking me to give me back to the Circus? Why would it do that? Why would it do this?)

Michael’s boneless shrug makes the room tilt. “The Unknowing is an emptiness of information, an inability to hold on to even the most basic of things you know. I am a great twisting, a wellspring of lies—but without knowledge to ponder and doubt, I have nothing to twist. I do not care for the world the Stranger brings.”

It makes sense. Jon swallows hard. “So our goals are… aligned?”

“For now. Though as you know, I have another.”

“Revenge against Gertrude.”

Too quick to dodge, Michael pokes its pointed fingertip below Jon’s left eye.

Jon inhales. Freezes. He doesn’t dare move.

“Yes,” says Michael, dragging the tip down, not cutting, not drawing blood, but leaving a strange, tingling sensation in its wake, as though the cells of Jon’s skin are dancing at its touch.

Jon’s shaking is worse. “But Gertrude is dead.”

“Yet I still want it. It is such a contradiction, Archivist! To want a thing that can never be, yet I am the one who makes others yearn for misremembered things. I dislike it. Your employer is here.”

“What?” Jon’s still trying to parse that sentence, trying to ignore the tingle in his skin.

“I visited him first, before I came to see you,” Michael says with great cheer. “I left him a note saying that I wanted to make a deal, and where I was. I suggest you let him in, or his knocking will wake your friend.”

Georgie. She has to get through this night unscathed, has to. I’ll make them chase me and lead them into the park, he thinks wildly, and scrambles for the door.

Elias is there, fist raised to knock, and the look on his face is terrible.

It’s heat like Jude Perry’s fire, weight like Hezekiah Wakeley’s graves, ear-rupturing depth like Fairchild’s sea.

And the moment they lock eyes, it’s gone.

“Jon,” says Elias, lowering his fist. “May I come in?”

Jon makes a sound that wouldn’t qualify in any language and steps aside.

Elias smells like night air, cold and biting, and he ignores Jon as he takes off his fitted coat. He’s carrying a book in one hand—nubbly red leather, with no visible author or title.

“You’re here,” says Jon.

Elias’ look is arid. “Surely the Spiral has not made you doubt your senses to that extent already.”

“No, I mean—” Jon glances at the book Elias is holding. It makes him uneasy. “You don’t… get involved. Other than murdering the elderly, anyway.”

“I am rarely granted such a personal invitation,” says Elias darkly, and shoves the coat at him.

“What did it do?” Jon whispers.

Elias sighs. “Nothing more than annoyances, designed to make one doubt. It shifted all my paintings slightly out of place. Swapped all my spices to the wrong bottles. Turned all my wine to vinegar, as though I had stored it wrong. Some of those bottles were quite old. I was saving them.”

Jon stares at him.

“The actual issue, Jon, is invasion of territory. Your new project has crossed a line.”

The coat is heavy. It smells good. It probably costs more than Georgie’s rent.

“And that book?” says Jon.

“Insurance,” says Elias, and marches for Jon’s borrowed room.

Michael still lies on the bed, but for the first time since the Circus’ grimy warehouse, it looks like the Michael Jon has come to know: grin too wide, fingers tracing patterns that, if followed, induce dizziness, and a body that drapes as if it has no bones.

Its hair is long, golden, and all ringlets, and they are everywhere. Including across Jon’s pillow.

He silently resolves to change the sheets before going back to bed tonight. Assuming he’s alive.

“Well, that is a face I haven’t seen in some time,” says Elias. “What an unexpected surprise, ah—Michael, is it?”

Jon’s heart goes to ice.

He hadn’t told Elias who Michael used to be, who it ate, whose face it wears.

Who it was lashed to.

(Did Elias know him? Did he care? Was he afraid of being sacrificed the same way before his promotion?)

And of course, all the questions about Elias that always linger—

(How did he go from a mediocre pothead to head of the Institute? Why did James Wright pick him? Was Elias ever in danger?)

“He’s threatening to bind me, Archivist,” says Michael, gesturing toward the book. “As if that would make me un-become.”

“I am hardly averse to immediate solutions,” Elias warns, holding the book calmly by his side. “Especially when territory has been trespassed upon.”

Michael giggles, a sound so sharp that Jon has to close his eyes.

Jon wishes he could turn his head off. (Unbecome? Doesn’t it require a map? Is the book a map? Is the book a Leitner? Does Elias have to read it out loud? Is it memorized? Is it like Ex Altiora? What will happen if Elias uses it? Can he do it in time before Michael attacks?)

“Don’t, Elias,” Jon says, and doesn’t know why he says it.

Elias ignores him.

Michael tilts its head (too far, too far), and sighs. “I’ve been trying to decide. Is your Archivist endearing or aggravating? Not that your opinion would change matters, of course.”

“Both, on occasion.”

“I am not,” Jon starts, and is ignored.

“I have come, as requested. And you have yet to make this worth my time,” says Elias in a tone that promises murder, that shoots fear through Jon’s entire system.

Michael laughs.

Jon grips his head, straining to stay on his feet.

Elias stands unruffled. “I’m afraid that is not an acceptable response.”

“I wish to make a deal,” it says. “One which may benefit us both.”

“I am running out of patience.” And Elias has raised the book to waist-height, and Jon doesn’t want to see what it does, doesn’t want to see what happens, doesn’t want to see Michael swooped away in it or obliterated into a thousand pieces or deposited in ice.

He won’t just grab the book, of course. He’s not stupid. “Elias, listen to it, will you?”

Elias looks at him slowly. “Why?”

Jon had only meant it could help with the Unknowing—until Elias said that, and now that he has, Jon decides it’s because Elias doesn’t want to do it. “It may be able to help us. We need help.”

That is a withering look. “I think you should return to work tomorrow, after all, since you’re clearly well enough to do so. You and I will be having a long conversation when you do.” Elias turns back to the monster.

Michael looks fascinated.

“Explain,” says Elias. “This is your final chance.”

“I bring a gift,” says Michael, making patterns in the air that leave hypnotic afterimages.

“A gift?” says Elias.

“Yes, for your Archivist: sleep without his terrible dreams.”

“What?” says Jon.

“That is out of the question,” says Elias.

“Oh, not the chosen dreams of It Knows You,” says Michael. “I have no interest in those, and they strengthen your Archivist—and we both know he needs to be much, much strengthened.” It laughs. “No, I meant… his own.”

Elias looks at Jon.

Jon isn’t sure why he feels cornered. They’re hardly ganging up. “What?”

“Your dreams should not be your own,” says Elias simply. “How long has this been going on?”

Elias knew his dreams were all about other people.

Watching them suffer, watching their statements play out over and over, unable to close his eyes or look away or even apologize when they see him and curse him and beg for help.

“You knew?” snaps Jon. “You knew I was trapped just… staring at people as they suffer their trauma over and over again?”

“Don’t change the subject,” says Elias.

Jon wonders if he could get away with biting him before Elias does whatever that book can do.

“How long, Jon?”

“Tonight. Since the Circus.”

“Hm.” Elias looks back. “Thank you, but we can handle this on our own.”

“I disagree,” says Michael.

“We?” Jon bristles.

“I can help you myself,” says Elias. “This is unnecessary.”

“You have left me to drown and burn and flail in the wind this entire time, and only now that someone else offers a hand, you’re interested?” Jon snarls.

“Shhh,” says Elias. “Ms. Barker is sleeping.” That look. Oh, that look; pointed, eager, expectant. Waiting for Jon to fuck this up like everything else.

Jon hisses through clenched teeth. “Maybe I want its help instead.”

“Jon.”

“It’s saved my life twice.” And promised to take it, but that won’t help his case.

“Jon.”

“It’s done more for me than you have!”

Elias looks like he’s the one considering biting now.

Jon decides to ignore him. “You mean the dream you woke me from,” he says to Michael. “What the Circus did to me.”

“I do.” Michael’s form swirls, and is apparently no longer comfortable for cats. The Admiral drops to the floor with a tiny, four-point thump and trots out the open door.

Jon is relieved. That’s one innocent out of the way. “What would you do to me, then?”

Michael laughs.

Jon sways with it. Vaguely, he’s aware Elias steadies him. (Why? Is he in danger of killing himself on the desk corner? Why would Elias care now, what prompted actual hands-on activity, what happens if he says yes, what happens if he says no—)

“I will make your pointless nightmares seem unreal,” it says. “Your memory will be safe—useless though it is. But when you dream it, when you enter the nightmares, you’ll doubt them. You’ll know that they are… false.”

“But it wasn’t false,” says Jon, quietly. “It happened. It all happened.”

Michael surges up, human form vanishing, and sweeps over to them on impossible limbs and static.

Jon staggers back into the wall with a thump.

Elias stands there, looking directly up at it—but it isn’t looking at him.

It’s looking at Jon.

“You will know that you are not there, Archivist,” it says, looking not even remotely human, its voice coming from inside Jon’s head and underneath his feet and somewhere out in the hall and maybe from Mars. “Your mind—your human mind—lies to you when you sleep. Like me. But you are powerful. If I let you see your dream is untrue, you can pull away and go back to your own little… night job.”

“Jon,” warns Elias. “This is out of the question.”

“They’re not your nightmares,” Jon snaps back. “What happened to, ‘I can’t hold your hand through this’?"

“I won’t harm his mind,” says Michael with something approaching patience. “That would be handing him over to the Stranger, gift-wrapped. Besides—my help will show you I am serious about my offer.”

“Which is what, exactly?” snaps Elias, craning his neck to look up at it.

“I would provide a door,” Michael says.

And Elias pauses.

Jon sees it. He sees it, and locks it away, because he’s sure Elias will deny it later.

“It would hardly be the first time such an alliance has happened,” says Michael. “I seem to recall the Web and the Slaughter working together before, the Lonely and the Web working together, and of course, your own association with the Vast, and the Lonely, and the—”

“What? Since when?” says Jon.

“I would rather keep the Web out of all of this, if possible,” murmurs Elias.

“It’s not.” Michael doesn’t smile when it says those words. Then it drops the inhumanity, swans to the bed, and drapes there, sideways and spineless so it can look at them upside down from the edge. “This is very tiring. No wonder you’re all so mortal. You must burn out, like candles.”

Jon opens his mouth.

Before he can answer, Elias grips his chin, holds him still, studies his eyes.

The bruises hurt. His eyes water. He knows that doesn’t stop this forced perusal.

He has no idea what Elias is looking for. The truth? That he’s desperate, afraid, determined?

And angry. Jon doesn’t mind if Elias knows that. I’m doing it. Don’t try to stop me.

Elias sighs. Then he changes tack. “Jon,” he says, in such an insinuating tone that not even Jon could miss it, “did you invite this thing into your bed?”

And Jon knows it’s a joke, recognizes the glint in Elias’ eyes when he thinks he’s being funny, but cannot help the heat in his face, his chest swelling like an irate frog’s. He wrenches back. “Elias!”

Elias turns back. “He is determined to accept your offer. But you know what this is, yes?” He holds up the book.

“Oh, yes,” says Michael cheerily. “Inasmuch as I know what anything is, when I pay attention.”

“I cannot protect him from his own stupidity,” Elias says, “but I can hurt you. Yes?”

“Yes,” Michael says.

“So we are clear. A truce, for now—with Jon’s extremely stupid choices included—until the Unknowing is done.”

“Yes!” says Michael.

“It’s not your decision!” snaps Jon.

“Hello?” comes from the other side of the wall.

For one second of pure insanity, Jon wonders if he could scruff them both like cats and hurl them from the apartment. He makes violent faces at them. “Sorry, Georgie! Just me.”

A pause. “Did you get another phone?”

“No, I’m… sorry. Bad dreams. Go back to sleep. Work in the morning.”

Silence.

Jon feels sick, lying to her.

Michael hangs there, fingers like dark electric current, weaving patterns in the air.

Elias, on the other hand, is exuding… disappointment. “This was unwise, Jon.”

“I don’t care.”

“One night of bad dreams, and you’re giving permission for a creature of madness to make camp in your head.”

And Jon finally meets his eyes. “Are you going to shoot me over it?”

Elias looks weary, as though Jon’s defiance has drained him. “I wonder, Jon, if you’re not trying to die, as if it would in any way make up for your mistakes.”

He didn’t mention Sasha this time. He didn’t have to.

Jon says nothing.

He’s not trying to die.

That doesn’t mean he deserves good things.

Michael laughs. “Let him sleep. Let him wander his victims’ dreams to his heart’s content—or your master’s, anyway. Then see for yourself if I have damaged your prize.”

“And if I find you have marred him?”

“Then bind me… if you can,” says Michael, a threat, a promise, a lure, a temptation, a warning.

Jon shivers.

“Believe me, I will,” Elias says, and Jon is deeply grateful that was not directed at him.

Michael laughs like Elias made a joke.

Elias’ sigh is long. He looks at Jon.

Jon swallows. Tries to stand taller. Is trembling. Hates it.

“Walk me out,” Elias says.

Jon realizes he’s been clutching the coat like a security blanket, and hands it back.

“Make no mistake,” Elias says quietly as he dons it. “I have no plans to kill you. I value you, Jon. I know of no one who could replace you—and there have been offers.”

“There’ve been what?” says Jon.

“But this is beneath you. This thing is an irritant. It is an insect, looking for blood. I’d thought higher of your reasoning than this.”

It shouldn’t hurt. It does.

But Jon’s jaw hurts, too, where it bruised. “How very disappointing for you.”

“A cease-fire is not an alliance.” Elias pins him, unblinking. “And I meant it—at work tomorrow, bright and early.”

“I can’t. I have to find a new apartment,” Jon says.

“Do it after hours. Goodnight.” And with that (and a more dramatic sweep than necessary), he leaves.

He doesn’t even slam the door.

Jon locks it. And though it feels like walking through cement, returns to the room.

“You agreed fairly quickly, Archivist,” says Michael. “Thank you. I thought I’d have to work harder to convince you. All this reasoning is just awful.”

“I may have done it more at him than anything else,” Jon admits and doesn’t know why he does.

A head-swimming giggle. “Buyer’s remorse?”

“If that’s what you call it after you’ve already pulled the trigger in Russian roulette. I… never mind.”

“Really, Archivist, the things you say!” Michael’s laugh is muffled, for which Jon is grateful. And it pats the bed again, for which he is not.

“I have to…” He flees.

The Admiral, having decided it’s time to eat, no matter that it’s two in the morning, sits by his food bowl in the kitchen and purrs.

“I already fed you, you heathen,” says Jon, but gives him a small portion, anyway.

He spends a minute out there, petting the cat, trying to calm his heart rate.

This was a bad idea. All of this was a bad idea.

“Well, I wouldn’t be me if I weren’t having bad ideas, would I?” he mutters. “Gertrude, I hope you’re happy.”

Gertrude, he has a feeling, would have sacrificed him to something years ago, if only to make the foolishness stop.

Michael is occupying half the bed when he returns.

Jon makes an unhappy sound. “Do you have to do it like that? In the bed? Can’t you just… hover, or something?”

“Sleep is intimate, Archivist, and the work I intend delicate. You are quite powerful. Without my weight behind you, my warmth and my presence, doubtless you would reject my subtle influence to your dreams, leaving you still to suffer.”

“Powerful,” Jon mutters. “Right. Look at me, with all this power.”

Michael just smiles, which is somehow worse than laughing. “I do not plan to change you, Archivist. Not yet.”

Michael lies. The Distortion lies. That’s what it does.

Yet it doesn’t feel like it’s lying now.

It takes every ounce of courage Jon has to go lie down again. “Don’t touch me. And please don’t be here in the morning. I don’t want Georgie to know.”

“Whatever you say, Archivist,” Michael thrums at him in a voice he can feel everywhere, like the tingling from his cheek spread down.

He cannot, he thinks, possibly sleep like this. Aware of it back there, staring at him.

He forgot to change the pillowcase, too.

But exhaustion carries its own balm for moments such as these, and Jon drifts away.

This time, when Nikola shows up with her paring knife already dripping his blood, Michael is behind her, pointing at her ringmaster’s getup and laughing.

Jon laughs, too.

And leaves his own nightmare behind.

(part three)

[immediatebreakfast]

Marmion round two!

The poem seems to (for now) mostly focus on lord Marmion's arrival to the castle, and the impact of said arrival has upon the subjects, and more specifically the soldiers.

Moreover, lord Marmion did not arrive alone, with enough company to indicate how his lordship leads his people. Yet, the way these are numbered, and described could be seen of how Marmion is guarded yes, but not too guarded as not to give the impression that his status makes him a delicate noble in need of a lot of protection.

Behind him rode two gallant squires, Of noble name and knightly sires: They burned the gilded spurs to claim; For well could each a war-horse tame, Could draw the bow, the sword could sway,

First, there are two squires behind lord Marmion. Both of them are highlighted in their abilities for combat, and their noble birth. Yet, even when these squires are put right behind Marmion for protection, the poem wants us to know how they are gallant in both combat, and romance. Telling, with adjectives like courteus and actions like dancing, that the squires are not only warriors, but gentlemen as well.

Four men-at-arms came at their backs, With halbert, bill, and battle-axe: They bore Lord Marmion’s lance so strong, And led his sumpter-mules along, And ambling palfrey, when at need Him listed ease his battle-steed. The last and trustiest of the four, On high his forky pennon bore; Like swallow’s tail, in shape and hue, Fluttered the streamer glossy blue, Where, blazoned sable, as before, The towering falcon seemed to soar.

Second, four men (also armed) follow the squires while guiding Marmion's mules. The remark on the fourth one is very interesting since it mentions the falcon imagery again, but this time unlike Marmion, this falcon is "soaring" in between the blue of the essemble instead of being "trapped" in gold. What could this mean when a person of lower rank wears the same symbol as a lord, yet on the person the symbol is "free."

Last, twenty yeomen, two and two, In hosen black, and jerkins blue, With falcons broidered on each breast, Attended on their lord’s behest: Each, chosen for an archer good, Knew hunting-craft by lake or wood;

The count of lord Marmion's people went from six to twenty six in a matter of paragraphs. These soldiers are described mostly with their abilities in combat by mentioning the weapons they are prolific in, a very interesting choice since one would expect the mentioning of their fighting ways. Yet, I think this could also Illustrate how many weapons they mastered under the eyes of lord Marmion. A bow, a boar spear, a sword, their belts.

Tis meet that I should tell you now, How fairly armed, and ordered how, The soldiers of the guard, With musket, pike, and morion, To welcome noble Marmion,

I was making fun a little bit of lord Marmion's request of being received with trumpets, laughter, and glee... And it happened! Everyone in Norham organized themselves exactly how Marmion wanted, and the poem even remarks how this celebration is something that not even the castle itself had seen. Everything went to the letter, and with descriptives like thundering, flourished, and even telling how the sound made angels scatter.

Welcome to Norham, Marmion! Stout heart, and open hand! Well dost thou brook thy gallant roan, Thou flower of English land!”

What a chant to receive the lord. What an entrance for this man. I can even hear the voices of everyone yelling this at the top of their lungs.

Two pursuivants, whom tabarts deck, With silver scutcheon round their neck, Stood on the steps of stone, By which you reach the donjon gate, And there, with herald pomp and state, They hailed Lord Marmion: They hailed him Lord of Fontenaye, Of Lutterward, and Scrivelbaye, Of Tamworth tower and town;

Then, after the introduction two pursuivants (junior ranking officer) present lord Marmion, and what I can assume are all of the many titles he has won through kin, and conquest.

Now, largesse, largesse, Lord Marmion, Knight of the crest of gold! A blazoned shield, in battle won, Ne’er guarded heart so bold.

I don't know why, but even if this chant is complimentary of Marmion as a knight, it somehow feels like an omen of how that bold heart may be the one causing things.

Overall, even if this canto doesn't keep on with describing lord Marmion, it tells us how he is a leader by describing his army. Look at him all gallant, and brave, so his people should reflect his image. He makes sure that his essemble has the delicacy of dancing in a hall, and the might of holding a sword. A very knightly view given, and exalted by abilities, and blue.

[crowning-art]

TGCF SPOILERS

-------------------------------------------------

Whew! Feeling loads of mixed feelings (mainly good ones!) but wow

Lmao this is me and you guys celebrating reaching the end of book 3:

So first of all, OH MY GOD OH MY FREAKING GOD I CANT HANDLE THIS CUTENESS I WILL PASS OUT WHY ARE THEY SO CUTE I WILL CRY

Having been held onto like this, Hua Cheng’s eyes were twinkling, and a moment later, he smiled. “I suggest you both hold your tongue and just follow. I’m in a good mood, so I won’t fight you for now.”

This line really caught my attention because it really brings to light how Hua Cheng and White No Face are two parallels in so many ways, and like yes Hua Cheng would never kill Xie Lian and neither would White No Face.....but for very different reasons

Xie Lian shook his head. “It’s not that, San Lang, We’re not the same. He…won’t kill me, I can swear it.”

MY HEART IS ACTUALLY BURSTING WITH EMOTIONS CUZ I CANT THIS IS TOO MUCH FLUFF LIKE OVERDOSE OF FLUFF LIKE TOO MUCH TOOTH ROTTING CUTE FLUFF I LOVE IT SO MUCH I wanna squish them, put them in a little bottle, and just keep them in my pocket

Only with his reminder did Xie Lian recall there was such a thing, and he quickly said, “Wait! The other things aside. San Lang, your…are your ashes properly hidden away?”

“A long time ago,” Hua Cheng replied.

Xie Lian nodded, but after a pause, he still couldn’t help but double check. “Are you sure it’s properly hidden? That place is secure enough? It won’t be found?”

Hua Cheng answered leisurely, “To me, it’s the safest place in the world.”

Xie Lian, however, didn’t think there was anything that was absolute in this world and pressed,

“You’re absolutely sure?”

Hua Cheng smiled cheerfully. “If its hiding place is destroyed, then there’s no need for me to exist either. Of course I’m sure.”

Oooohhhh OK BUT IMAGINE THIS? SO BEAUTIFUL YET HAUNTING and also WTFFFFF????? LANG YING????? NO WONDER HUA CHENG WAS SO APPREHENSIVE OF HIM And also what the hell it's so creepy that he had been with Xie Lian dressed as Lang Ying the whole time....like again back to how White No Face and Hua Cheng mirror each other in that both followed Xie Lian but one did it in such a disturbing and boundary breaking way while the other was so respectful

Under the white veil was a divine statue of him. This was a God-Pleasing Crown Prince statue, a sword in one hand, flower in the other, a smile hung on the face. Only, there was a trace of blood on that smile.

The source of that blood was the sword gripped in its hand. There was a youth pierced upon the blade, his head wrapped full of bandages, his body covered in blood. It was Lang Ying!

Ok but I love love love the imagery here and the underlying message cuz it's like yes White No Face was the one causing trouble, but it was Xie Lian's OWN sword that broke his statue and I feel like this is some heavy metaphor for what is to come....

Xie Lian’s face was instantly paled by a shade, the veins on the back of his hands popped and he slashed with his sword, shouting, “SHUT UP!”

White No-Face sidestepped and avoided the strike, but CLANG! The attack sliced through the sword gripped in the hands of his own divine statue. Now he’d done it; the God-Pleasing Crown Prince statue wielded a broken sword, and the statue itself thus became a ruined artefact. Xie Lian instantly snapped out of it, like he was suddenly drenched by a bucket of cold water.

One of my fave shades of Xie Lian is flustered Xie Lian!

Xie Lian “en, en, en”-ed randomly a couple times, and was just about to run away when Hua Cheng pulled him to a stop, pointing out, “Your Highness! Where are you running to? You’re going in the wrong direction.”

Only then did Xie Lian discover he was running back the way they came and immediately turned back around, even slipping on the ice once. He quickly pressed down on his bamboo hat.

“N-No. I, I’m just a little cold, thought I’d jog around a bit, warm up…”

ALSOOOOO AHHH THE KISSS OH MY GOD IT WAS SO SOFT AND SO GENTLE OH MY GOD I WILL CRY DJDMDKCKFMFMF

See!! Again the similarities are so blazingly obvious and yet Hua Cheng and Xie Lian couldn't be more different. Like one came for safety and protection while one came for pain and distress, and I guess I didn't notice til now since we are finally getting to see White No Face interact and all

White No-Face easily dodged every single one of his strikes, and Xie Lian cried in rage, “Why haven’t you died? WHY DID YOU COME TO THE KILN?”

“Because of you!” White No-Face replied.

Xie Lian’s movement faltered, and he huffed a breath. “What do you mean?”

White No-Face answered languidly, “Because you’ve come. So, I’ve come too.”

Just had a sudden, rather freaky thought. What if White No Face had been with Xie Lian throughout the book (present day) the whole time the same way Hua Cheng had....

WHAT THE FLIPPING HELLL WHAT THE AUDACITY THE ABSOLITE AUDICTY but also that's low key kinda so smart BUT ALSO HOW DARE YOU?!?!?!?

White No-Face lifted his face to look at his eyes, and he said warmly, “Your Highness, I think you might have misunderstood. There certainly will be a Supreme who will emerge from this Kiln, but, it won’t be me. It will be you.”

OH MY GOD HUA CHENG WHERE THE HELL ARE YOU WHAT THE HECK MAN COME BACK QUICK I am so worried for my baby T-T

Then, without giving him a chance to protest, that tragically pale cry-smiling mask melted with the infinite darkness as it was heavily pressed onto Xie Lian’s face.

And with that book 3 = done!!! I'm so excited for book 4 and am ready for whatever comes my way! 😊✨️

[tomriddleslove]

The stars have aligned to direct me forth to this page. How do i even begin to articulate the feelings that this piece of literature has evoked and stirred within me.

From the very depths of my soul, perhaps even in my womb, awakens this fiery compassion which i cannot suppress.

Instead, i must let it leap free, and perhaps the only way I can do that, is by kindly requestion (if not shaking on my knees and begging) for this man to reach for the flower that blooms within me, collecting its honey upon the tip of his tongue, and letting it run down to his adam’s apple and perhaps even further below.

Further below? Why yes, it is from those very depths that the fiery passions of lust burn within me, irrevocably changing my very inner being.

Speaking of that very inner being, it is those very codons, deterring my genetic sequence that contains the very essence of my being, that have now reverted me to nothing more that an animal, imprisoned by my bestial desires.

Yet perhaos this is a cause of celebration too, for I cannot help but submit to the reason for which I have been blessed with this womb, to bear the seed of Gods best masterpiece, and the father of my football team of kids, Tom Riddle.

Perhaps I should instead sacrifice my firstborn to the gods, whose understanding and compassion goes beyond measure, in allowing me to taste, first-hand, a free trial to heaven, through the bounteous rivers of ambrosia that I have been granted the highest courtesy of tasting, from the very tip of his dick, a glory that could only be bestowed upon me for having been courier of world peace in a past life.

“man with teeth of diamonds, fingers like razor-sharp claws. It'd been a relentless dance of dominance between you for years, a battle of wills that always seems to end in his favor.”

THE IMAGERY YALL THE FUCKING IMAGERY. THE ANGEL YET ALSO THE DEVIL. HOW DO YOU KEEP DOING THIS?

Im a schllluutttt for shit like this. Yk when he’s so fucking cocky you want to slap that grin off his face but he’s lowk a little scary too? Faawkk, it is so hot like…

HELLO:

"Go on," he murmurs, his voice a blend of silk and steel. "Let go for me. Show me just how much you need this"

Every second, of every day, in every position, in every possible multiverse. no lube, no protection, all night, all day, from the kitchen floor to the toilet seat, from the dining table to the bedroom, from the bathroom sink to the shower, from the front porch to the balcony, vertically, horizontally, quadratic, exponential, logarithmic, while I gasp for air, scream and see the light, missionary, cowgirl, reverse cowgirl, doggy, backwards, sideways, upside down, on the floor, in the bed, on the couch, on a chair, being carried against the wall, outside, in a train, on a plane, in the car, on a motorcycle, the the bed of a truck, on a trampoline, in a bounce house, in the pool, bent over, in the basement, against the window, have the most toe curling, back arching, leg shaking, dick throbbing, fist clenching, ear ringing, mouth drooling, ass clenching, nose sniffling, eye watering, eye rolling, hip thrusting, earthquaking, sheet gripping, knuckles cracking, jaw dropping, hair pulling, teeth jitterbug, mind blogging, soul snatching, overstimulating, vile, sloppy,moan inducing, heart wrenching, spine tingling, back breaking, atrocious,gushy, creamy, beastly, lip biting, gravity defying, nail biting, sweaty, feet kicking, mind blowing, body shivering, orgasmic, bone breaking, world ending, black hole creating, universe destroying, devious, scrumptious, amazing, delightful, delectable, unbelievable, body numbing, bark worthy, can't walk, head nodding, soul evaporating, volcano erupting, sweat rolling, voice cracking, trembling, sheets soaked, hair drenched, flabbergasting, lip locking, skin peeling, eyelash removing, eye widening, pussy popping, nail scratching, back cuts, spectacular, brain cell desolving, hair ripping, show stopping, magnificent, unique, extraordinary, slendid, phenomenal, mouth foaming, heavenly, awakening, devils tango ever bro could cause a nuclear bomb inside me and I'd still ride.

“Little snake” Say less. Slither in me. The way snakes can dislocate their jaws hold nothing to the absolute gaping cavern i’d produce to suck him off.

Absolute masterpiece. In dire need of more, please.

tom riddle. | this is your punishment

PAIRING: tom riddle x fem!reader

SUMMARY: prefect tom riddle catches you breaking the rules again, and this time decides to provide a different type of punishment he’s certain you won’t soon forget.

WORD COUNT: 4.7k

TAGS: 18+, SMUT MDNI, dubcon (entirely consensual), dom!tom, brat!reader, BDSM (light), intense kink, sexual punishment/ forced orgasm, inappropriate use of magic/spells, clit-stim orgasm, begging.

You had thirty minutes.

Thirty minutes to dance with disaster. Thirty minutes to dodge destruction. Thirty minutes to descend into the depths of the library, infiltrate the restricted section, slip the book on occlumency you clandestinely borrowed back into its rightful place, and ascend back to your dormitory before the harbinger of your nightmares—Head Prefect Tom Riddle—emerges from the prefects' bathroom and winds his way back down to the dungeons.

Thirty minutes felt like both an eternity and a heartbeat. The weight of impending doom pressing down on your chest as you crept through the darkened corridors, each shadow a lurking menace, each creak of the ancient floorboards a deafening scream that could betray your presence.

And though the stakes were disastrously high, you weren't entirely worried; you knew Tom Riddle's schedule as intimately as the lines on your palm, and he was nothing if not a creature of habit. But of course, there was always the chance. The slim, terrifying possibility that he might deviate from his usual routine. And being caught by him was the absolute last thing you needed right now.

Every second felt like a blade poised above your head, ready to drop at the slightest misstep. It was no secret that Tom Riddle had it out for you. By now, it was practically etched into the very stones of Hogwarts, a fact as immutable as gravity. Everywhere you went, every step you took, he was always there—watching, waiting, eager to catch you in some transgression.

The relentless scrutiny was exhausting. The number of detentions you'd served was staggering, the punishments you'd endured endless. Not to mention the droning, entirely condescending lectures and disappointed yet gleeful stares he always made sure to give you as he personally hauled you to Dumbledores office.

It was all bullshit, and certainly had nothing to do with your frequent rule-breaking or constant sneaking around. No, of course not. You most definitely never toed the line. You were as innocent as they come. As pure as the driven snow. In your mind it all boiled down to the fact that Tom Riddle had it out for you, plain and fucking simple. A personal vendetta written into the fabrication of his identity.

Because even if he did. Even if he did somehow manage to track you and uncover your clandestine activities by just being the perceptive cunning bastard that he is, there are certain things that simply defy logic. Some occurrences that just don't add up.

There are just some instances that can't be explained, save for the simplest conclusion: Tom Riddle has been inside your mind for months.

And that was precisely why you sought out the book on Occlumency—you needed it. Needed to learn how to block Tom out because if he wanted to play mind games, you were determined to play better. You were determined to keep up.

You knew Tom took pleasure in continually getting one step ahead of you, and as much as it utterly ticked you off—perhaps a twisted part of you enjoyed being caught by him—savoured the banter you shared including his threats that next time he'd take matters into his own hands, since even Dumbledore was growing tired of your antics. Perhaps you revelled in provoking him, in defying him like no other student dared, relishing the thrill of the chase.

Perhaps you simply loved to hate him. Because he was always so goddamn good at everything, always in control. It was maddening, intoxicating, and you couldn't deny the rush it gave you. His perfection was a thorn in your side, and yet, you craved it, sought it out like a moth to a flame, even if you'd never admit it.

Not to yourself, and most definitely not to him.

As the night droned on, you managed to make it to the library unscathed, slipping into the restricted section unseen. Everything was going according to plan, not a soul around to forsake you. And yet, just as you slipped the book back onto its origin shelf, you heard a distant yet distinct voice, accompanied by the determined clacking of perfectly polished dress shoes.

"—ah, yes. I believe I informed him that I would have an answer by tomorrow evening."

That voice. You could never fucking mistake it.

"—well, yes, Mr.Riddle—but he said—"

"No matter." The footsteps ceased. "You'll both await my determination until tomorrow's eve. Continue pressing and I will see to make you wait two more."

The bile rose in your throat, threatening to spill over onto the floor beneath you. His arrogance had always been a towering monument, casting shadows that seemed to suffocate all reason. Sure, he was the brightest star in the firmament, undeniably brilliant with features rivaling the gods themselves—chiseled jawline, captivating dark eyes—practically born to bask in his own glory.

Yet, for all his outward perfection, his self-assurance bordered on the verge of the grotesque.

"—yes, o-of course, Mr. Riddle..." you stifled a distasteful scoff. You weren't sure how that individual was even standing with such lack of spine. "—t-thank you, sir."

You didn't stick around to hear a response or the lack thereof. The voices were far enough to keep you breathing but close enough to damn near make you faint because you knew he was most likely just outside the iron gates. You couldn't afford to ponder the improbability of his presence or the surrealness of your predicament. You had to move—deeper, further out of sight.

Which was going perfectly well until you rounded a corner with a little too much intensity and collided directly into a small round table. The sharp screech of wood against wood cutting through the thick silence like a blade, echoing ominously in the vast, dim library. Panic seized you, every nerve electrified, as if the table's cry had been your own.

And it was roughly ten devastating seconds after this that you heard the creak of the iron gates opening behind you, and those same polished footsteps drawing forward with haste.

Fucking hell.

You'd spent enough time in the Forbidden Forest to know how to keep your calm, to know how to effectively avoid being noticed—how to silence your footsteps and slip around obstacles without leaving a trace, how to mask your scent with earth and leaves, how to blend into the shadows to avoid becoming prey to the creatures that lurk in the depths. Yet, the only predator you'd never been able to successfully evade was the one you were currently running from.

Tom Marvolo Riddle.

A shadow that clung to you, a hunter whose senses were always sharper, whose instincts were always keener. No matter how well you hid, he always seemed to find you, as if he could sense the very beat of your heart.

Tonight—to your naive surprise, was no different.

"Think you can hide from me, do you?" Tom's voice slithered through the narrow gap between the shelves, smooth and dark as midnight. "Not quite stealthy enough, I'm afraid."

You pressed your back against the cold wood, trying to steady your breathing, but his words seemed to wrap around your throat, squeezing the air out of your lungs and replacing it with something dizzying.

"Why don't you come out, little snake?" He purred, his footsteps drawing closer, each one a death knell. "We both know how this game ends."

Little snake. Two words that rooted you to the spot. It was impossible, inconceivable that he could know it was you. Yet the nickname, the venomous familiarity of it, left no room for doubt.

You slipped around the corner, the two of you making calculated moves like chess pieces. Your board was one of evasion, his one of domination. The gates were in clear view now as you paused to determine his position, silently mapping the space between here and there, certain that if you ran fast enough you could make it—if you moved quietly enough he wouldn't know which direction you were heading.

"You're only making this worse for yourself, darling." Arrogance so thick you weren't sure how he wasn't choking on it. And as much as you detested it, something about it sparked heat between your thighs. "You know I always win."

With the desperation of a cornered, wounded animal, you decided you were done playing and began making a silent yet brisk path toward the gates. You knew you could get about three shelves deep before you needed to take cover again. The silence was deafening, urging you to move faster.

And just as you were about to reach your next hiding spot, just about to duck back in between the shelves, a sudden sensation of pressure coiled around your ankle, cementing you to the spot.

"What the f-"

It was as if the very air had turned to iron, suffocating you with its weight. Your breath caught in your throat as you stared down, disbelief flooding your senses. The once innocuous carpet beneath your feet now glowed with enchantment, its fibres twisting and contorting, snaking around your ankles and climbing steadily up your calves.

"There she is." It was an echo from behind you, deep vocal inflection choking you with its pride. "Always so deliciously predictable.”

The fibres wound tightly around your upper calves, constricting tighter against your leggings as you squirmed, struggling to free yourself. Tom appeared beside you with a leisurely saunter, his smirk so smug it seemed almost tangible.

Your frustration bubbled over into a groan of disbelief. "You charmed the fucking carpet?"

"Of course," Tom replied. "Why do things the hard way when magic can do it for you?" He stepped closer, his eyes roaming over you, drinking in your entirety, running the tip of his wand up your arm. "You should know, little snake, I always find a way to catch my prey."

You watched as two dark eyes dipped low, lingering over the thickness of your thighs, fighting against the tendrils of the enchanted carpet that had now crawled tightly around them. You certainly felt like captured prey, tangled in a web of his making, awaiting his next move—and he certainly didn't miss how tantalizingly prepared for him you were, like a gift waiting to be unravelled.

"Impressive, Riddle—you've really outdone yourself this time," you spat the words through clenched teeth, fighting the urge to smack his wand away, battling the unwanted heat pooling in your core. It was the way he was looking at you. The way you wanted him to keep doing it. "Guess you can add 'carpet tamer' to your long list of accolades now, huh?"

Tom huffed, a glint of amusement dancing in his dark eyes as he forced them up to meet yours. The corners of his lips curled upward in a smirk, every pore radiating control. He looked at you as though you were a puzzle he had already solved, a game he had already won.

"Now now, darling, no need to be so dramatic." His free hand reached up and grasped your jaw, kinking your neck back as he stepped closer to you. "Though, I think 'little fucking brat tamer' might be the more notable achievement to add to the list."

Your stomach leapt, your teeth sinking into your tongue for a moment as you fought to gather your sanity. Your defiance was draining like sand in an hourglass.

"Hm." You huffed, the grip on your jaw firm as steel. "Quite the mouthful."

"So I've been told," he shot back, his eyes glinting like shards of glass under the dim light. "You'd know all about mouthfuls, wouldn't you?"

"You fucking wish." You hoped he did.

His smirk deepened, his fingers digging into your skin like iron claws. You could tell he was amused by you, as though you'd just delivered the punchline of the century, as though you were the world's most revered stand-up comedian. It was maddeningly infuriating and dangerously captivating all at once.

"Still wielding that weapon of a tongue, even when you've so clearly lost." He remarked with a click of his own tongue, releasing his grip on your jaw. Stepping back, his eyes devoured the sight of his spell tangled around your thighs. You caught the tension in his jaw before his eyes snapped back to yours. "Tell me, little snake, do you know why I admire this spell so much?"

Your gaze remained fixed on him, anticipation crawling over your skin like a colony of ants as he scrutinized you. You offer him a shake of your head, a scowl etched deep on your features. "Can't read your mind, Riddle. Not everyone is a skilled Legilimens like yourself."

Tom's chuckle rang out, swallowed by the thick tension in the air, suffusing the oxygen you desperately tried to gulp down. He moved to circle you, and you felt his presence looming behind you, his body brushing against yours like a whisper in the wind. One hand found your hip, however softly, as though he was reluctant to touch you.

"It's a very versatile spell, darling," he dismissed your sass, his voice stripped of all emotion as his lips hovered closer to your ear. "The best part being...I know exactly how to manipulate it to get you to listen."

Words withered on your tongue, attitude wilting in your lungs, and oxygen fleeing from your veins—never to return. Tom's looming presence behind you was enough to make your chest constrict, but his words—his words were a different beast altogether. In the countless times he's caught you, never once did you imagine yourself here, like this, with him.

And never once did you imagine yourself enjoying it this fucking much.

"One might describe it as remarkably adaptable, catering to a multitude of desires..." his hand floated away from your hip, his fingers subtly dancing—the coils responding to his ministrations and slithering higher up your thighs. "And you, little brat, have a plethora of desires at this moment, do you not?"

Your jaw nearly smacked the floor as you watched him command the spell without the aid of his wand. You felt your stomach twist into an iron knot, something heating your blood to flame. Perhaps you underestimated him, perhaps you-

"F-fuck-" you gasped as the charmed fibres slithered between your thighs, coiling higher and higher, wrapping around your waist and ensnaring your arms at your sides. The pressure on your cunt sent your head reeling, your entire body quivering. "Tom...what..."

You know Tom is just beaming with satisfaction, the tremor in your voice eliciting a low growl from deep within him as his hold on your hip resumes, his lips teasing the sensitive skin behind your ear.

"Speak up, little doll, articulate your thoughts," he murmured, his words dripping with cunning like poison. "I know you possess an abundance of them."

You suppress a groan, squirming in a futile attempt to free your wrists, to move against the relentless hold. The heat of Tom's presence behind you has your senses in a frenzy. Your head spinning, your body silently yearning for more. You despise how much you're enjoying this, whatever this even is.

You whimper, lids fluttering. "This...this isn't fair..."

"Neither is disobeying the rules every fucking chance you get—but here we are," his hand brushed against your thigh, fingertips barely grazing, his voice drifting further from your ear. "You should understand, this is all your own doing...the charm merely responds to your desires, adapting to fulfill them.”

That insufferable bastard. The list of descriptors you'd use to paint his portrait would stretch longer than the very library you're standing in, and then some. Every time you think you've unraveled his mysteries, he unveils another layer that exposes just how brilliantly twisted he truly is. How charming. How intoxicating.

You loathe him, relish in despising every fiber of his being. Yet you can't deny the fact that he outmaneuvered you, in the most tantalizing manner imaginable.

But still, you attempt to deny it. "That's...that's not..."

He muses. "Isn't it?"

Tom withdraws his hand from your thigh, and almost immediately, you ache for its return, the absence of his touch leaving you yearning. Caught off guard by the tendrils of the charm exerting pressure against your core, teasing over your clit, you squeeze your eyes shut, teeth sinking into your lip to stifle any sounds.

"It appears you have a penchant for challenging me..." his voice is a certain murmur. "It seems the charm knows precisely why.”

All the smugness of a deity himself, a walking, talking colossus among mere mortals. As inevitable as the sunrise each morning. It made you want to bare your teeth at him, but instead, all you could manage was a groan, struggling against the pleasure his charm inflicted upon you.

"I'm not quite certain what you would deem a fitting punishment..." he continues, voice as deep as the depths of your desire. As dark as an all encompassing black hole. "—given the countless ones you've endured in the past months, which have clearly taught you nothing."

You groan again, your head bowing as you gaze down at the tendrils of the enchantment, ensnaring you in the clutches of a man with teeth of diamonds, fingers like razor-sharp claws. It'd been a relentless dance of dominance between you for years, a battle of wills that always seems to end in his favor.

You despise how he effortlessly wields his power over you. How he has so easily read between the lines of your story—knowing precisely the effect he has on your body, knowing exactly what you crave.

You fight back a moan. "Mmmff—fuck..you..."

Tom maneuvers his mouth to your ear, his presence pressing against you from behind, the ghost of his breath caresses your skin as he whispers;

"You wish you could."

Beautiful, insufferable bastard.

"Fuck," you huff through gritted teeth, sweat gathering behind your neck, fingernails biting into your palms as you clench your fists, still battling against the overwhelming pleasure. "Get out of my head.."

You feel a low chuckle resonate against your back, its vibrations stirring something primal within you, his fingers grazing against your side.

"Do you truly believe this is mere manipulation, little snake?" Tom's touch begins to ascend, feather-light and elusive, barely registering against your clothes as he presses closer behind you. "I am intimately acquainted with your desires, darling. I've been privy to them for months." You can almost taste the smugness in his voice. "The truth is fairly simple—you crave me, and you despise yourself for it."

Tom takes a deliberate step back, circling around to stand before you, his gaze sweeping over your disheveled form. Your breath comes in rapid gasps, your skin flushed with desire, and you find yourself unable to tear your eyes away from him. You yearn for more of him, yet you resist acknowledging it, even to yourself.

It's as though he can see your thoughts, his eyes darkening as he drinks you in. "You'd go to any lengths to avoid admitting it, wouldn't you?"

"Gods—" he's right, and you hate him for it. “Mmmf.”

Tom hums softly, his lips barely suppressing a smirk as he steps closer to you. He reaches up, his fingertips brushing against your skin as he tilts your chin, compelling you to meet his gaze.

"How about we try a simple question?" His dark eyes bore into yours, their depths ablaze with a devilish glint. "Do you wish it to stop?"

You're rendered speechless. The egotistic side of you wants you to say yes—while the other, larger part is consumed with an insatiable hunger for more, for him. The charm swirls over your clit, applying increased pressure against your leggings, causing you to bite down on your bottom lip again to stifle a desperate moan. You couldn't answer him if you tried.

Tom's eyes roam over your face, not willing to miss a thing. "Use your words...tell me what you need..."

The sensation against your clit intensifies further, as if dancing to the rhythm of his words. You can feel his gaze boring into you as the heat between your thighs surges, and you realize you're on the brink of climax. And Tom knows it.

"Fuck..." your hips twitch involuntarily—torn between craving more friction and fleeing from it—your mind a whirlwind of uncertainty. Tom brushes his thumb over your bottom lip, his gaze fixed on his own movements, and you feel yourself unraveling, succumbing to the scorching intensity of his eyes—two dark pools of permanent ink. "Tom...please..."

His grip tightens. His jaw clenches. "Say it."

Shame courses through your veins, searing your skin like molten lava, the prickling sensation drowning you. You're on the verge of climaxing from an enchanted carpet, a manifestation of his spell, and the humiliation threatens to consume you.

"I need you-" you gasp, the words tumbling from your lips in a pitiful plea, desperation sinking its claws into your soul. So close...too close. "Please—please, I—I don't want to cum from this—I..."

Oh, but you do. You most certainly fucking do though the mere thought of admitting it feels like a dagger twisting in your gut. Tom's eyes glint with amusement, his head cocked slightly as he regards you with a faux expression of pity, as artificial as the plastic plants in the common room.

"I've truly made a mess of you, haven't I?" His hand glides down from your face, tracing a path along your neck, lightly grazing over your collarbone. "Tell me what you want from me."

Gods, you ache to strike him—yet crave to kiss him and cry out his name with equal fervour. Your defiance lies shattered, a broken relic at your feet.

You peer up at him, pleading. "Please, Tom, please touch me—I need you..."

A smirk toys at his lips, his fingers slipping under your jaw once more to hold you steady as he leans in closer.

"Touch you?" His voice is like a loaded gun, his fingers the bullets—intent cocked and ready to annihilate, but instead he taunts you, keeps you on edge, pressing the barrel against your temple just to see the look in your eyes. "You want me, the man you so madly fucking detest, to touch you."

You lack the strength to command him to go to hell, but oh, how you wish you did. Just to witness his reaction, to see what he’d do next. Despite his appalling self-assurance, you can see behind the mask—see how he is genuinely taken aback by your submission, as though he never expected you to surrender, to confess your desire for him.

"Tom, please..." you beg, trembling with anticipation, your impending climax a rapidly swelling tide. "I want you...I want you to make me cum—you-you win."

Tom pulls back from your ear to regard you, his gaze fully focused this time. He takes in the sight of you—trembling, panting, wide-eyed before him—his expression conveying complete contentment in simply observing you as you struggle to persuade him to touch you.

That familiar taunting grin lingers upon his lips, uncontainable, and you know he's relishing this moment far too much.

"I know," he says softly, his thumb tracing your jawline as his hand falls to your neck. "I always do, don't I, little doll..."

His voice drifts over you like smoke, thick and intoxicating, wrapping around you in a dizzying embrace. The intensity of the charm wavers slightly, granting you a momentary reprieve to catch your breath as Tom leans in, so close that you can feel his exhales caressing your lips. Your head spins, every sense overwhelmed by his presence.

"But you deserve this—" he continues, his voice a rumble like thunder through your veins. "—you deserve to be humiliated like this, to break for me without my hands ever touching you." His mouth hovers just millimeters from yours, taunting you with its nearness. "This is your punishment, little doll...and you're going to take it."

The pleasure between your thighs swells once more as the charm resumes its sinuous movements and you can't suppress the moan that escapes your lips, mingling with the groan of utter frustration. All you can do is stare at him.

Tom hums, amused. "Because you revel in it, don't you? Being a little disobedient brat..."

Your eyes glaze over, your pulse soaring as Tom's breath once again brushes against your parted lips. The ache for him is almost unbearable, as if he's injected something into your veins, rendering you unable to function without him. It's maddening, in the most exquisite way imaginable.

"You're-ohh-fuck.." your voice comes out as a moan, low and breathy, the words trailing off as the charm adds pressure to your clit, stars dancing at the edges of your vision. "Gods..."

"There we go, just as I like you,” he murmurs, his fingers tracing over your jaw. "Unable to unleash that pretty little mouth. Perfectly shattered for me."

You clench around nothing, yearning to scoff. "Mmmf—never..."

Tom chuckles at your feeble attempt at defiance, though the sound carries a hollow, half-hearted quality. You both know you've passed the point of return. His fingers trace along the edge of your jaw, until his palm cradles your face, his thumb brushing gently across your lips.

"Is that so?" He murmurs softly, his dark eyes locked onto yours. "Well then, go ahead...let that pretty mouth run wild...prove that your defiance is more than just an act..."

The way he wields his power has you teetering on the brink of madness, and you despise the fact that you've revelled in every torturous moment of it. You long to snap back, to wield your tongue, to curse him—anything to grasp onto even a shred of control. But every fucking word is a struggle, every moment not focused on your breathing is an achievement.

You squeeze your eyes shut, channeling all the energy you have left. "You...you're such an...arrogant—mmf—I...I hate you..."

"Mhm. You hate me." He cooes. "And yet, here you are..." his voice is as soft as feathers, as warm as the morning sun, the unmistakable taunt laced within. His thumb presses against your bottom lip, slipping between your teeth. "...falling apart for a mere spell, begging for me, for my touch..."

You feel Tom's thumb pressing against your tongue as you whimper. You attempt to speak, to convey something, but instead, you find yourself instinctively sucking lightly against his thumb in response.

"Mm." Tom's brow lifts slightly, amusement dancing in his eyes. He seems pleased with your reaction. "A much better use for that mouth."

You're beyond caring about the way he's taunting you, how he's systematically humiliated and debased you, stripping away every ounce of defiance without ever even touching your skin. Tremors wrack your body from the overwhelming sensations, rendering coherent thought nearly impossible.

Your head lolls to the side, constrained by his hand, as waves of pleasure crash over you, your climax approaching rapidly and dangerously.

"Fuck-I'm..." you manage to squeak, his thumb still nestled in your mouth. "Mmmf-"

Tom's eyes darken with satisfaction as he watches you unravel, his thumb pressing deeper into your mouth, a silent command for you to keep sucking. The enchantment continues its relentless assault—tightening around you, swirling over your clit and amplifying the pleasure until it's almost unbearable.

"Go on," he murmurs, his voice a blend of silk and steel. "Let go for me. Show me just how much you need this."

Your body trembles violently, your muscles tensing as the climax rips through you. You can't hold back the moan that escapes around his thumb, your entire being consumed by the intensity of the release that you've desperately fought off for so long. Tom's grip on your jaw tightens, keeping you in place, ensuring you can't escape the exquisite torment he's orchestrated.

"There it is," he whispers, his breath hot against your ear. "Perfectly broken, just for me."

Your eyes are squeezed shut so tightly it's almost painful, his thumb buried in your mouth muffling any sounds of pleasure that threaten to escape. The evidence of your desire pools between your thighs, your embarrassment stripping you raw as you slowly begin to return to reality, the spell gradually losing its grip around you.

You struggle to find your breath, your thoughts, your sanity, but Tom doesn't grant you much reprieve before he's tugging your head back towards his, forcing you to focus on him.

"You should see yourself." He withdraws his thumb from your mouth, trailing the remnants of saliva over your cheek as he assesses you. "You're a vision."

You try to summon the strength to argue, to reclaim some semblance of defiance, but the attempt dies in your throat, unable to comprehend the fact that those words sounded like a fucking compliment. Your body is trembling with the aftershocks of your climax, and you can only manage a soft whimper. He looks at you as if you are his masterpiece, perfectly crafted and beautifully ruined.

"Remember this, little snake," he whispers, his breath ghosting over your lips. "Remember how easily I can break you. How much you crave it."

You exhale slowly as you feel the charm dissipate, the carpet settling back into its rightful place at your feet. Tom's hand falls away from your face, but the tension between you remains palpable, neither of you daring to make a move.

"And as for the book," he adds, his eyes flashing to the bookshelf behind you, the one home to the Occlumency text you borrowed. "You may want to keep it. You're not nearly as skilled as you think you are."

And with that, he smooths out his uniform and strides past you without a second glance.

thank you to my babies @doremimosasol and @pizzaapeteer for proofreading this. means the world to me🖤