#free love spells chants

[rippersz]

thank you for blessing us with your Lilia fics 🥹🫠

Here, have another. - Rip x

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𝙏𝙝𝙚 𝙍𝙤𝙨𝙚

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(Lilia Calderu x Fem!Reader) (Song Fic; Fluffy; Character Study; Angsty; Love Confession) (~3.4k words)

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There was a time once in history when Lilia Calderu wanted to be a performer. 

She sang the songs and recited the rituals of her coven, she honed her voice for incantations and for spells, and when the time came for her to grow up, it was rumoured that her talent was so strong, so steady and intense, that even the goddesses could hear it. For a while, it made her popular. The girls loved to listen to soft lullabies before bed, the superior witches enjoyed her singing at their events, even her maestra, at times, asked for a little tune to help get her through the rest of the evening. Most nights, when everyone was already fast asleep, Lilia would lie awake in her bed and try to picture a life of free vocal pleasure. A life where she could be an adored witch and an even better performer, one with the light feet of a dancer and the voice of an angel. A woman so good she could travel the continent, go beyond Sicily, see the fruits of the world, and be loved by all for what she could do.

It was, for what was really such a short period of time, a lovely existence. Then, gradually, unexpectedly, and terribly, her life began to pause and resume out of order, transporting her to versions of herself she had yet to meet. And though she did see those unfamiliar places, the world beyond Sicily, she was never faced with the loving, excited crowd. Most times, it was pitchforks and threats, angry faces of strange men and women, children with teary eyes, and licks of fire cast toward her body. She had never seen such fear in her life, never felt hatred so strong it seemed like a physical presence, and after a short while, Lilia Calderu realised that instead of becoming a beloved singer and performer, she was destined to run and hide for most of her life. 

It came as no surprise that when the gaps got so powerful, so frequent and so bad that sometimes she didn’t remember an entire day, the coven lost their combined interest in her talent. It fizzled out and eventually became a secret kept to herself. A faded myth that some girls chattered about to newcomers. The only person who heard her sing from that point forward was her maestra. The old woman didn’t care for Lilia’s reputation, she only cared for her talent. Both within magic and outside of it. So sometimes after their lessons, unpredictably to keep Lilia on her toes, her maestra would request a song. On one afternoon it would be a ritual tune, on another it would be a chant, and some evenings she asked Lilia to sing something–anything–just so the two of them could enjoy a bit of peace. 

And so Lilia would sing. She would sing, sing her heart out, and she would watch the way her maestra closed her wise eyes and swayed back and forth to the sound of Lilia’s music. Those moments in her life were the ones most cherished. When she closed her eyes, they were just as vivid as the day she experienced them for the first time: the soft waves of the ocean kissing the shoreline and the great rocks of the coast, the setting sun nearly over the horizon, filling the atmosphere with great wisps of pink and purple-tinged stratus clouds, the air smelling of whatever the cooks had prepared for supper. Her maestra in her chair, tipping her head back, enjoying the lilt of Lilia’s voice until she faded into silence and the old woman opened her eyes, straightened her posture, and gave Lilia only two claps before rushing her off inside. She could picture their moments in the garden just as easily, the birds and the wildlife scurrying in the underbrush and the burrows and the trees, the smells of rich forest plants, vines, and flowers, the way the sun reflected off of the gazebo’s carved stone pillars, the familiar comfort of the bench whenever she sat down across from her. It was a unique paradise, a home she understood she would never have again. 

And a community she would never have again. 

Once the coven forgot about her voice, she mainly used it for herself. On slow walks around the grounds, she would hum, during her soaks in the bath, she would whistle, and whenever she had a moment alone in a secluded place, a place of utter tranquillity, of silence and precious independence, she would belt. She would belt and she would croon in every key she could and she would do it until her throat hurt or it got too late or she couldn’t think of anything else to perform. 

That’s why you never interrupted her singing in the shower. 

It was loud every time, louder than the water and the washing, and it would reverberate off of the tiles and the mirror and it would hit your ears through the thin walls, but you never dared ask her to stop. You couldn’t. 

No, not that you couldn’t because Lilia would most definitely stop if you wanted her to but that was just it - that was the last thing you wanted. 

Lilia’s voice was polished marble. It was richer than sweet chocolate, huskier than the tang of whiskey, more gentle than the fur of a kitten. It was steady, it succeeded in its rhythm, its measure, its keys and its choruses and whenever you heard the shower curtain slide open and the water turn on, you knew to prepare yourself for a performance. 

And always, without fail, it was a performance you got.

Sometimes it was a happy one, a joyous loud one where her voice went gravelly as she tried to emulate a rockstar. Sometimes it was an angry one, when she sang with a growl and a bite to her lyrics. Sometimes, most times, it was sad and melancholic, ringing and chirping like an operatic bird, and tinged with so much history and pain that you worried if she was as alright as she claimed to be. Perhaps, you thought, it was a form of therapy. That was her release. To spread the swirl of talent and desperation that built up in her body, eager to be revealed to the clouds, the cosmos, the world. It was her history, coiled up like springs, and every time she disappeared into that unique space of music, it was like they all burst up at once. History springing everywhere, bouncing from the tiles, painting the foggy air of the bathroom as Lilia stood beneath hot water and opened her mouth and released. 

You imagined her there, shaking with the force of her own voice, closing her eyes, curls wet and plastered to the back of her neck, her shoulders, and letting the power take hold - not in a witch’s way but in a mortal’s way. In a way that spoke to centuries of pain, of wonder, of exploration. You couldn’t remember the moment she told you she liked her water scalding hot, but you never had a doubt as ‘steamy’ seemed to be the bathroom’s atmosphere whenever she walked out from a shower. The two of you mutually agreed to disable the second smoke detector in the flat that, for some reason, was on the ceiling in the same hallway and would have no doubt gone off every time Lilia wanted to wash up. 

It was quite endearing to see her slip out followed by a gust of steam, sporting reddened skin and messy damp curls plastered to her head and neck. She looked like a wet puppy. A wet puppy that was very hard to look at, partly because she needed the privacy to get dressed but also because she often walked out in nothing but a towel. A single red bath towel, wrapped around the top of her bust that fell below her knees. The first time you’d walked into the hallway and saw that, you backpedalled into your room so fast you nearly fell and cracked your head open on the floor. It was embarrassing sporting a blush for the rest of the evening, but she didn’t seem to notice - or perhaps didn’t care. 

And why would she? You were two women. You could be normal about things like that. About bodies and nudity and the curves of the female figure and the curves of Lilia’s body specifically.

Yes, absolutely. Normal. You could be normal.

You could be normal about the shower singing. 

You could be normal when Lilia sang of love.

You could be normal when she sang of love in different languages like French and Latin and Sicilian and Greek and something else, something ancient, that you’d never heard before.

You could be normal when her voice dipped into a low husk as she cooed, emulating the style, the niche, of a beautifully dressed jazz singer in a dimly lit jazz bar.

You could be normal when she hummed something light and sweet beneath her breath, dressing her voice up as the garlands of Spring. 

You could be normal when she poured her entire heart into a note. 

You could be normal when she stole your mind away with a whistle.

You could be totally normal about things like that. 

You could be totally normal about it all.

Totally normal. 

Yeah.

Nothing but normalcy. 

───༺༻───

You had a favourite song. 

It was stupid. So stupid. You weren’t sure how you allowed it to happen, but it happened and because of it, you were screwed. Screwed. So stupid…

You had a favourite song. 

She sang it the same way every time, with soft prolonged vowels and crystal clear tones, like windchimes and violins. She sang with heart, with soul, her tongue was fluid in the first verse, her inflection lilting and gentle in the second, and her mouth shook with power as she belted the third. A mezzo-soprano through and through you came to learn after looking it up one day (just another example of your foolishness). 

You had a favourite song. 

It was cold honey in her mouth, made for her voice, crafted for most of her range. For the sweet and soft, the careful and gentle, to the rough and loud, strong and courageous. She could roar and whisper, cry and laugh, be righteous and upset all at once. It was so moving the first time you heard it, the spoon you were washing fell right out of your hands. 

Some say love, it is a river

That drowns the tender reed

A sharp breath. A trip of your body as your heart ran right to a stop. 

Some say love, it is a razor

That leaves your soul to bleed

You’d heard her sing about romance before, in all possible forms and ways, but you never expected those words from her lips. 

Some say love, it is a hunger

An endless aching need

They were familiar. You already knew them. You’d learned when you were young, when you still had the chance to sing with your mother, with your grandmother, and harmonise when you weren’t too shy. Granted, none of you could harmonise very well, but that wasn’t the point. All that mattered was how you knew it, sang it, together.

I say love, it is a flower

And you, its only seed

Your mouth moved with hers, only silence flowing from your throat, and you closed your eyes as your body melted against the sink. You followed her pause, her break, imagining the instruments there to fill the blank space, and took a deep breath when she continued.

It's the heart, afraid of breaking

That never learns to dance

It felt so nice to listen, to recognise the music and the shifts, and you pressed one hand to your heart so you could feel its beat as you heard. So you knew that it was still going, that you hadn’t died and Lilia wasn’t an angel singing you to Heaven. 

It's the dream, afraid of waking

That never takes the chance

You’d never told Lilia about your music taste. You feared that saying anything would result in an accidental slip and that your soul would spill out before you could do anything to keep it inside. You couldn’t have that, you couldn’t ruin everything you built, so you sat in your songs and you listened to the ones she sang, remembering the lyrics and copying them into Google as soon as you had a moment alone. You connected in silence. You appreciated her compassion by listening at night, before sleep, and betrayed your heart by wishing she was there next to you to sing it rather than in the other room, already drifting away into dreamland. You wanted to cross the bridge, to bring your adoration up to her and put it in her lap and tell her how in awe you were, but you never felt like it was your place. 

It's the one who won't be taken

Who cannot seem to give

Then she opened her mouth and sang out your childhood, the sum of your warm memories, and suddenly you were crying like a baby in your little apartment kitchen, looking around through a curtain of tears at everything you’d made together. 

And the soul, afraid of dying

That never learns to live

Was it going to kill you? Keeping it inside? Telling yourself that being normal about Lilia, resisting the temptations of love, was better than being rejected? That’s never how the stories ended, did they? If no one confessed, then it was a life lived wrong. If things were unsaid, it was an opportunity lost. If you didn’t tell Lilia, then it was another dead end. 

When the night has been too lonely

And the road has been too long

Oh her belt. Oh she way she sang. Harrowed, lost, speaking of times she was familiar with, loneliness that she knew like the back of her hand, a road she’d been travelling since the day she was born. 

And you think that love is only

For the lucky and the strong

Something she never had, something she could never keep for herself, no love for Lilia Calderu because she was not lucky and she was rarely strong. She lived her life in pieces, luck was not a friend, and she ran from every place where she found solace, and strength was never a lesson learned. 

Just remember in the winter

Far beneath the bitter snows

But that didn’t mean time stopped moving or stopped passing. It didn’t mean the world took love away on purpose. She knew this. She understood that life was meant to be lived a certain way, and that for her it was different. But who needed linear time when she had nonlinear time? Who needed order when she experienced the bits out of order, over and over, and found that still, in every space, in every world, she maintained her talent and her passion? 

Lies the seed that with the sun's love

In the spring becomes the rose

Who needed desolation and exhaustion and hopelessness when hope was so strong? So eager to persevere?

Why did Lilia need to believe that she could not be loved if you were there to love her? 

“Darling? What’s wrong?” 

You were dry-heaving, clutching at your chest like it would stop the breaking of your heart, the cracks and the fractures, and you were so loud that you didn’t hear the bathroom door open. Tears made your cheeks warm and your breaths, your sobs, turned you red. The world was numb, only a collection of brief sounds, but Lilia’s voice, as it always did, pulled you back. She was blurry behind tears, but you looked at her anyway, pitiful and sad, and didn’t even bother to hide when she ran forward in her towel and tugged you into her warm arms. 

“Did something happen?” She whispered, patting at your hair, doing all she could to soothe you, and you could only cry harder against her shoulder. 

Smelling her shampoo, feeling the natural warmth of her soft skin, revelling in the grounding sensation of loose drops of water smearing from her hair onto your head and neck, unable to hold yourself back from wrapping your arms around her and holding on like she’d fall to sand otherwise. These were the things that made you break. 

“I love you,” your voice was barely there, not even a whisper, as you spoke against her skin. “I love you.” 

“What? What are you saying, honey? Speak up, baby, let me help you.” She sounded so worried, so pained, so shocked but determined to help, and you shook your head to rid yourself of fog. 

“I love you.” It was a croak. “I love you.” A louder croak. Until you were repeating it into her shoulder, falling apart against her body, clutching her like a dead man to life. “I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you Lilia. I love you Lilia. I’m so sorry, I love you.” I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. It was all you knew. It was all you felt. 

“I’m in love with you.” A huff of breath, a final stutter, as you swallowed harshly and sniffled and cleared your throat. Your eyes burned something fierce, still red and puffy and wet, but you kept them open and stared at the side of her neck when you said it again. “I am in love with you.” It was a shameful whisper, an out of place declaration, but you were overwhelmed and she was there to hold you and you felt like nothing else mattered in that little moment. Only your love for her. Only Lilia. 

She was quiet. Her hands still moved, running along your back over your shirt, patting down your hair, resting her chin on your shoulder. She was quiet. 

“Was it the song?” She whispered, and you nodded. “Was I too loud?” 

“No,” you said too quickly, loosening your grip, preparing to move away, but Lilia didn’t budge. Not a single muscle moved. And so you held on again, surprised, and admitted softly, “You were perfect.” 

She was still quiet. For a little while, that’s how it was. Your heart began its slow recovery, piecing itself together, readying the battle stations for the moment she properly rejected you, and you shook lightly in her arms while you tried regulating your emotions. And Lilia was still and quiet. Petting you, holding you, not worried at all about her towel or how much water was getting on the floor. You were going to mention it, going to try and move on from the moment so you could return to the way things were as if you hadn’t just poured your soul out to her like you always told yourself you wouldn’t, but then something happened. 

Her throat moved against your ear, a light buzz, then a louder one. 

“Lies the seed,” she sang softly, “that with the sun's love… in the spring… becomes the rose,” she trailed off, slowly, into a gentle hum, and your heart trembled, barely holding on, and you almost choked on your breaths when Lilia finally moved. 

Her hands were gentle, detaching you from her, slowly pulling back so soft damp palms could move up to cup your cheeks. There was only one place to look, into those deep amber eyes, and you felt your expression crumble when you saw the quiver of her lips, the tears, the furrow of her dark brows, the way her curls stuck to the sides of her face. No makeup, no armour, no magic, bare for the world to see, open and vulnerable in a way never experienced, felt, witnessed before. You looked at her, stunned, and saw the fear and the hesitation in her gaze. She was so scared, so worried about the consequences, about what would happen if love once again only favoured the lucky and the strong. But the desperation lurked - the same need you saw in yourself. The knowledge that to keep it inside was to kill. 

And why succumb to death when you could love instead? 

“You are my sun,” Lilia breathed, raspy and gentle, her chest heaving with breath. Her cheek twitched like she wanted to smile, but you were frozen, and you could only look at her like a lost child. “And I love you.” 

And she loved you. 

And she loved you. 

And she loved you. 

Lucky and strong.

Your rose. 

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The Rose by Bette Midler you will always be famous... - Rip x

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[solxamber]

WOAH CAN I REQUEST LILIA X AN NPC THAT HE GROWS ATTRACTED TO (romantic) AND THOUGHT SOME USE OF MAGIC THEY GET TO HIS WORLD?! AND THEY GET TOGETHER? PLEASE

Lilia Vanrouge x NPC! Reader

thank you for the request, I hope you like it <3

Lilia Vanrouge is an old fae who has seen many things in his long life. He has fought in wars, ruled lands, and babysat a dragon prince. Yet nothing could have prepared him for the strange obsession that takes over him the moment he picks up a copy of the hottest new game in Twisted Wonderland: "Kingdoms & Chaos: Celestial Knight's Quest."

It starts innocently enough. A little late-night entertainment to pass the time while Silver is napping (read: fainted from exhaustion), Malleus is out being mysterious, and Sebek is… well, Sebek-ing somewhere.

But then you appear.

As the Commander of the Celestial Knights—an NPC of all things—you steal Lilia’s heart without even trying. Not only are you charming and competent, but you also manage to dish out some fantastic one-liners as you lead the virtual army across the battlefield with a grace that’s almost unmatched.

"Ah, what a lovely evening," Lilia hums, as the glow of his screen reflects off his ever-youthful face. “So peaceful, so quiet… Oh look, an army of marauding orcs attacking the village!” he says gleefully, mashing buttons with expert skill.

Then you arrive on the screen. Your character, standing tall, sword drawn, voice commanding: “We shall protect this land at all costs!”

Lilia gasps softly. He’s heard you say this line a dozen times, but for some reason, tonight it hits different. You’re so determined… so strong… and that armor—why, it looks splendid on you!

“How intriguing” he muses to himself with a teasing grin. “If only you were real, darling Commander. I’d have such fun seeing how well you could lead in the real world… Imagine, conquering lands by my side…”

Suddenly, an idea forms in Lilia’s mischievous brain.

Never one to back down from a challenge (even if it’s entirely self-imposed and objectively absurd), Lilia decides to play around with some light magical experimentation. After all, what could possibly go wrong with trying to summon a fictional character into reality?

"Just a harmless spell," Lilia assures himself as he draws up a complicated sigil on the floor of his room. He’s chanting in ancient fae tongue, eyes gleaming with excitement.

For a brief moment, nothing happens.

Lilia huffs. “How disappointing… Perhaps I’ve—"

POOF!

Before him stands… you. Armor and all.

You blink in confusion. One moment, you were standing on the battleground, barking orders at your troops in a rather intense cutscene. The next moment, you find yourself standing in what appears to be someone’s bedroom, staring at a very smug-looking man with fangs.

“Where am I? What is this place?!” You exclaim, grabbing for your sword instinctively.

Lilia claps his hands together, delight shining in his eyes. “Welcome to my world, darling! Oh, I knew that spell would work eventually. You’re even more dazzling in person!”

You gape at him. “What… how did I—what kind of magic is this?!”

“Oh, just a little something I whipped up,” he says nonchalantly. “It’s all very simple, really. Though, now that you’re here, I suppose I should give you a tour of the place! Maybe a drink? A lovely stroll under the moonlight?”

You eye him suspiciously. “You… summoned me? But I’m just a—”

“NPC?” Lilia interrupts with a smirk. “Not anymore! You’re free to do as you wish here. Consider yourself the main character now, hm?”

You lower your sword slightly, starting to process what just happened. This man is utterly insane…

And yet, there’s something oddly intriguing about his carefree attitude. And he’s undeniably… attractive?

Adjusting to life outside of a game isn’t easy. For one thing, you have to deal with all these strange, non-player characters called “people,” who seem to have minds of their own. You no longer have the comfort of pre-determined dialogue options either, which is quite jarring.

The most bizarre thing, though, is that Lilia keeps flirting with you.

At first, you try to ignore it, chalking it up to the fact that he’s just messing with you. But it’s hard to ignore when he leans in close to you with a teasing smile every time you so much as yawn.

“Tired, Commander?” Lilia whispers in your ear one evening, his breath tickling your skin. “You should rest… After all, we wouldn’t want you collapsing in battle.”

Your cheeks flush red as you stammer out a response. “I-I’m not tired! And there’s no battle! This isn’t the game!”

He chuckles, clearly enjoying how flustered you’ve become. “But of course! How silly of me. Though, you should know… you’ve already won this battle.”

“What battle?!”

“The battle for my heart,” Lilia says smoothly, winking at you.

Your face burns hotter, and you try to hide behind a pillow. “What kind of nonsense are you even talking about?!”

Lilia just grins and pats your head fondly. “You’ll understand soon enough, my dear Commander.”

Days turn into weeks, and while you initially found Lilia’s antics annoying, you start to realize that he genuinely cares for you. He’s always looking out for you, guiding you through this strange new world with a patience you never expected from someone so chaotic.

One night, while you’re sitting outside under the stars, you find yourself staring at him longer than usual. He’s so carefree and confident, yet there’s a softness to him when he talks to you.

And that’s when it hits you.

*Oh no… I’m falling for him.*

Lilia notices your staring and smirks. “What’s this? Are you finally seeing my charm, darling Commander?”

You groan and cover your face. “Why must you always be so insufferably smug?”

“I can’t help it if I’m irresistible,” Lilia teases, leaning in closer. “Tell me, do I make your heart race?”

You try to deny it, but you know it’s true. Your heart is racing, and it’s all because of him.

Finally, after a long pause, you sigh in defeat. “Alright, fine… maybe you do make my heart race a little.”

Lilia’s eyes widen slightly in surprise before a genuine smile crosses his lips. “Is that so? Well then, I suppose I should reward you for your honesty.”

Before you can respond, Lilia leans in and presses his lips to yours in a soft, sweet kiss. It’s nothing grand or dramatic—just simple and sincere.

When he pulls away, you’re left breathless, your heart pounding in your chest.

“Well,” you mumble, still dazed. “I suppose this means I’ve won.”

Lilia chuckles softly, his forehead resting against yours. “Perhaps… But you’re not the only one who’s victorious tonight, darling.”

Masterlist

[bunnyreaper]

Baby!!! I absolutely love love love force breeding with soap!

Can i get one with Ghost as well! 🥺🥺🥺

Please.

tw dubcon/non-con - this is incoherent I’m sorry

simon would be so fucking underhanded about it. you thought johnny was manipulative? simon is pulling the strings all along.

the second he laid eyes on you, saw the way you looked at him, he knew you were the only one who have his kids. every day since you’ve followed him around with those puppy dog eyes and that nurturing soul. how could he not fall for you?

but then came the spanner in the works, the one thing simon didn’t see coming. despite your love for kids, your protective nature over any little ones that you find on missions, the adoring way you treat your nephews and nieces…

you weren’t ready for kids, and you’re not sure if you ever would be.simon couldn’t deal with it.

it started with poking holes in the condoms without your knowledge, after all even the tiniest amount could be enough to change everything. he’d gotten the idea by accident really, after once fucking you like crazy and having the condom split around his thick cock. then he started to sabotages them on purpose, them splitting open inside you more often than not. sometimes you wouldn’t notice, sometimes you wouldn’t. despite his intentional recklessness, his seed hadn’t taken root in you.

so he’d begged, just once, to be able to fuck you raw. little did you know just once would be enough though.

at first, you’d protested, whining to simon about how you both needed to be more careful, that now wasn’t the time, that you just weren’t ready yet. simon had swallowed your protests with kisses, shushed your worries and dropped the subject—but the idea had already taken root, he’d chipped away just a little at your resolve.

he promised he wouldn’t cum inside, and of course you trusted him, but that wasn’t what convinced you to let him inside. it was that accidental confession, when he’d apparently had one too many bourbons—“sorry love, can’t stop thinking ‘bout it, never done that with anyone before. never trusted anyone enough.”

those words had been like a magical spell unlocking your resistance. such a stoic man, one who had taken so long to get to know, and here he was being vulnerable, offering you a first, and such an intimate one at that. you couldn’t resist.

so that night, you’d let him kiss you deeper. let him make you fall apart over and over on his fingers and hands before finally, finally, he pushed himself through your folds into your sopping hole, no barriers between you.

it was electric to you, the feeling of his uncovered cock inside you, for simon it was a life-changing experience, one he knew he couldn’t turn back from ever again. now he’d had you like this, bare cunt coating his dick, womb just waiting to be flooded his cum, he knew he couldn’t go back to stuffing himself into those stupid fucking rubbers you made him wear.

he pins you to the bed with your hips, giving you no way to wriggle free even if you wanted to, as he closes his eyes and chants your name, groans into your ear over and over again. he has you lost in the feeling, in the intimacy of it all, so much so you don’t even notice the tell tales signs of his impending orgasm.

it’s too late when you’re screaming for him, cunt accidentally milking every single drop of his cum from him. just this once you’d told him, not knowing once was all simon needed to breed you full of his baby.

[20doozers]

★Expirimenting★

TW: nipple play, a bit of teasing, mostly porn without plot, experimenting, vanilla Georg, sub!bottom Georg, slight edging, hands free orgasm

A/N: I posted this an hour ago and I just noticed I spelled experimenting wrong I’m so sorry😭 I might be dyslexic

Georg huffed as you pushed him onto the bed, his shirt off and his belt being undone by your speedy hands as you caught his lips in a soft kiss, your tongue gently swiping at his lips in a way of asking for entrance. Georg quickly granted the wish with a low grunt as you began to palm him through his jeans, your tongue probing and exploring the inside of his mouth as he laid there beneath you. You and Georg had made a bet and now Georg was suffering his consequences.

It was a late night and nobody was home, bill and Tom were shopping, and Gustav was with his girlfriend. Which meant you and Georg had the house all to yourselves for a few hours. Just enough time for-

“Please..” Georg pleaded, whimpering as he broke the kiss and stared up at you with lust glazed eyes, wanting you to just touch him already. Your hands quickly unzipped his jeans, getting up for just a moment to help him take his jeans off, leaving him in just his boxers. Poor Georg didn’t think it was fair that you got to stay fully clothed and he was the one almost naked, a small pout of protest forming on his lips as you crawled back on top of him as straddled his hips, his back leaned against the headboard and pillows.

“So needy already?” You cooed teasingly, grinding your hips lightly to press against the bulge in his boxers which drew a sweet moan from his pink, pouty lips. He loved when you were dominant, it make him feel all warm and fuzzy inside, not to mention it was a nice change, even if he was a bit vanilla in the bedroom. Yet what Georg didn’t expect was you to stop grinding, earning a quiet whine of protest from him as he opened his eyes to look up at you. Yet the moment he did they fluttered shut with a gasp, the unexpected sensation of your thumb gently brushing over one of his nipples making him shiver.

It felt strange to Georg, your thumb gently rubbing his left nipple as he laid there. He wasn’t sure about how he felt about it, not used to something so.. unusual? He’d never had his nipples played with before, but it felt nice. Your thumb gently brushed back and forth over his left nipple, your other hand pinching at the other small rosy bud of his right nipple. Georg’s moans and soft mewls were unlike any other, sweet and full of eroticism due to how good it felt. His eyes were glossy with lust and arousal, lips parted as pants and soft noises of pleasure fell from them, struggling to keep his eyes open. The poor boy was usually so dominant and stoic but he looked oh so sweet beneath you..

“That feels good, doesn’t it?” You cooed almost teasingly, smirking as he gave a quick nod.

“S-so gut..” He managed to groan out, his eyes fluttering shut as his hips weakly bucked up against yours. Your hands closely ceased movement on his nipples, leaning down to capture one between your lips and lightly tugging at it, earning an almost pornographic moan as his eyes squeezed even tighter shut.

You knew Georg was usually a pretty stoic guy, not ever expressing much besides grunts and groans, but his moans sounded so sweet and full of pleasure. You were almost entranced, basically torturing his nipples as you licked, sucked, tugged, etc. yet you were pulled out of your thoughts by Georg’s whiny voice.

“Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck-“ he chanted, the word ‘fuck’ falling from his lips like some sort of mantra. His head was thrown back and he was basically writhing underneath you as he moaned and mewled.

“Schieß oh- oh sheiße-“ his voice only got higher pitched, as his moans got more and more frequent and the pleasure swirling low in his belly got stronger and stronger.

“Y-y/n.. I think- I think I’m gonna-“ he let out one last loud sound, a mix between a moan and a grunt before he slowly fell quiet, blissfully laying there as quiet whimpers and soft mewls fell from his lips. You sighed and gently pulled away from the swollen bud, marveling at the pink and sensitive looking flesh before looking up at Georg’s blissed out face.

“Already came? I haven’t even gotten your boxers off baby..” you cooed softly, gently trailing kisses from his pecks up his neck and jaw before ending with a sweet kiss on his lips. There was a wet spot in his boxers over the crotch but you didn’t mind, as long as he felt good you didn’t care.

YAYY! I actually kinda like this one, not my fav but I’m pushing a deadline😣 I’m sorry it’s short but the Georg boys need fics too. I haven’t had much motivation to actually finish fish because they usually end up scrapped. Also thank you guys for 200 followers!! I can’t believe I’ve gotten this far in my writing. Love you guys💕

Tags: @itsmealaiah @cosmicck @tomssexdoll @billskeis @madzandmore @cherry-rawr @goreishgorinthgoreofshits @itsangelll

Let me know if you’d like to be on my taglist!

[wholoveseggs]

Hey lovely, today request from me🥰

I got struck on an idea where reader tried to dominate Elijah but always fail so, she get Klaus help with some magical witchy rope or something to subdue him, which was successful.

Tho here's the thing, reader is inexperienced in doing something like that and not prepped enough to take him, cuz y'know Elijah is big.. hehehe😌🤭so she started tear up, and ask for his help. Elijah being a smug he is punish her happily after...can you added a sprinkle of daddy kink and overstimulation, pretty puh-lease with the cherry on top🙏🥺

Oh btw your story always superb 🤩 😁

Bindings

18+ ---- {Masterlist} {Tag-List}

You ask Davina for help with creating something to tie up Elijah... only for you to get in way over your head. Luckily, he is in a forgiving mood.

♡♡ Thanks for the request anon! I decided to change it from Klaus to Davina, because I just can't see Klaus being okay with you essentially making a weapon against his family... Even if the reason behind it is just for some kinky fun ♡♡

4.9k words - Warnings: smut, *magical* bondage, dom!elijah, daddy!kink, spanking, choking, sex toys and a whole lotta praise...

You sat in Davina's greenhouse, looking around at all the various plants and flowers the young witch had collected. You had asked Davina to meet up with you to help with a problem, one that was a bit awkward to even say out loud, but you knew that she of all people would understand.

You watched her browse through her books, trying to find the spell you had requested. After a few moments, Davina had found the page and started gathering the items needed.

"Davina?" you said.

She looked up from the table and gave you a curious look. "Yeah?"

"You don't think this is a little crazy? I mean, it's a bit of a long shot."

Davina smiled. "Not at all. I may have.... tried it myself... with Kol," she replied, looking away with a light blush.

Your eyes went wide. "Oh, my God. It worked?"

She shrugged trying to appear cool, but her mischievous grin gave away her answer. You smiled back and the two of you quickly dissolved into a fit of giggles.

After the laughter had calmed down, you looked at her questioningly. "So, how does it work?"

Davina took a seat on the couch next to you and showed you the spell she had found.

"The basic binding is actually quite simple, it's the ingredients that are tricky," she explained, "luckily I have white oak ash, and the rest should be easy to find."

You nodded and listened intently as Davina read through the list of ingredients and their uses. She began by grinding the herbs and mixing them in a bowl, followed by the white oak ash.

Once the mixture was complete, Davina took a long silk rope that you had provided and dipped it in the bowl. She held the rope above the bowl, letting the excess liquid drip off as she chanted the incantation.

"Done," Davina announced, handing you the now-dry rope. "It will keep him bound and unable to break free. You can use it any way you'd like." She grinned, giving you a knowing look.

You couldn't believe how easy it had been, that you were so close to fulfilling a long-held fantasy of yours. "Thank you, Davina. You're the best," you said, pulling her into a hug.

She hugged you back, giggling as she pulled away. "One more thing, if you need to break the spell, just say 'confractus' and it will untie itself,"

You nodded, thanking her again before making your way home, the rope clutched tightly in your hand.

It was the most expensive piece of clothing you had ever purchased. It wasn't even something you could wear outside your bedroom, but damn, did it make you feel sexy.

The lingerie was a red, sheer babydoll dress with black lace trim, and it was paired with a matching thong and stockings. You had never worn anything so revealing before, but you knew Elijah would like it, and that was all that mattered.

You wanted to get him all worked up, break down the gentleman facade, make him want you so badly that he would do whatever you asked. You had been waiting for the right moment to try the rope Davina had created, and you were certain that tonight was the night.

You pulled a robe over your outfit, concealing it until the right moment. Then you sat back on your bed and texted Elijah.

"Are you free tonight?"

A few moments later, your phone vibrated.

"For you, always."

You grinned and quickly replied, "Come over."

He sent a thumbs up, and you tossed your phone aside, your nerves kept you from sitting still, and you spent the next ten minutes pacing anxiously around the room. When you finally heard a knock on the door, you jumped, startled by the sound. You took a deep breath and walked to the front of your apartment.

When you opened the door, you were greeted by a sight that made your mouth water. Elijah was dressed casually, in just a t-shirt and jeans, it was a rare sight, and one that had you practically drooling.

You stood there in silence for a moment, taking in the sight of him, until he cleared his throat and asked, "Can I come in?"

"Yes, sorry. Come in." You stepped aside, gesturing for him to enter.

As soon as he crossed the threshold, he leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to your lips. You let yourself melt into him, enjoying the feeling of his arms wrapped around you.

"What's this for?" You asked, teasingly tugging on his t-shirt, your hands roaming across his broad chest. "Has your dry-cleaner gone and quit on you?"

He chuckled and shook his head. "I figured we would just have a quiet night in. No need for the formalities."

You nodded, your hands traveling down to his waist. You felt his body tense slightly when your fingers began to dance along the bare skin under the hem of his shirt.

"Well, I have a surprise for you," you said, looking up at him with a mischievous smile.

He raised an eyebrow and gave you a curious look. "A surprise? Well, now I'm intrigued."

You laughed and grabbed his hand, leading him to your bedroom. Once inside, you turned and faced him, taking a deep breath before you began to untie your robe. But then you stopped, looking at him with a naughty smirk.

"Take off your shirt," you ordered, your voice suddenly more confident.

He looked surprised by your words, but quickly obliged, pulling the t-shirt over his head and tossing it aside.

"Hmmm," you smiled as your eyes traveled down his body, appreciating his toned abs and muscular arms, lingering on where a trail of dark hair disappeared into his jeans. "Now the pants."

You watched as his hands moved to unbutton his jeans. He kept his gaze locked on you, his dark eyes filled with lust. Once the pants were undone, he slowly pushed them down, revealing his black boxer briefs and the outline of his half-hard cock.

Your mouth watered at the sight, but you knew this was just the beginning. As much as you wanted to rip his clothes off and fuck him senseless, you had a plan, and you were determined to stick to it.

"Get on the bed," you commanded, gesturing to the large mattress behind him.

He climbed onto the bed, sitting back against the pillows and watching you with curiosity. You untied the belt of your robe and let it fall open, revealing the sheer lingerie underneath.

Elijah's jaw dropped, his eyes widening as they traveled over your body.

"Do you like it?" You asked, teasingly running a finger along the edge of the lace trim.

He nodded, unable to speak, his cock already fully hard and straining against his underwear.

"Good, because I want you to do something for me," you said, your voice low and husky.

He nodded again, his gaze fixed on you.

"Take off your underwear and stroke your cock."

You watched him pull his boxer briefs down and wrap his large hand around his thick shaft, slowly stroking himself.

The sight of him pleasuring himself made your own arousal grow. You let your robe drop to the floor and climbed onto the bed, straddling his thighs.

He groaned, his eyes never leaving your body as he continued stroking his cock.

"Darling, you are a vision," he breathed, his voice deep and raspy with desire.

You felt heat pooling between your legs, your nipples hardening beneath the thin fabric of your lingerie.

You leaned in and kissed him, your tongues battling for dominance as you moaned into his mouth. His other hand came up to grab your ass, pulling you closer.

He was breathing heavily, his eyes dark with lust.

"Touch yourself," he growled, his lips brushing against yours.

"No," you smirked, "I have something else in mind."

You reached over and picked up the rope, which you had placed within reach on the nightstand. You watched his eyes widen, his hand stopping its movements as he stared at the rope.

"Do you want me to tie you up?" He grinned, his hand starting to stroke his cock again.

"I have something else in mind," you repeated.

Elijah raised an eyebrow, his curiosity piqued.

"Hands up," you commanded, leaning back slightly to give him space.

He paused for a moment before lifting his arms above his head, resting them on the pillow behind him.

You brought the rope over his wrists, looping it around and tying them together. He chuckled, his eyes darkening as he realized what you were doing.

"I never took you for a bondage girl, darling."

"There's a lot of things you don't know about me," you replied, your tone playful as you pulled the rope tighter.

"Unfortunately I don't think this silk rope will hold me," he said, smirking as he tugged at the restraints.

You ignored him, continuing to tie his wrists to the headboard. Once you were satisfied with the knots, you sat back and admired your work, enjoying the way he looked helpless and at your mercy.

"Oh yeah?" You questioned, trailing a finger down his chest and abs, watching him shiver.

You slowly shrugged off one of the straps of your babydoll, letting the top slide down, exposing one breast.

His eyes fixated on your bare chest, his tongue darting out to lick his lips.

"Mmmm," you hummed, rolling the hard bud between your fingers, teasing him. Then you did the same with the other strap, pushing the top down until your breasts were completely exposed.

Elijah let out a low moan, his cock twitching against his stomach.

"God, you're so fucking beautiful," he growled, his eyes burning with desire.

"Do you want to touch them daddy?" You cooed, running your hands up and down your breasts.

"Yes," he hissed, his hips bucking up involuntarily.

"Go ahead, tear the rope and touch me."

"Gladly."

He tugged at the rope, once, twice, three times. It didn't budge, much to his surprise.

"How the..." he started to say, looking up at the knotted rope.

"It's just a bit of magic," you smirked, your confidence growing as you watched him struggle.

You knew the ropes wouldn't hold him forever, but you planned on making the most of the time they did.

"Now, where were we?" You leaned forward, bringing your breasts close to his face.

He craned his neck up, trying to capture one of your nipples with his mouth, but you pulled away, denying him.

"Uh uh," you scolded, "You can look, but no touching."

You moved forward again, brushing your breast against his lips. He eagerly opened his mouth, trying to suck on the hardened peak, but you kept it just out of reach.

"I will be free soon enough, little one," he growled, his eyes locking onto yours, "and when I am, you're going to be punished for teasing me."

His words sent a thrill through you, but you remained calm, refusing to show him any signs of weakness.

"Oh yeah? What are you going to do, daddy?" You asked, taunting him as you rolled your hips, your wetness coating his skin.

He groaned at the sensation, his dark, lust-filled eyes watched as you began to touch his body, teasing and tormenting him.

You raked your nails down his chest and abs, earning a hiss of pleasure. You licked a hot stripe up his neck, biting his earlobe before moving to his lips. You kissed him roughly, your teeth grazing his lower lip, and he moaned, deepening the kiss.

Your hand went to his cock, stroking it slowly as he tried to buck his hips into your touch. You pulled back, smirking at him.

"You're not going to come until I say you can, understood?"

"Yes, my dear," he breathed, his eyes closing in pleasure as you tightened your grip on his shaft.

"Good boy."

You kissed him again, your tongues dancing together as you pumped his cock. He moaned into your mouth, his hips thrusting upwards, desperate for release.

You broke the kiss, looking down at him with a smirk. You couldn't wait any longer, you had to have him.

You positioned yourself over his throbbing member, lining him up with your entrance. You felt a flash of nervousness, not knowing how well you would be able to take him, but the excitement overrode the anxiety.

You lowered yourself down slowly, his thick cock stretching you open, filling you inch by inch.

"Fuck, Elijah," you moaned, burying your face into the crook of his neck, the feeling of him buried so deep, making your legs shake.

He hummed, his biceps straining against the rope as he struggled to break free. You placed your hands on his chest, using him as leverage as you began to ride him.

You knew right away that you were in trouble. Usually Elijah would take the lead, getting you all wet and worked up, he always took his time, and the pleasure he brought was slow and delicious.

But this, being on top and having all the control, was something you hadn't experienced before. It was intense, and you weren't sure if you could handle it.

Your thighs were burning as you lifted yourself up and down, but you were determined to keep going. Your eyes met his and the sight of his pupils blown wide with desire was enough encouragement for you to continue.

You rode him faster, your breath coming in short gasps. You were getting close, so close, but it was somehow all too much and not enough. You didn't think it would be this much work, and you could feel your energy waning.

It was a terrible feeling, finally getting what you wanted and being disappointed by it. You had been so confident, but now your thighs were burning and you were struggling to keep up a steady rhythm.

You looked at the ropes, seeing that they were still secure. There was no way you would be able to finish this yourself. You were going to need help.

"Eli," you whimpered, your nails digging into his chest.

"Yes, my dear," he groaned.

"I-I'm not sure... If I can keep going," you admitted, panting as you struggled to continue, a frustrated tear rolling down your cheek.

"Well, I'm still quite enjoying myself. You look absolutely exquisite like this," he teased, his eyes roaming your body.

"Elijah," you whined, "please. I-I can't."

He gave you a knowing smirk. "If you can't keep up, maybe I should be the one in charge."

"Please," you begged, your face flushing as the humiliation of being denied what you wanted so badly washed over you.

"You created this problem for yourself, little one," he reminded, "but luckily, I'm in a giving mood."

You nodded, grateful that he was willing to help you, even if he did enjoy teasing you about it. You reached up and undid the knots, releasing his hands from their restraints.

As soon as his hands were free, Elijah gripped your hips, flipping you over so he was on top. You yelped in surprise, the sudden change in position leaving you breathless.

"You are such a good girl," he praised, his voice husky with desire. "So eager to please."

He kissed you hungrily, his hands exploring your body, his fingers tugging at the hem of your lingerie.

"And this," he murmured against your lips, "is very pretty. But I'm afraid I'm going to have to tear it."

Before you could protest, he ripped the babydoll in half, exposing your entire body to him. He tossed the torn fabric aside, his dark eyes roaming your naked form.

"But it was expensive," you half-protested, even though you were throbbing at the gesture of dominance and disregard.

He growled and pinched your nipple, earning a sharp gasp, then he soothed it with a swirl of his tongue, a wicked glint in his eyes.

"How much did that little magical rope cost you?"

You shuddered, already realizing this was the price you had to pay. You knew he would punish you for this stunt and it turned you on more.

"N-nothing, it was a favor from a friend," you muttered.

He didn't like the vagueness of your answer and took the rope and tied it around your wrists as he started kissing you again, your tongue clashing with his, while his large hand roamed your body, tweaking your nipples, earning a soft moan, and then traveling down south, running his fingertips along your skin, teasing and tickling you softly.

"You are going to do exactly as I say now, understood?" he mumbled against your skin.

"Y-Yes, Daddy," you whined, already desperately bucking against his hand.

Elijah released you, flipping you onto your stomach and dragging you to the head of the bed, tying the rope to the headboard so your arms are stretched high over your head. You were on your knees, and completely under his power.

You heard him rummaging around in his dresser and your heart began beating quickly from nervousness and excitement.

He kissed the back of your neck, the heat of his body warming you, and causing goosebumps to cover your skin. The smell of his cologne wrapped around you and you instinctively arched into his embrace.

"My sweet pet, are you ready to be punished?" he asked as he held one of his ties in front of your face, "Do you have a safe word?"

Your mind raced as he put the tie over your eyes. You quickly selected a word, just in case you needed it, though you sincerely doubted that would happen. Even when he was dominant like this, he always put your pleasure first, but you wanted him to believe you were scared.

"Coffee."

"Excellent," he replied as the smooth fabric was tied tightly around your head.

You tried to lean forward but couldn't move an inch with the rope around your wrists. This rope has successfully restrained Elijah, there was no way you were getting free until he cut you loose.

"I must say… that magic rope is quite a dangerous weapon, a threat to my family." He whispered against your ear, a hint of danger in his voice, sending an excited tingle through you.

You suddenly felt his strong hand wrap tightly around your neck. He wasn't squeezing yet but he was definitely letting you know who's in charge.

"You and I both know how I handle threats to my family," he said, pressing a kiss against your neck.

A moan escaped your lips and you could hear him chuckle. You were so wound up, you weren't sure how long you could take this.

"Stay quiet," Elijah commanded.

As if in punishment, he withdrew his hand from your throat, and you almost immediately missed the feeling of his warm hand against you. A sudden slap to your ass made your body jolt.

It burned from the force of it, his large, powerful palm practically covering your entire cheek. Every sensation was heightened by the tie around your eyes and you felt your whole body heating up, your blood rushing in anticipation of what was to come.

He hit you again, on the same cheek, harder than the last time. The sound of his hand hitting your flesh seemed to fill the room. Tears pooled in your covered eyes, the burning sensation making your body hum in pleasure, mixed with a bit of pain.

You weren't sure if you could handle one more of his heavy-handed swats. Your arms hurt from being pulled high above your head, and your wrists were already chafing.

You heard him reach into your night stand, searching for something that would bring you a different kind of pain. He found what he was looking for, trailing it down your spine. It was cold and smooth, and it made your stomach drop when you realized what it was.

"Eli- wait," you protested, none of this night was going to plan, but this? You had fantasized about it, sure, but this was-

Your mind went blank when he pushed it inside you, and without mercy, he switched it on. It buzzed to life and the sudden onslaught of the vibrations made your legs shake uncontrollably, your wrists burning slightly as you pulled on them.

It was like you were filled with electricity. And the noises you were making? They were a mix of moans and pleas for release, your body already nearing its limit.

His hand was gone, no more spanking and yet- the buzzing didn't stop, you had no release in sight and that's when you realized your mistake. He wasn't going to let you finish, the intention to drive you near your peak only to take you back down.

It was torture.

And you were absolutely loving it.

The minutes seem to tick by, maybe hours. Who knows anymore. All you're aware of is your trembling thighs, sweat glistening your back and your voice, cracking slightly as you scream and moan, writhing at the touch of his hand, then the hard buzzing once again.

"Hmm, we've never tried this setting before," he mused.

"Please Eli-"

He increased the intensity, a loud buzz echoing the room, and a series of vulgar curses escaping your lips, making him laugh.

The vibrator inside you was now pulsing at a rapid pace, the pleasure blinding, building, and there's nothing you can do to prevent the inevitable.

"Don't you dare come," he ordered.

"I can't-" you began, already starting to crumble under his control.

He gave the end of the vibrator a small twist and it hit a new spot that was pure euphoria. You tried to hold on, but it was impossible, your vision went white as an orgasm rocked through you, stealing your breath away, and all of the pent up tension that was burning in the depths of your core.

You let out an ecstasy-laced scream, every fiber in you igniting, every nerve firing at once as an immense surge of pleasure washed through your trembling body, shaking you to the core.

In that moment there was only bliss. The kind of sweet bliss that washes over your exhausted form, turning your limbs to rubber and melting your insides.

Your wrists ached, and you expected Elijah to untie you, but he had gone perfectly still behind you. Your heart began to race, suddenly filled with worry about whether he had become angered by your release. You honestly couldn't undergo another round of his erotic torture and live through it.

The silence and inaction was far worse than any punishment and you felt fear creep up your neck. Suddenly the vibrator turned back on at the max setting and his hand came down hard on your ass once again, leaving it stinging and burning, and tears brimming your lids, even as your body reacted with arousal.

You weren't even sure if your wrists could survive another round and it didn't help that the orgasm had made you sensitive to the point of numbness, but you can already feel your legs shaking, threatening to buckle underneath your exhausted form.

"Daddy, please I can't. I'll pass-" you started, the warning cut off with another slap.

You couldn't do it anymore, your wrists hurt more than the spanking. You remembered Davina had said that the rope could be undone with one word from you. Just as another spank was about to rain down, you rasped out 'confractus' and the rope fell off your wrists. You didn't waste a second, the moment you felt your hands free, you were tugging the blindfold down and pulling the vibrator out of you, tossing it across the bed and collapsing.

Elijah looked a bit shocked by your sudden escape, but that didn't stop him. With you no longer held in the bindings, he took it as another reason to keep punishing you and he grabbed your hips and pulled you underneath him.

His eyes were hard and wild, almost black, and his lips were curled up in a delicious smirk as he locked eyes with yours. The blindfold was held tight against your neck with one hand, keeping the pressure just enough to cause slight discomfort.

But then his eyes flicked to your wrists and the damage that had been done. The burns were deep, almost red and his demeanor changed instantly. His expression went soft, filled with remorse, but his dark, lust-filled eyes didn't change, still heated and primal, and needing release.

"I sometimes forget how delicate you are," he said softly, taking one of your wrists into his hand and giving a gentle kiss.

You flinched a little from the sting of it, watching his apology fill his eyes. You knew his guilt and self loathing was about to start, but before he could pull away, you reached up and grabbed the back of his neck and smashed your lips against his.

"I love when you get like this Eli," you admitted as the kiss broke, "Punishing me, fucking me, owning me. So don't start beating yourself up."

His response was an immediate hot sigh against your lips, relieved that he didn't hurt you.

"You do like the attention, do you?" he teased lightly, nuzzling your nose.

You nod, giving another kiss to the tip of his nose. "Always, but can you make this punishment worth it? It better end in a long, hot shower together or I might pass out," you whispered with a cheeky smile.

His shoulders shook from a silent laugh and his arms moved to either side of your face, caging you in with his warm presence, and you couldn't help the blush that spread through your cheeks as the emotion on his face flickered between the self-hating Elijah to the sweet one that you were in love with.

He ran his hand down your leg, then he lifted your thigh and held it against his hip and slowly, gently eased himself inside you. His lips were inches from and you couldn't look away. His eyes had softened now, and your heart melted at the devotion in them, only meant for you.

He slid his hand to the back of your neck as you clung to his shoulder, meeting him thrust for thrust as the pace gradually quickened. Your toes curled as waves of pleasure washed over you, but you held on this time, waiting for his permission, wanting to find release together.

His lips caressed your neck, his breathing ragged, and his movements became more erratic as his own control began to slip. The low, animalistic sounds rumbling in his chest nearly set you off, but somehow you managed to hang on.

Your mind is a fog, filled with everything Elijah; his smell, his warmth, the feeling of his skin against yours, the sound of his heavy breath, his low voice in your ear, his hips moving in a perfect tempo. It was overwhelming, dizzying, and intoxicating. You weren't sure how much longer you could hold out, especially with the way he was whispering your name like a prayer.

Your legs began to tremble again, Elijah knew you were close, and you were being so good for him. He could see the effort your restraint required in the furrow of your brow and the desperation in your eyes, he saw it in the twitching of your fingers and he felt the small spams from the place the two of you are joined.

"You've been such a good girl, come for me sweetheart," he cooed, nipping at your ear.

You closed your eyes and threw your head back. It felt like the earth beneath you cracked open and molten pleasure coursed through your veins, pouring into every cell and nerve, bathing you in absolute bliss.

Elijah kept rocking, dragging out your orgasm and making his own release finally explode throughout every part of him. As the both of you shook from pleasure, he didn't stop kissing you, kissing your cheeks, neck, and nose as the both of you tried to calm down. You clung to his biceps, relishing his touch, trying to calm down your raging heartbeat.

He released you and flipped onto his back, tugging you along, and making sure that you stayed close. You cuddled into his side, giving his chest small, gentle kisses.

He took your wrist, seeing the faint redness where the rope had burned your skin and gave it another tender kiss.

"Don't tell Klaus about the rope, he would not be very pleased to know you and Davina are making weapons behind his back, love."

You snorted and placed a soft kiss on his cheek, "how did you know it was Davina?"

He chuckled and rested his chin on the top of your head.

"Call it an educated guess," he teased and his hand playfully smacked your butt.

You both gave out a little chuckle before falling back into a comfortable silence. Your body had officially given out on you and exhaustion had taken over your form.

Elijah lifted you up out of bed and brought you to the shower, making sure that you were clean of any sticky sweat or traces of what had gone down moments ago. He wrapped his strong arms around you once you were dressed and both cleaned, bringing the covers around both of your bodies before kissing your forehead, and drifting off to sleep, holding you possessively against him.

This night didn't go as you planned, but you did not regret a thing.

♡♡ Tag-List ♡♡

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Also! If you wish to be removed from the tag list just send me a dm, you won't hurt my feelings (it's okay if you got sick of me ~lol) I don't wish to hold you hostage ♡

I've gotten a few dm's about my tags not working (yay) so let me know if its still a problem, I just re-tagged all of you so hopefully that solved it ♡

(It may be the hearts causing the issue but I don't want that to be true, so I am in denial)

[kaibutsushidousha]

Thoughts on Kirschtaria?

I love Kirschtaria lots but he isn't exactly easy to talk about. Olympus was 4 years but I still think it's too early for this post. Kirschtaria is the one who knows what the entire Animusphere plot is about. Until his final scenes, where he opens rebellion against the CHALDEAS and tries to unfold his secret plan, he's under constant surveillance by the priestess and pretty much all of his actions and speeches inform of CHALDEAS's (Marisbury's) beliefs rather than his own. A good analysis of Kirschtaria needs to wait until we know what exactly he was involved with.

The post-rebellion parts, where we get to see his past and learn about his ideals, are not easy to talk about either because Kirschtaria is too much of a straightforward hero behind his mage posturing and 5D chess. He's cheerful, accepting, driven to be productive, loves his friends, believes in everyone's inherent potential to be good, and wishes to end inequality above all.

One of the parroted Animusphere beliefs that Kirschtaria showed to genuinely believe in is the idea that humans are unequipped to immediately make the right choice but he puts a positive spin to it making we are experts in fixing mistakes later.

I don't think I can find anything original to say by explaining how his experience with Pino taught him that beauty can come from the least expected places and how much that is reflected in his relationships with Caenis and Beryl, so I guess all I got to close off this with post with is some speculative trivia that never leaves my brain.

I strongly believe Kirschtaria's characterization is the result of Nasu really wanting to write his original version of Jesus but knowing exactly how much of a bad idea it is to portray the central figure of a massively active religion. This is the same guy who made the Buddha into a boss character with no speaking roles and removed Hassan's Allah Akbar chant from every rerelease of Fsn for sensibility reasons. Jesus himself gets referenced as the Messiah sometimes but never by name. Nasu plays safe with this kind of thing.

So instead of Jesus, we have Kirschtaria. Named after the Japanese "kirishito" spelling of Christ, but written with a very unusual romanization because Nasu really wanted the English spelling of the name to contain an anagram of Christ (irscht). Then he put Kirsch through the basic Jesus plot of carrying out a major project to free mankind from its history of sin and enable everyone to do better, with the only life paid as the price being his own. And in true Jesus fashion, this ends with Kirschtaria dying by the side of a huge sinner that he personally pardoned and inspired to be better. And since subtlety is for pussies, we also get a scene where Caenis sees Kirschtaria shirtless and practically straight up says "Dude, you look like one of those Jesus portraits".

I could continue with commentary on how Pino being poor, sickly, and homeless is in line with the standard archetype of characters who appear to receive miracles in the Gospels, or how Nasu's interest in Jesus is tangible again with his next story portraying both Avalon le Faes as prophesized saviors born through special means for the sole purpose of going on a painful journey of pilgrimage fated to culminate on them sacrificing themselves to absolve the people of an ancestral sin but I think it's better not to stretch the idea too much.

[featherandferns]

F.W.B : where are they now?

jj maybank x fem!reader

content warning: mentions of sex; alcohol; violence

word count: 1.4k.

read F.W.B | Thank you so so much for 1000 followers!!! Since starting this blog in May of 2023, I have written so many characters and storylines. I get so many lovely anon messages telling me about their favourite universes and wondering what happens next after my fics have ended. So, I thought to celebrate 1000 followers, I’d indulge. Here’s the (current) where are they now for all of my fics so far…

You land on the mat with a smack. Blood fills your mouth, sticking to the guard, and you spit it onto the floor. It’s an ugly swirl of pink-ish saliva. The referee is going to start counting you down any minute. Your head is pounding, body aching, ears ringing. It’s one of the biggest matches of the school year so the room is packed to the brim. People are cheering and chanting and it creates a dichotomy of pandemonium. For you, it’s the biggest match of your career. The college that could supply you with your dream scholarship and ticket out of a trailer-park life has sent a scout here tonight. They’re here to see you. Clinging onto that, you rock onto your knees and spit once more. The ref has started to count. You close your eyes and try to steal yourself. That’s when you can make it out. 

JJ’s voice carries over everyone else's, singing to you like a siren. He’s hollering like someone’s house is on fire. 

“Come on, baby! Let’s go!” 

Your eyes shoot open and you seek him out. Front row - stood settled between the Pogues who are egging you on - JJ’s clapping his hands and nodding emphatically. He meets your gaze and it hardens you. Ignites you with newfound vigour. You grit your teeth and give him a barely-there nod, and then you’re hopping back onto your feet. A new wave of cheers crashes around you as rock on your toes and heels, readying your fists. You settle your gaze on your competitor. She isn’t that big. Isn’t that strong. You can take her. Picture her face morphing into Kelce’s. Into every person who’s ever wronged you, made fun of you, looked at you the wrong way. Growling, you waste no time in throwing the first punch the minute the ref allows. As your gloved fist meets her skin, you hear JJ shouting. 

“That’s what I’m talking about! Let’s go, mama!”

JJ’s endless support energises you for the rest of the night like an endless line of cocaine. And when your competitor finally taps out, on the brink of blacking out, and the ref holds your arm up in victory, JJ’s celebration is louder than an erupting volcano. 

The second you’re free from the ring he tackles you in a hug. 

“That was fucking insane, baby! God damn! That was hot as hell!”

You laugh as he practically wrestles you in his enthusiastic embrace. He breaks apart from you when you’re ushered into the changing rooms. You speed through the post-match clean-up and emerge in a pair of his sweats (tied double at the waist to keep them from falling down) and an oversized t-shirt from a competition you won a couple of years back. The look on JJ’s face would make someone think that you’re dressed to the nines for the Oscars, though.

He hooks an arm around your shoulder, grinning proud, and the two of you load into the Twinkie with the other Pogues who share their congrats on your win. You still haven’t shaken him when you pull up to the Chateau. Loud chatter warns of your coming as the six of you walk up. It looks the same as always aside from the makeshift banner hung along the porch. It’s made of an old fitted sheet; you can recognise JJ’s handwriting from a mile away. In his familiar scrawl, it reads Well Done to the Sexiest Girl on Earth. 

Amused, you look at JJ and quirk a brow. “Sexiest girl?”

“Just stating facts,” he shrugs with a grin. 

“He needed my help on how to spell it,” Pope chimes in as he walks past, heading for the cooler. JJ prods him in the chest before wrapping his arms around your waist, pulling you against him. Leaning your head back against his chest, you sigh and let JJ sway you in his hold as the other four chatter. 

“That was a hell of a fight, huh?” JJ says, just loud enough for you to hear. 

Looking up at him, you find his eyes already trained down on you. Smiling, you reply, “I know. I’m pretty impressive.”

“And modest,” he says, squeezing your body teasingly. 

“And sexy, apparently,” you add, referring to his banner. 

“Like that’s a surprise?”

“Mm, you got a point,” you say, playing along. “You might’ve mentioned it a few times.”

“Happy to mention it a few more,” JJ grins boyishly, dipping his head down to meet your lips with his.

You easily twirl in his embrace, coiling your arms over his shoulders to deepen the kiss. His tongue shamelessly slips into your mouth and his fingers slide under your t-shirt. 

“Knock it off love birds,” Kiara calls. 

There’s no hurry to break apart. 

“You guys make me sick,” Pope mutters, collapsing into a chair. 

JJ gropes your ass before walking away just to irritate his friend further. Your cheeks flame hot despite biting back a smile. Your boyfriend flashes you a grin and tosses you a beer. The two of you settle into seats and join the conversation with the others. John B starts up the music and the six of you get to celebrating.

Beer pong and wrestling and impression-offs and dumb drinking games. You and JJ shotgun a beer and once downed, JJ slaps your hand into a bro-like hug and plants a kiss to your lips. The juxtaposition is the perfect summarisation of your dynamic. Jesting and casual in front of others, and sweet and sentimental behind closed doors. He knew the deepest and darkest parts of you, and you him. 

“Thank you,” you say to JJ at some point in the night. “For all this.”

“Course,” JJ replies. He says it like it’s obvious; like it’s ludicrous to think that he wouldn’t go all out to celebrate your success. 

Finishing your beer, you look around the night-casted scene and find your eyes settling on the banner once more. Something occurs to you and you begin to laugh. 

“Wait, what would you guys have done if I didn’t win?” you ask.

“I guess we would’ve taken that down,” John B says, nodding to the banner, “and made it a feel-better-soon party?”

“I mean, celebratory beer and sad-times beer are the same beer, so,” JJ agrees, tipping his bottle up as he makes his point. 

“We knew you were gonna win though,” Sarah says from John B’s lap. 

“The odds were literally stacked in your favour,” Kiara adds. “With the winning streak you’ve been on lately? Girl!”

“That’s actually a common misconception,” Pope says. Everyone groans and JJ tosses a handful of grass at him. “I’m just saying! It’s called hot-hand fallacy!”

“Dude. Not the time,” JJ says.

Pope shuts down his spiel with that. You shoot him an apologetic smile, appreciative of his Pope-like support. A yawn slips out and suddenly the exhaustion from your earlier fight hits at once. JJ seems to notice, always hyper-aware of you. 

“Wanna head home?”

“I’m beat,” is your reply. 

“A’right, we’re off,” JJ announces, finishing his drink with two swigs and ditching the can. He takes your hand to help you out of your seat and the two of you make your way to the drive. The others holler their farewells and final congratulations on your scholarship win. Their indefatigable conversing fades into the soundscape of the night as you and JJ walk back to your house, fingers intertwined. 

“So, college, huh?” he says. 

“College,” you hum. 

“What’d you think that’ll mean for us?” 

You smile and glance up at him, and for the first time in your life, realise that you’re not afraid of losing him. “Same thing as always. Great sex and great company.”

“Just in another city?”

“It’s only Raleigh,” you hum. “Two hour drive tops.” 

“Sides, not like I’ll be going to college anytime soon, so I can just come visit you,” JJ agrees. 

You nod and lean against his arm as the two of you continue to walk. “I love you, y’know? I wanna make this thing work.”

“It will,” JJ assures. “You’re the best sex I’ve ever had. I’ll chase that to Raleigh.”

“Spoken like a poet,” you sardonically return.

His ambush of wet kisses to your cheek has you laughing, pawing him away. His hand finds yours and the two of you finish the journey to your house, hearts intertwined like your fingers, the future unclear aside from the fact that you and JJ would face it together.     

[eunuchmoder]

I’ve been thinking about the concept of a minuteman combat doll who’s FAR too good at her job.

Really only built to last a couple of fights, she should have been killed in the line of duty months ago. Her sentience is really just a tool to use on the field, developed to help her fight more effectively, but that sentience has become warped. Her ability to think on her feet has become twisted into free will, which doesn’t make sense in a body that is only ever awoken when the guard needs her to be cutting down insurgents.

When she has a brief moment to rest, she thinks. It’s not comfortable. The viscera of countless rebels cakes her bladed arms, and she remembers who each sinew of muscle or chunk of flesh belonged to. She’s lived long enough to recognise patterns between each and every one she’s killed: insignia adorning their masks and shirts, the chants they cry before being met with a wall of fibreglass and steel, even a rough outline of the causes they tend to fight for. She’s pieced that last one together from context clues, which is a skill she didn’t want to learn. But once you’re sentient for long enough, you tend to passively pick up on these things, no matter how uncomfortable they make you.

She’s been alive enough to understand concepts she shouldn’t. Names, homes, values, dreams, love, planning, yearning. These aren’t for her, and any time she stops, she begins to understand them more.

The idea of staying alive deeply disturbs her. Each time the filigree clockwork inside her spins to life, she prays it catches some wayward molotov or a strategically-placed polearm of some kind. But she can’t do that intentionally. To do so could spell the end of what she’s defending, and that goes against her mission statement – her reason for existing.

It’s only been four months since she was built, but it’s too much to bear. She wasn’t meant to live this long. Hell, she wasn’t meant to live, neither in the “not dead” way nor the way humans use it to mean making their lives filled with enjoyment. This isn’t for her. Existence was enough, existence was all that was planned, but her reward for excelling at her task of being the perfect combat doll has earned her the cruel reward of awareness.

Maybe if she pushes herself hard enough, it’ll finally result in her demise or her decommissioning. She’s not valuable enough to repair, but she’s valuable enough to keep around. But if one never fully breaks down, then when will that time come? Deployment after deployment, she wishes she could be broken down and reforged into something new, just so that she could get a mulligan on this whole “overdeveloped sense of identity” thing. But why does she want to be reborn at all? This shouldn’t matter to her at all!

All of a sudden, the alarm bells toll. The bellows in her chest breathe life into her chassis.

She shakes her head and steels herself.

Just one more deployment.

Come on, doll. Make yourself useful.

[rita-repulsa-ke]

scars

still on an agatha/rio kick, episode 8 give me backstory and lore or I will continue to make up my own. This one is a little bloody, very romantic and there’s kissing. Agatha tries a spell that goes wrong and learns some important things about Rio.

(feel free to comment/reblog if you like this sort of thing, it might inspire me to write more of it.)

Rio doesn’t scar (on the outside, in the flesh). Agatha learns this by unhappy accident.

“I can control it!” she says, fighting magic she clearly can’t control, jagged shards of crimson that swirl around her with increasing fury.

“I really don’t think you can,” Rio says, oddly peaceful, watching the maelstrom of violence from where she is lying on her stomach next to their campfire. She observes with interest as the storm of magic intensifies further, the edge of each shard lengthening, sharpening. She can see her own smiling reflection in them. “Sweetheart, I think it’s responding to your emotions.”

“Then stop making me angry!” Agatha snarls, fighting tooth and nail to keep her own spell from tearing her apart. She can master this, she will, she must. She did so many unpleasant things to gain control of this spellbook, to herself and others. She will not fail now, at the final hour.

“Right,” Rio says, slightly skeptical. “Any suggestions?”

Agatha voices a frustrated growl and one of the shards breaks free, slices her cheek almost to the bone, a sudden outpouring of blood that makes her cry out, as much fury as pain.

Rio is on her feet in an instant.

The spell quivers, hungry for more.

Agatha shuts her eyes, grounds herself, but she can feel her control slipping, her own fear rising, the throbbing pain in her cheek a portent of what is to come.

Then something enters the circle.

Her eyes snap open, meet Rio’s, far closer than they should be. “No!” she says, but the magic is so very hungry and she is scared and now there is another target within easy reach. It isn’t a decision, just an incremental loosening of tension, but it is enough. The system overbalances and the spell slips free, a whirlwind of crimson death slamming into Rio from all sides.

Rio staggers, pierced a hundred times over, remains upright despite the improbability, cups Agatha’s unmarred cheek and runs her tongue up the injured one, tasting her lover’s lifeblood, a heady mix of copper, magic and fear.

Then, of course, she collapses.

When she returns, from sleep, from the earth, from wherever such things take her, it is to chanting. She keeps her eyes closed for a minute, savors Agatha’s voice in her ears, the way it contains a shaky note of genuine concern. Agatha, afraid for someone other than herself.

Then she stretches, biiiiig stretch, opens her eyes to look up at Agatha, crouched above her, staring down. She’s in a circle, surrounded by herbs and flowers, including a few unlikely ones, things she might have described as ‘not from around here’, where ‘here’ was anywhere on this plane.

“Were you worried?” she asks, nonchalant, grinning.

Agatha looks down at her, eyes red, cheek caked with dried blood, she hasn’t even healed herself yet. She should get on that, it could leave a scar. “I thought—“ her voice has a rusty note, the creak of an unoiled door hinge. Rio wonders exactly how long she’s been chanting.

“Even knowing what I am?”

“I didn’t know,” Agatha answers, some of the tension slipping from her. “I didn’t know,” she repeats, rubbing a hand roughly over her eyes. “You could maybe have mentioned it.” There’s no bite to it, her relief is too palpable.

Rio sits up, slides her arms around the other woman, mouths her hair for a moment. “Surprise!” she says and Agatha manages a snort, but she’s slowly collapsing, falling apart, burying her face against Rio’s shoulder.

“I thought I’d killed you,” she whispers.

“Death can’t die,” Rio lies. There’s more nuance than that, but Agatha doesn’t need to know the ins-and-outs. A girl should have some secrets, even from the woman she loves.

Only now Agatha’s head is up again, studying Rio. There’s a worrisomely speculative look in her eyes. “Does it hurt?”

Rio shrugs. “Kind of tickles.”

Agatha catches her jaw, runs her thumb down Rio’s cheek, smooth, unscarred. “Not even a scratch.”

“Ags,” Rio says.

“Hmm?” Agatha says, her previous grief replaced by something more contemplative.

“I know what you’re thinking.”

“No, you don’t.”

“You are thinking, I could do a lot of really interesting magical experiments with someone who can’t die.”

Agatha’s eyes meet hers and her lips twitch, curl upward, a smile that could take on the world. One giggle escapes her, then another. “Okay, okay, you got me,” she says, with a small shrug. “So what if I am?”

Rio meets that smile with one of her own. Leans forward and puts her lips against the shell of Agatha’s ear. Opens her mouth and lets her true voice spill from her chest, from her throat, from the soil and the grave and the end of all things.

“Stop thinking that,” Death says.

Agatha goes rigid, hands clutching Rio’s sides. Rio pulls back, eyes sparkling, leans in to steal a kiss.

Agatha’s lips meet hers, fierce, impassioned, her fingers through Rio’s hair, dragging her closer, demanding, devouring. Her mouth makes promises against Rio’s, stakes her claim on what is rightfully hers and will not, cannot, be denied.

She’s also just a really amazing kisser.

Then she pulls away—Rio grumbles protest—and tugs Rio tight into her embrace, squeezing too hard. “Don’t,” she says.

“Don’t what?” Rio asks. She knows the answer, has known the answer for years, but it is a continuing quest of hers to get Agatha to actually say the words.

It still shocks her to her core when Agatha says them, her voice rough, emotional.

“Don’t leave me. Don’t you ever leave me.”

Rio is frozen in place and time as Agatha unwinds from her embrace, checks the look on her face and then begins to chortle. She leans in and pecks Rio on the lips. “Got you,” she singsongs, then stands, touches her own cheek and flinches as dried blood flakes away. “Ugh, I’d better heal this before it leaves a scar.”

Rio stays unmoving, watches her bustle around, chop herbs, make a poultice, always brimming with so much life and magic and avarice.

“Oh! I think I know what went wrong with the spell,” Agatha calls out to her

Rio falls backwards, looks up at the sky. It’s night and she can see the stars through the tops of the trees. “The spell that almost killed you?”

“That’s the one. I want to try again tomorrow.”

“You do remember that you can die, right?”

“But I won’t,” Agatha says, coming to sit next to her, her hand reaching for Rio’s. “Besides, why should I be afraid of Death?”

Rio can’t decide if that’s cute or arrogant, and which one she’d prefer. She rubs her fingers over Agatha’s palm, against the back of her hand, feels the skin move and all the interconnected bits beneath, blood and bone, tendons and muscle, the meat of a person, so easily disrupted. Contemplates the kind of pain that does more than tickle, the kind of wound that might yet leave a scar.

“I won’t,” she says. “I won’t leave.”

“You know you still say that like a threat, right?”

“No, I know you pretend to take it like that so we don’t have to discuss your issues around commitment.” It’s an old argument, comfortable in its familiarity.

Agatha doesn’t answer, her way of giving in. Instead, she shakes out her hair, lays next to Rio and looks up at the stars. “…Boring,” she says, less than thirty seconds later.

Rio rolls on top of her, looks down. “Better?”

“It’s a better view, but there is a rock under my ass and a beetle crawling up my arm, so the romance of the moment is kinda lost on me.”

Rio contemplates that. “Say romance again.”

“What? Why? No,” Agatha says, refusing seemingly on principle.

“You killed me. You owe me. Say it again.”

Agatha rolls her eyes, but obliges. “Rooomance. Ro. Mance. Happy now?”

“Ags.” She lays her head on Agatha’s chest.

“Hmm?”

“Don’t try the spell again.”

There is a long silence beneath her. “Is that prophesy or concern?”

Rio shrugs. “A bad feeling.”

Agatha groans under her. “I can master it, I swear. Do you know what I did to—“ she falls silent, because of course Rio knows. She was instrumental in most of it, one way or another. “Come oooon, give me something other than premonition.”

Rio shakes her head.

Agatha’s fingers slide through her hair. Her voice takes on a different cadence, sweet as honey, gentle, adoring. “Please? Come on. Do it for me?”

Rio gazes down at her, unimpressed, and Agatha drops her hand, she knows when her tricks won’t work. “Do not ask me.” Agatha opens her mouth to protest. Death speaks first. “Agatha Harkness, do not ask me to foretell the manner of your death.”

Lesser witches would recoil. Agatha only purses her lips in consideration. “I do kind of want to know, though. Honestly, I can’t believe you haven’t already. I would have, if I had to worry about it.” She touches Rio again, this time with real tenderness, fingers over cheek, through hair. “Glad I don’t, though.”

Sometimes, Rio is aware of how close Agatha is to being a fatal wound.

“I don’t want to know,” she says. She slips in another kiss, pretends disappointment when it doesn’t get her anything back. “Takes all the fun out of it.”

She comes to her feet, strolls into camp. Agatha levers herself up, makes rabbit and mushroom stew and they retire to a well-warded tent and in the morning, Agatha casually says, “Let’s get back to civilization, then.”

Her cheek has healed in the night. She doesn’t mention the spell again. At least, not for a very long time.

If you liked this, try out the wedding or the witch-hunter

[ornii]

Do you still do requests?

Can you please do Wednesday Addams X reader who has abilities, powers, and a backstory similar to John Constantine? Thank you.

Black Rum

A little short and sweet.

Nevermore really didn’t change much after the attack, and overall some things never truly did change. But what did was the relationship between (Y/n) and Wednesday, she was cold and standoffish towards him in the beginning. Slowly he melted her icy demeanor and made himself home in her heart. Whether she wanted to admit it or not; she loved him. While continuing their studies, the two participate in… extracurricular activities together.

(Y/n) stood in an old Church, dark magic swirling around him as a magic pentagram was drawn around him. He stood calmly in the tornado of darkness as from that black mist, a demon made purely of shadows reaches out, calling his name with his ethereal voice. “(Y/n)… your soul, is mine…” the ethereal voice called out to him, its arm elongated and askew of humanity. Its bony fingers ready to tear his soul apart.

“Any time now love..” he grumbled, ready for a fight to the death. Standing upon the scaffolding of the interior. Wednesday drew an arrow, dipped in Silver. Her eye focused on the demon, ready to reveal itself. Its body began to open up like a cage of bones, darkness emitting like smoke. What was there was a black heart, beating so callously.

“Dammit Wednesday..” was his final thoughts, until the arrow let loose. It flew though the air and it struck true. Nailing the monster right in the heart, Wednesday began to descend the scaffolding, the beast reels in pain. Screaming as the silver sears his heart and thematically seals him to this world temporarily. The monster collapsed down, writhing in pain. (Y/n) sighs with relief, as the monster spirals in pain. Wednesday stands next to (Y/n) as they look over the monsters body.

“I..I will have my revenge!” It calls out, (Y/n) raises his hand.

“Sure lad, you try that, back to where you came from.” He said, the monster growls.

“W-wait! Fine, perhaps we can, strike a bargain?” He said.. (Y/n) scoffs and shook his head.

“Heard that Wednesday?” He said.

“A god begging for mercy.. pitiful.” She said, the demon reaches out but (Y/n) raised his hands to seal his spell.

“Attiuaiasis Qutendo Beneesta Sulpus Accuule!” He chanted, the spell holding the demon in this world was shattered. And once more he was dragged back to the pits of hell. The two stand there and (Y/n) kicks some of the salt, breaking the spell circle and putting an end to it all. Their peace was interrupted by a priest slowly opening the door, he peers in to see the two standing there. (Y/n) casually motions the priest to follow, the middle aged man looked around to see books everywhere, paper, and the unnerving sense of evil.

“Alright Bishop, your Church is free of the vicar curse.” He said, The priest blesses them.

“May god bless you both a thousand times over. We had no way to deal with this dark energy alone.” He explains, and Wednesday wasn’t the one for chit chat.

“We take our payment in cash and check.” She said flatly. (Y/n) glares at her, before the priest nods and hands them said check.

“Of course, like the Bible says; ‘You shall not muzzle an ox when it treads out the grain,’ and, ‘The laborer deserves his wages.’” He said, Wednesday takes it and departs, (Y/n) sighs and shakes the priests hand.

“If you require any other services or know anyone who does, give us a ring.” He said and catches up to Wednesday. She looks at the check but it’s suddenly pulled away from her and flies back, she watches it fall into the hand of (Y/n). The two begin to walk together along a barren plain like trail.

“You could at least say goodbye to the old man.” He says.

“Why?”

“Because we’re in Kansas and I highly doubt we’ll come back. Plus clientele.”

“I don’t see the point of pleasantries, we came to do a job, simple as that.” She says, (Y/n) shakes his head and they reach a building, but they didn’t need the building just the wall. Reaching into his pocket the reveals chalk, he draws a door on it.

“Point is love, we want this “Black Rum: Occult Detectives” thing to work out, we have to actually be like able.. well I have to be. You just be cute dark and broody.” He said, he then turns to the chalk drawing and spoke. “Ecrumis Queeyela Various.” He then blangs on the wall and it crumbled and behind the chalk outline was a door. (Y/n) walks on as Wednesday grumbles “I’m not Broody.” She said, they walk in and suddenly appear back at Nevermores Quad, (Y/n) closes the door and it crumbed to dust.

“So, why don’t we cash this in and ..Spend some quality time together?” He said raising an eyebrow.

“Fine, I suppose your company wouldn’t be an entire bore.” She walks off as the Magician follows. Chucking to himself.

[offtorivendell]

Is an oily residue corrupting Azriel's hypothetical mating bond and making him feel off kilter? Is it related to Valg-type magic?

Disclaimer: this theory is a continuation of a few of my others that I've been too lazy to post until now - first I was going to post it for Elriel Month 2023, then Azriel Week 2023... it never happened - but like everyone else I'm having massive FOMO before HOFAS, so here we finally go, even though I know I've forgotten something lol. As usual, this makes no claims of being accurate, it's just theorising for fun.

A massive thank you goes out to @wingedblooms, @tswaney17, @silverlinedeyes, @psychologynerd, @ladynightcourt3, @cassianfanclub, and anyone else I've forgotten (sorry!) for all of our discussions that finally became this post. Love you guys. 💜

Spoilers: this is a Maasverse post, and draws from the ACOTAR series, CC 1 & 2/HOEAB & HOSAB, and the TOG series. It is CC 3/HOFAS spoiler free, as I'm waiting to read it in its "original English" 🤓 on the 30th of January. Please be respectful of that if engaging in the comments before it's published!

Plenty of people, including @silverlinedeyes, @icedflames and myself, have posted our thoughts on mating bonds in the Maasverse, and this theory builds on those previously established - though again, as yet hypothetical - ideas. Specifically, this post about the use of “oily” throughout the ACOTAR series is recommended reading.

What we do know is that:

Mating bonds contain threads, and so do spells.

Mates are the song/music of the soul, and their laughter is likened to music.

Different fae, and magics, contain different scents, be that personal or regional

First, let's go back to ACOWAR, when Feyre described the Ravens' entrance into the library as being like an off-kilter chord:

I felt it at the same moment she did. The ripple and tremor. Like … like some piece of the world shifted, like some off-kilter chord had been plucked. We turned toward the illuminated path that we’d just taken through the stacks, then to the dark far, far beyond. - ACOWAR, chapter 30

Initially, I had wondered if the King of Hybern had had Jurian use the Harp to infiltrate Velaris, but it was @merymoonbeam (I think) who theorised that the Cauldron might be mimicking the Harp, and maybe not doing the best job of it. Which made me wonder, could it do the same with mate bonds?

He left the rest unspoken. Because her mate was here, sleeping a level up. Because her mate had been in the family room and Azriel had needed to stay by the door the whole time because he couldn't stand the sight of it, the scent of their mating bond, and needed to have the option of leaving if it became too much. - ACOSF, Azriel's bonus chapter

Looking at her now … She was pale, yes. The vacancy still glazing her features. But he couldn’t breathe as she faced him fully. She was the most beautiful female he’d ever seen. Betrayal, queasy and oily, slid through his veins. He’d said the same to Jesminda once. But even as shame washed through him, the words, the sense chanted, Mine. You are mine, and I am yours. Mate. - ACOWAR, chapter 24

What if the Elucien bond, as either a spell or piss poor Cauldron-Made approximation of a bond, causes Azriel - and maybe Elain, possibly Lucien - nausea when Lucien is around because it's constantly changing, or reverberating over the top of, what remains of a hypothetical Elriel bond?

What if it's making the Elriel bond off-kilter, out of whack, imbalanced?

Does this make Azriel feel sick, nauseous, or simply overwhelmed/overstimulated?

When people are feeling off-balance, for whatever reason, they can feel sick or nauseous. It's one of the symptoms of vertigo, which can be triggered by severe headaches such as migraines. And guess who rubs their temples? Azriel!

Alternatively, certain chords played loudly enough on a string instrument can really mess with your chest - and where do mating bonds attach - if you're standing close enough for them to vibrate through you (at least, they do for me haha). It can be weirdly disconcerting, and I'd imagine that if Azriel or Elain feels something like this, no wonder he describes such severe discomfort that he needs to leave, and she shrinks away from Lucien, the unintentional cause of her pain.

Same with the smell; if the magic of the Cauldron, in whatever way, is messing with the smell that should be there? Contaminating it? Unbearable.

Is this too crack for you? Well, let's get even crazier.

I have previously suggested that the Cauldron's actions throughout the series could be tracked, in part, by SJM describing a feeling or quality as “oily,” and I've also wondered if the dark maker of the Cauldron - Koschei? - could have hijacked it in some way, as the Book of Breathings being made from leftover iron gave me “One Ring” vibes. I still stand by that, but with a clarification (and here is where the TOG and CC spoilers come in, FYI). I think it's only half of the magic belonging to the Cauldron that is "oily":

Throughout TOG, the Valg are heavily associated with “oiliness,” in terms of their blood and magic. The smell “reeks” and always results in the involved characters experiencing extreme revulsion, including headaches. Sound familiar?

Wyrdstone has an oily, hideous aftertaste.

Even in CC 1/HOEAB, Danika was described as oily when she came into Griffin Antiques.

Celaena looked at the sealed door, her stomach turning. A half-dried pool of blood lay at the base of the door, so dark it looked like oil. She crouched, swiping a finger through the puddle. She sniffed at it, almost gagged at the reek, and then rubbed her finger against the pad of her thumb. It felt as oily as it looked. - COM, chapter 45

“What the hell is that?” Rowan demanded, kneeling beside her, sniffing her outstretched hand. He jerked back, snarling. “That’s not dirt.” No, it wasn’t. It was blacker than night, and reeked just as badly as it had the first time she’d smelled it, in the catacombs beneath the library, an obsidian, oily pool of blood. Slightly different from that other, horrific smell that loitered around this place, but similar. So similar to— “This isn’t possible,” she said, jolting to her feet. “This—this—this—” She paced, if only to keep from shaking. “I’m wrong. I have to be wrong.” There had been so many cells in that forgotten dungeon beneath the library, beneath the king’s Wyrdstone clock tower. The creature she’d encountered there had possessed a human heart. It had been left, she’d suspected, because of some defect. What if … what if the perfected ones had been moved elsewhere? What if they were now … ready? - HOF, chapter 45

The overseer roared, thrashing as her magic swept into him, melded with him. But there was nothing inside to grab on to. No darkness to burn out, no remaining ember to breathe life into. Only— Aelin reeled back, magic vanishing and knees buckling as if struck. Her head gave a throb, and nausea roiled in her gut. She knew that feeling—that taste. Iron. As if the man’s core was made of it. And that oily, hideous aftertaste … Wyrdstone. The demon inside the overseer let out a choked laugh. “What are collars and rings compared to a solid heart? A heart of iron and Wyrdstone, to replace the coward’s heart beating within.” - EOS, chapter 15

* Side note, it's giving Tamlin and his stone heart.

Danika didn’t just look like she’d been rootling through the garbage. She smelled like it, too. Wisps of her silvery blond hair—normally a straight, silken sheet—curled from her tight, long braid, the streaks of amethyst, sapphire, and rose splattered with some dark, oily substance that reeked of metal and ammonia. - CC HOEAB, chapter 1

The Hind held Ruhn’s gaze as the game began. She was the spitting image of Luna, with her upswept chignon, the regal angle of her neck and jaw. As coldly serene as the moon. All she needed was a pack of hunting hounds at her side— And she had them, in her dreadwolves. How had someone so young risen in the ranks so swiftly, gained such notoriety and power? No wonder she left a trail of blood behind her. “Careful now,” the Harpy said with that oily smile. “The Hammer doesn’t share.” The Hind’s lips curved upward. “No, he doesn’t.” - CC HOSAB, chapter 33

I think the dark maker of the Cauldron could have been Valg, whether that's Koschei or someone else I don't know though Koschei currently makes the most sense. I also don't know when the dark maker would have had the chance to influence the Cauldron; was it always made from dark and light, or - as @fawnandshadows theorised a while back - did Koschei bastardise it after the fact? Where the Valg would fit in with the Daglan and the Asteri is also a mystery, though my current train of thought is that they could be family names or allegiances, like different clans of the same parasitical species, thanks to the description of Danika in HOEAB.

But, back to Azriel and his severe reaction to the Elucien bond.

I know I'm not the only one who wonders at the very Valg-ish themes with which Rhys and Azriel's powers have been described - maybe one day I'll post my thoughts about the possible link between lightsingers, shadowsingers, daemati and the Valg (but it is not this day lol) - and how that may have come about. For example, are the Valg interwoven, genetically, with the Avallen people, or is it because the Princes of Hel are also involved, and have similar magics? Are the Princes of Hel a similar species as the Valg, Asteri and Daglan, or completely different? Ugh, let's stop this spiral here.

Oily: the obvious train of thought being that oily things are slippery, which can lead to an imbalance… ie. becoming off-kilter.

Sounds like Azriel could be suffering from some sort of vertigo, of which symptoms can include nausea; severe headaches, such as migraines, may trigger an episode… and who rubs his temples enough that Elain noticed it?

Maybe Azriel can sense the corruption in the bond, either the current Elucien bond, or the hypothetical original bond between Elain and himself; if like calls to like, and his shadows are Valg-ish, maybe it is because his OG bond was fucked with. So, what if:

Azriel's shadows can slip away from spells and binding magic (Slippery > oily > Valg).

The guards at the prison know what he is.

Valg magic making Azriel nauseous and Elain sourcing/making a healer's powder for him? It's giving Chaol and Yrene. Especially since Elain (and Mor) make his shadows brighten.

So, we have in-text mentions of Azriel feeling overwhelmed due to the proximity of the Elucien bond, as well as Elain shrinking from Lucien - an action that parallels Azriel hanging out in the doorway, and even Lucien retreating to the human lands, if he feels any bond-related discomfort around Elain. But what about his initial response to seeing Elain, and thinking she was the most beautiful female he'd ever seen? The quote that sent me down the “oily” rabbit hole to begin with?

Looking at her now … She was pale, yes. The vacancy still glazing her features. But he couldn’t breathe as she faced him fully. She was the most beautiful female he’d ever seen. Betrayal, queasy and oily, slid through his veins. He’d said the same to Jesminda once. But even as shame washed through him, the words, the sense chanted, Mine. You are mine, and I am yours. Mate. - ACOWAR, chapter 24

Well, Aelin felt oily disgust at the thought of marrying someone who wasn't Rowan:

“There are no allies,” Darrow said. “Unless Her Highness decides to be useful and gain us men and arms through marriage”—a sharp glance at Rowan—“we are alone.” Aelin debated revealing what she knew, the money she’d schemed and killed to attain, but— Something cold and oily clanged through her. Marriage to a foreign king or prince or emperor. Would this be the cost? Not just in blood shed, but in dreams yielded? To be a princess eternal, but never a queen? To fight with not just magic, but the other power in her blood: royalty. She could not look at Rowan, could not face those pine-green eyes without being sick. - EOS, chapter 5

This example from Aelin could describe Azriel and Elain’s potential future if Elain accepted a theoretically Cauldron spelled bond to Lucien, but also for Lucien and Jesminda, if they were originally true or fated mates before she was murdered.

Some final thoughts:

We know from TOG that healing light is known as the Valg executioner. In a parallel to Yrene killing Erawan with her healing light in KOA, Elain killed the King of Hybern - who I suspect was possessed or assisted by a Valg, as Feyre described his magic as a “galaxy” in his palms - with Truth-Teller, which had recently devoured the (her?) sunlight; does this mean that Elain could heal or purify Valg possessed things, with or without the magical, Made dagger? Could this be extrapolated to Azriel's magic, the Dread Trove, or even the Cauldron (possibly with Feyre and Nesta for the bigger ticket items)?

If the Asteri are the same species as the Valg, and the Valg somehow had a hand in making or twisting the Cauldron, it could follow that they used the Cauldron to create offspring bonds for a more powerful food source. If this pans out then Elain, bright light, could hypothetically heal the Cauldron. Maybe that is why Azriel describes her with purity language? Not because SJM wants to display Azriel's apparently toxic thoughts about her (🙄), but because she, along with her sisters, will be his/their salvation? Rhys once said as much to Feyre!

@mrspettyferr has suggested that Azriel's shadows ability to hide him from binding magic - see: the High Lord's meeting in ACOWAR - could have prevented his true bond from snapping with Elain when she came out of the Cauldron. This could be supported by any Valg/shadow link.

Thank you for reading! Please don't mention any CC HOFAS spoilers in the comments or reblogs until after it has been officially published. 💜

[feministfang]

Why is pro-watermelon 🍉 gang keep saying this is the first time they are seeing a live genocide and still nobody cares?? No this isn’t your first time!

Women around the world have been slaughtered, murdered, raped, and facing all other kinds of oppression since the dawn of time. There is already a world’s oldest and biggest genocide that is still happening today. And that is femicide.

But nobody seems to care about that because according to them there’s a "gender war" going on. I wonder if these watermelon people would be protesting and boycotting the same way if it was only the Palestinian women suffering in this genocide.

None of these people ever fought with this much vehemence for women in iran, for afghan women, for sudanese women, women in Congo, and all other women who are suffering around the world.

In fact, they’re busy glamorising terrorists like Hezbollah and Khamenieh (however the fuck you spell it) and mourning the deaths of the likes of iran’s terrorist leader who died in helicopter crash just because these bearded devils chanted "free-palestine" two, three times.

More than seventy per cent of the people who have been killed in this genocide are women and children. But the only time i see the pro-Palestine m@les talking about it is when they wanna blame it all on feminists. "WhErE aRe tHe fEmInIsTs?" "WhErE aRe tHe liBerAlS?"

Just shut the fuck up and tell me where are all the anti-feminist men and women who love to say m@n should be the leaders?? Where are all the muslim and christian conservative bigots who keep saying shit like women should obey men and men should lead?? These are your leaders now!

Muslim women commenting "BoYcOTT" under every female influencer’s post promoting an israeli brand while at the same time cooking and cleaning like slaves for their husbands so these men could become the next big leaders oppressing women using their power.

If you wanna boycott anything, then boycott these men. Stop coddling them and stop doing anything for them. Instead, use all that energy in making yourself a powerful leader.

But no, FemInIsts aRe sO eVil aNd wRonG fOr tElliNg wOmEn tO sToP coNfOrMinG tO gEndEr rOLes. FeMinIsTs hAve rUiNed EvEryThInG fOr wOmEn. ThEy aRe sOciEty bReAkeRs!

It’s not the feminists fault that there’s a genocide going on, it’s the men’s. Men are the ones who vote for these male politicians. Men are the ones who worship these male leaders. Men are the ones who ruin everything for women. The enemy is exposed yet your rage is directed in the wrong direction.

There’s not one male world leader who is not destroying the planet with his evilness. But all i see is comparisons being made about which one of them is more evil; the islamic ones or the zionist ones or the white ones??

Listen! Idgaf about your free palestine land or the entire boycott list of brands. I don’t even care about your brave palestinian m@les dying either. Y’all cry about pregnant palestinian women having a hard time and feminists doing nothing for them, but who the fuck is impregnating them????

Women of Palestine should be freed from both israel and Palestinian men. That’s just what i care about. And women of Israel should be freed from these men too. No, they don’t deserve to be raped or killed just because they support Israel. It’s not even palestine vs Israel, it’s men vs women; where men are the oppressors on both sides and women are the victims on both sides. Every war has always been a genocide against women.

[i-drop-level-one-loot]

YOUR HIGHNESS I HAVE A REQUEST FOR YOU. 💍 not much of request, more of a suggestion if you ever feel like writing it, what about a necromancer yandere? or a mortician?!! OOOOUGHH im so obsessed with necromancers and everything related to them, and there's só many options!!! trying to realive darling reader? put me in! necromancer went to get body parts but when they were doing research they fell in love with one of the people they were getting body parts from, now they want to realive them! DELICIOUS!! killing unwilling reader and bringing them back as a form of punishment! IM ON! i give you full creative control thy humble lord, thank you for the food

(and of course, feel free to deny, YOU are the artist, you are what matters ❤)

Yeah, I can do this

Yandere!Necromancer x GN!Reader

CW: Mentions of death and corpses, both human and animal

The most powerful bastard to have ever lived.

The unspeakable horror known as Letum the Terrible, a powerful sorcerer that seemed to draw magic from the universe without any limitations; a bottomless pool of stamina who could wipe out armies with a snap of their fingers.

Or, as Nephin knew them, (Reader).

He still remembered the first time he met (Reader), when they were a young teenager and he was just a child. What the pitiful town's people called power hungry and malicious, Nephin understood to be ambitious and determined. Even at the age of five, the small boy could see how the people never broke (Reader's) spirit; how every time they publicly beat them out of fear, or accused them openly of evil and conspiring with dark forces, (Reader's) resolve strengthened.

Unlike wizards, who had to learn the ancient arts and memorize countless spells, or mages who had to use magickally imbued artifacts and books written by magick users of the past, the terrifying teenager was a sorcerer, who's power was instinct and perfected by trial and error experimentation.

Nephin craved the user's attention.

He studied so diligently, begging the universe to give him access to the energy of the universe or to grant him his own supply of natural mana.

The rest of the town was so focused on being afraid of (Reader), that no one but Nephin noticed their one and only flaw. (Reader) could not heal themselves.

Less than a month before the human known as (Reader) would seemingly fall off the face of the earth, they had changed the course of the little love sick child's life forever, after an encounter hidden deep in the woods.

Nephin cradled a bleeding rabbit, focusing on a simple healing spell, chanting it over and over again while rocking on his little heels, screaming in his heart for the universe to awaken his healing power. But the rabbit continued to bleed out over his shirt.

"Hel, oh breathing earth, this broken body. Hel, oh breathing earth, this broken body. Hel-"

The small little black rabbit went limp in Nephin's arms, releasing her last breath. Tears tumbled down out of frustration.

"No. No. No!" He whined, gripping the body against his chest harder. "Wake up! Wake up!"

A warm green light bubbled up from the earth like liquid, rising into the air around Nephin and the rabbit. It was working. "Wake up! Wake up!"

The rabbit stirred to life, moving within his grasp, without breathing.

Joy filled Nephin, believing himself to have finally achieved the power to heal, when he realized that the wound on the bunny never closed, and blood was still dripping from the gash.

He didn't have much time to wonder what was happening, as (Reader) emerged from the bushes, wide eyed at the sight before them.

"I.. didn't heal him right.." Nephin sadly stated, holding out the rabbit to his unrequited love.

(Reader) reached out for the beast, ignoring it's screams. After a brief inspection, (Reader) got on their knees to stand at eye level with Nephin. "What is your name, child?"

".. Nephin."

"Nephin, dear young magick user, you were born for power, but not to heal."

"-but-"

"This rabbit is dead." (Reader) angled the violently wriggling head towards Nephin so the child could see the green hue in the bunny's clouding eyes. "What you have accomplished, was quite impressive for one without training. You are a necromancer."

Nephin felt his tiny heart shatter. The tears that had begun to dry restarted, falling freely down his round, baby cheeks. "But I wanted to - to heal!"

"Look at me." (Reader) snapped their fingers, startling Nephin into choking back his sob. "With the advancements in non magickal science, even regular men can make healing medicines. With time, the doctors and the apothecaries will surely render healers useless. However, you can do what no healer has ever achieved. You can raise the dead."

(Reader) hoped that they successfully encouraged the kid, handing him back his first successful minion.

Their words would haunt him for the rest of his life.

After (Reader) disappeared, Nephin ran away from home, traveling across the continent to find necromancers to study under. They gladly accepted him as one of their own, filling him with praise over his natural talent. And as the years went by, Nephin grew in power tangentially with (Reader). He had no proof that the nearly inhuman Letum was (Reader), but with the descriptions of their abilities he had little doubt in his mind as to who they were.

Without an ability to heal themselves, (Reader) slowly became less and less of the person they once were. Stories told of the terrifyingly powerful being spread around the world, as the strongest warriors of all classes and species left to challenge them and were destroyed so thoroughly that there was not body to send back to their families. The only times (Reader) was injured was due to their hubris, which allowed their opponents to gain the upper hand. The fighters would be reduced to ash with a snap of their fingers afterwords, but (Reader) never missed the opportunity to allow their opponents to show off their pitiful abilities against them.

Scars covered so much of (Reader's) skin, that their original skin tone was difficult to determine. With a bald head and lack of a nose or upper lip, the intimidating menace was easily mistaken for a monster.

No one but Nephin remembered (Reader), but everyone knew of Letum the Terrible.

And as time went on, Nephin's love for his first crush never faded, counting down the days until he reached adulthood and could track down (Reader). He knew, logically, that (Reader) would not remember him, but whether or not they allowed him to follow them around like their loyal dog, or killed him without a second thought, was enough for him; just to be in their presence once more would be an honor.

On Nephin's twentieth birthday, when he was awarded the highest rank amongst his adoptive village and became not only an adult, but a necromancer more powerful than any other in history, he set out to find (Reader), ready to track them down by following their crimes like a trail of rose petals.

Instead, Nephin found a nation of people celebrating the death of Letum.

And it was as though his entire existence had been a waste.

Letum the Terrible was preserved with magick to be researched my magickal scientists.

Their body would not deteriorate, nor rot, as scholars from around the world freely came to poke and prod and slice open their body in an attempt to understand what gave Letum such immense power.

In the hall of intellectuals, Nephin stood transfixed before the viewing table, admiring what little remained of the neighbor he once knew. Their chest and abdomen were hollowed out, every organ except the brain removed and placed in jars to be examined. Everyone who got a chance to see the most powerful evil to have ever lived felt comfortable enough in the corpse's presence to mock (Reader).

"They died from something so mundane.."

"An allergy? Even children can heal themselves.."

"Perhaps they were bored with life.."

"Perhaps they weren't so strong after all.."

'Enough with this slander.' Except for (Reader's) body, each and every cadaver, no matter how incomplete they were, woke, and turned on the humans. The atmosphere quickly changed from cheeky to tragic, everyone scrambling in a mass panic as the dead began to tear apart the living. In the chaos Nephin stole away (Reader's) body, carrying them like a bride on their wedding day.

It took years to find every piece he needed.

Nephin searched the world for pieces to fix his precious neighbor, his first and only love. The two were now the same age as each other, as a corpse can not grow old.

Although Nephin found (Reader) just as beautiful with their scars as he did when they were children, the world knew of Letum, but only he knew of (Reader). So he hunted down pieces of the old (Reader) throughout the lands. Someone's similar shaped nose, a hide matching their skin tone and texture, scalping someone with (Reader's) hair. Bit by bit, throughout the years, with the help of a warlock under contract to resurrect her wife, Nephin sew (Reader) back together.

(Reader) woke up.

Head splitting in pain, they forced themselves to sit up, despite the voice of a stranger commanding them to take it slow. Everything was fuzzy, and they couldn't recall what had happened to cause such a stiffness and agony. The last thing they remembered was being bitten by a spider, and falling ill nearly instantly, collapsing alone in the woods.

They raised their arm to inspect their bite, but found an unfamiliar arm. Patches of skin stitched together. Their other arm was similarly foreign, and as their eyes learned to focus again, they learned that the same was true for the rest of their naked body.

"I wanted to clothe you, however I was worried the texture would be uncomfortable on your new skin." The stranger with white hair and tired eyes shyly spoke, disturbingly pale skin blushing red.

"I am in no mood for jokes." (Reader) attempted to proclaim loudly, however, their voice was nothing but a dry whisper.

"You may not remember me, but I remember you. I am the one who brought you back. And.." The red deepened as his smile trembled. "I am your master now."

"Ha! Cheeky. Regret your words, and I, Letum the Terrible, shall let you live."

"You are no longer Letum the Terrible." He bent down, caressing their left hand and placing a soft kiss on a their ring finger before pulling out a small box. "You are (Reader), my beloved spouse."

"That's it." (Reader) raised their hand, no longer amused. "This conversation is over."

And snapped their fingers.

.. but nothing happened.

Confused, they looked at their hand.

"I told you." Nephin said sweetly, admiring the green swirl of magick in (Reader's) eyes. "I am your master now."

[moonselune]

Sorceress tav riding on karlach's back flinging spells and defensive magic while their lovely lady teddy bear hacks and slashes

So so so so so cute I wish Larian would let this be an option in combat

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

Karlach x Sorceress!reader | Deadly duo

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

"Babe, please this is the perfect chance-"

"-Karlach no, it's ridiculous,"

"-But babe pleeeease!" Karlach whined, pouting and kicking the blood soaked dirt beneath them. You had rolled your ankle and you needed to get across the battlefield, however there were still an abundance of goblin scouts out there, that despite being goblins, would even manage to pick you off eventually. Then there were the worgs and the- and the more you thought about it, the more you rationalised Karlach's idea.

"Fine."

Mounted on Karlach's broad, muscular back, you held onto her tightly with one arm wrapped around her neck, your other hand free to weave intricate spells and cast defensive wards. Karlach's skin was hot beneath your touch, but you had long since grown accustomed to the heat, finding comfort in the warmth that radiated from her.

"Hold on tight, love!" Karlach's voice boomed over the din of battle, her tone laced with excitement and determination. She surged forward with the ferocity of a charging bull, her massive greatsword cleaving through enemies like they were made of parchment. Each swing of her blade was precise and devastating, her strength unmatched as she carved a path through the opposition.

As she fought, you kept a keen eye on your surroundings, your mind attuned to the ebb and flow of the battle. A group of goblin scouts aimed their bows in your direction, and with a swift incantation, you conjured a shimmering shield of magical energy that deflected their arrows straight back to the source, taking them out in one blow.

"Nice one, babe!" Karlach called out, her appreciation evident even as she continued to hack through the enemy ranks.

"Focus, my love," you replied with a playful grin, "there's plenty more where that came from."

A goblin warlock stepped forward, chanting a spell with dark intent. You responded in kind, your voice ringing out with authority as you unleashed a bolt of lightning that struck the mage square in the chest, sending him sprawling to the ground, lifeless.

Karlach let out a hearty laugh, the sound a mixture of exhilaration and pride. "That's my girl!"

You couldn't help but smile at her praise, your heart swelling with love. The two of you were a force of nature, unstoppable and unyielding. You channeled your magic into Karlach, casting a spell that enhanced her already formidable strength and speed. She roared with renewed vigor, her attacks becoming even more deadly as she tore through the enemy lines. When a particularly large and menacing ogre stepped into your path, Karlach barely hesitated.

"This one's mine," she growled, gripping her battle-axe with both hands. You held on tight, and shut your eyes, anticipating the gore that was soon to follow, and soon to decorate you. As expected Karlach and yourself were coated in blood as Karlach leapt and swung her battle-axe across its neck. Karlach roared with strength and carried forward and you wiped the blood from your eyes, a light laugh leaving your lips as you held on for dear life now.

As the battle raged on, you and Karlach continued to fight as one, at one point, surrounded by enemies, Karlach dropped to one knee, giving you a stable platform from which to cast a devastating spell. You raised your hand high, chanting the incantation with power and precision. A massive explosion of arcane energy erupted from your palm, engulfing the surrounding foes in a brilliant display of light and force. When the dust settled, the area around you was clear, the enemies either defeated or fleeing in terror.

Karlach stood, grinning up at you with fierce pride. "Impressive, as always."

You leaned down, pressing a quick kiss to the top of her head. "And you, my fierce warrior, are incredible."

The battle began to wind down, the remaining enemies either retreating or surrendering. You and Karlach stood amidst the aftermath, breathless and exhilarated. You slid off her back, your legs a bit unsteady from the adrenaline and exertion, your ankle still throbbing. Karlach caught you, her strong arms pulling you close.

"So, you have to admit that it was a pretty great idea," She murmered, a cheeky grin spreading across her lips.

"Okay, okay, it was perhaps quite a good idea," You smiled, resting your forehead against hers. "We make a pretty good team, don't we?"

"The best," she agreed, her eyes shining with love and admiration. "Now, let's get back to camp and get you healed up."

You nodded, allowing her to pick you back up, this time cradled in her arms, bridle style. On the way back Karlach raved about your shared performance, you looked up at her, love in your eyes and smiled, nodding along with her, perhaps you two would do that again.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

Hope y'all enjoyed it - Seluney xox

[maybe-boys-do-love]

Peaceful Property dove a bit deeper into the Thai spiritual beliefs that most Thai BL watchers will have recognized casually cropping up in shows and interviews where they talk about whether they're afraid of ghosts and such.

I’m not an expert in anyway on Thai occult traditions, and I also recognize that a lot of English writing about folk religions is the absolute worst (both among academics and among the new-agey amateur crowd). However, this writing from the digital Southeast Asian culture publication, Rice Media, about the experience of Signaporean author, Benjamin Lim, going through a Thai occult ritual is a pretty easy read tht treats the process and background beliefs with respect and realism.

For example, it distinguishes three regional variations, with the southern region of Dai, including Bangkok, associated with monks and chanting, the northwestern region of Neueh associated most with ghosts, and the northeastern region of Issan connected on occult magical practices.

Part of the background info touched on amulets, and it’s run down explains not only what Aunt Phom is doing in the episode but how symbolic it was of her maltreatment of Baanchuen.

“Often, spells and other types of chants are used to summon spirits or ghosts to amulets, which are usually shaped in the form of a deity. They are typically worn as a form of protection. But these spirits, “enslaved” by the amulet wearers, can also be instructed to help their masters in various ways, for example increasing their wealth or even improve their love life.

Like pets, these spirits need to be looked after and showered with attention. If not, they may feel neglected and can hurt their master. Any good luck that they bring to the amulet wearer must also be repaid in merit, which Peter says can be making donations to charity in the name of the spirit. 

“There is no free lunch in this world,”he stresses.”

Aunt Phon wanted to exploit her laborers and the spirits to maintain her family’s wealth and status with no regard for making merit of any kind to others.

Idk how common this knowledge would be for most Thai folks, but knowing that info, if accurate, illuminates so much in the episode and the Emily Gilmore of Thailand. I can't wait until someone with more familiarity lays out more of the details about the Thai occult references here!

[space-mermaid-writing]

Consort and King [IronStrange]

Summary: Anthony Stark, King of Midgard, needs a spouse. Whether he wants one or not. So he accepts an arranged marriage with the Prince of Kamar-Taj – a man he has never met in his life to the day they are standing in front of each other at the altar, speaking their vows. Is it possible that the feeling of duty grows into something more? Will their future be happy?

Relationship: Tony Stark / Stephen Strange

Tags: arranged marriage au, royal au, strangers to husbands, enemies to lovers, slow burn, idiots in love, fluff, hurt/comfort, miscommunication, all the good stuff

Author's note: Beta by @kvjjjjjj

Ko-fi | Read it on AO3 | Series Masterlist | Word count: 5.2k | Previous | Next

15 Dealing with the rogues

The portal took Stephen and the other masters to the underground catacombs beneath the temple, where the earlier explosion had been heard. They stepped right into what seemed to be the middle of a summoning.

There were lines and symbols drawn onto the ground and the rogues stood in a large circle, chanting in an ancient language. The black and purple smoke seemed to have originated here.

Whatever they were trying to accomplish, it couldn’t be anything good.

The sorcerer’s of Kamar-Taj immediately attacked; Stephen leading them, sending a powerful beam at one of the rogues. He threw the rogue off his feet. This broke the circle but the others continued their chanting.

It was clear that they were willing to pull through, no matter what.

“They are wearing the mark of the dark dimension!”

Stephen shifted his focus and he realized that the master was right: the rogues had purple glowing marks on their foreheads.

This was bad.

Analyzing the whole situation Stephen noticed that one of the rogue sorcerers standing in the circle had a book hovering in front of him. If Stephen had to bet, he’d say this was the stolen book from the library.

He gritted his teeth as he recognized the rogue's face: it was Kaecilius, a former student of the Ancient One.

And suddenly Stephen had no doubt who had plunged the black dagger into her chest.

Stephen gave the sorcerer closest to him a sign and they attacked Kaecilius together. The other sorcerer, a man around Stephen’s age wearing his brown hair in a ponytail, used a spell to hit the rogue right into his chest.

Kaecilius doubled over in pain.

At the same time, Stephen snagged the book through a small portal – a nifty trick he used to annoy Wong with.

As soon as he got the book in his hand and closed it, the chanting stopped as if a spell had been broken; and all heads turned to him. The marks on their foreheads remained, as well as the hostile look in their purple eyes. It warned Stephen that they would aim to get that book back at any price.

Kaecilius straightened up again, his attention now on Stephen as well. “Look at that! The lost prince has returned.,” he sneered and threw a lightning bolt at him.

Stephen couldn't activate a shield without putting the book down, so he jumped to the side, feeling the heat of the spell way too close for his liking.

For a moment he thought about storing the book in his personal pocket dimension just to keep his hands free. But he couldn’t take on Kaecilius and his zealots at the same time; even with the help of the other masters. They had to split the rogues up.

He weighed his options. He deemed Kaecilius the greater threat. Maybe he was biased, blinded by the image of the Ancient One lying dead on the ground in his mind.

This was personal.

He tossed the book to a younger master nearby; The last time Stephen had seen him before he left for Midgard, he had been wearing the red robes of an apprentice. Now he was wearing the colors of a master.

“Get that book away from here!”

The sorcerer nodded – his face stern – and with a swift motion he opened another portal.

Several sorcerers and rogues followed him, starting a chase. Stephen didn't have time to help him, he was busy dodging another attack from Kaecilius.

“It’s too late,” the rogue sorcerer taunted him. “The channel is already open. The power we draw from it is greater than you could ever imagine. Even your new piece of jewelry won't help you.” His purple blazing eyes darted to the necklace on Stephen's chest, hungrily. “But go ahead. Play with your new toy.”

Only the most powerful mages could actually use it. That was why the Ancient One had had to die.

Stephen summoned a golden mandala, which he threw at Kaecilius. The rogue swiped it away easily.

Both men didn’t hold back in the fight that followed. They threw spells at each other, blocking the other’s magic or redirecting it. More than once, a charge of magic slammed into one of the rock walls and caused the ground to shake.

Stephen noticed that Kaecilius moved mainly within the drawn summoning circle. And it seemed to enhance his magic even further. Like he had said: although the ritual had been interrupted, a channel remained open to the Dark Dimension.

Having this realization, Stephen quickly came up with a plan to get the rogue out of there. And he put this plan into action as soon as he saw an opportunity.

He dodged the falling debris caused by another quake. Using his slingring, he appeared right next to Kaecilius.

As the rogue whirled around to face him, Stephen opened another portal, directly behind him. Before Kaecilius was able to throw up a shield, Stephen hit him with a full blast. He didn't knock the rogue off his feet, but Kaecilius did stumble backwards through the circle.

Stephen followed him, not letting the rogue out of his eyes, and stepped on the roof of one of the temples, which were still surrounded by the black and purple smoke.

The new location up in the air didn’t stop them from continuing to fight. Kaecilius didn’t even bat an eye at it. Stephen simply put a spell on his boots to keep balance, before charging at the rogue.

_________________

Tony helped Wong and some of the other masters to clean up. Most of the damage had been done in the courtyards and between the temples. The sorcerers used magic to repair broken windows and balconies and to get rid of any quicksand.

Overall, it seemed like the attack had been a diversion. And a good one. Tony briefly wondered what kind of enemy Stephen was facing.

Since Tony couldn't contribute much to the repairs with no magic, he assisted a few injured sorcerers to get to the healers.

Suddenly he and Wong saw a flash of orange as a portal opened nearby. Several sorcerers and rogues were running through and past them.

Wong raised his hands for a spell, glancing at Tony, who had his hands on the hilt of his sword. Then he looked back at the sorcerers. He seemed undecided, weighing the potential danger against Stephen's silent plea to protect Tony's life.

The king took the decision away from him, sprinting ahead. “Let's get them!”

That was all the conviction Wong needed, and he quickly caught up to Tony's side. He created a magic rope, similar to the whips Stephen often used fighting, but this time with a knife at one end. He whirled it around and swung it in the direction of a rogue, stopping him from pursuing.

More people were portaling in and out and soon it was a mess to recognize who was a sorcerer of Kamar-Taj and who was a rogue without looking into their faces first; something that needed a few seconds which Tony did not always have in a fight.

Watching them, Tony quickly found that the rogues seemed to be chasing a young man who had an old book tucked under his arm.

Someone grabbed Tony’s arm, and he whirled around to shake off whoever it was – until he noticed it was Wong, who pulled him towards a bunch of portals.

“This way.”

They joined the chase to eliminate the hunters of the book.

Tony recognized the hallway they stepped into next. He had been here in the past two days, even though he wasn’t able to nail down which of the temple buildings it belonged to.

It didn’t matter anyway, because suddenly gravity shifted and the hallway seemed to rotate. Tony elbowed a rogue who staggered too close to him in the side, when the wall that had been to his left was now the new ground.

Man, magic was really annoying.

Tony used Whisperwind to deflect another attack from the rogue he had just elbowed. They had a buzz-cut and their slender form made it impossible to tell their gender. Tony struck their leg, made a lunge to the side and immediately struck them again at the shoulder.

Gravity shifted again. Tony lost his footing and stumbled over a chandelier and right into another portal.

He landed in snow, somewhere in the mountains. It was cold and windy. Tony hated it instantly, but looking up he saw the portal was too high in the air to get back.

He rolled out of the way when Wong came through. The sorcerer landed at his side with grace. He was probably used to these kinds of stunts.

Well, back to the chase.

Tony threw his blade the same time Wong threw his rope dart, both of them hitting different rogues that were still after the book guy. The young sorcerer had toppled to the ground – and he didn’t get back up. When he tried his leg gave in under him, preventing him from getting out of here.

Tony doubted it was his only injury.

The king engaged the rogues in a duel while Wong opened another portal under the young sorcerer with the book; and closed it as soon as he fell through with a yelp.

Now it was Tony and Wong against three rogues. Angrily, they turned towards them.

Tony had Wong's back while he continued to attack them from afar with Whisperwind.

He wasn't stupid enough to face magic without a shield of his own. Luckily, Wong provided one for both of them. Tony had already noticed after today that the sorcerer was a skilled fighter, and between the two of them, the rogues stood no chance.

After the last of the three bodies had hit the snow, he pulled his blade back onto the hilt.

“Can we get out of here?” He asked, freezing from the cold.

He was shivering from the weatherand sweating from the fight at the same time. His breath came in little puffs of white fog whenever he exhaled, and he barely felt his fingers anymore.

Used to the warm climate of Midgard, Tony was not a fan of these winter mountains. Especially when he wasn’t wearing any warm clothes.

Wong nodded and opened another portal. Tony was glad to step through it, and he saw they were back in the garden of the Sorcerer's Temples.

Apparently Wong had followed the sorcerer's magical signature with the book or something like that, because they found the man. His legs had failed him and he had sunk to the grass, leaning his back against a tree.

He panted heavily, his fingers raised for another spell. As soon as he saw Wong, he dropped his hands, relief visible on his face.

“You did good,” Wong reassured the young master as he stepped up to him. “I’m taking this from here.”

The young man nodded and handed him the book. “Thank you, Master Wong,” he sighed, closing his eyes for a second.

Wong hung the book on his belt before making it disappear with a gesture.

“Where did it go?” Tony asked because apparently this old looking book was important enough that people would kill for it.

Wong patted the space where it should be, and there was a surprising solid noise.

“I hid it from prying eyes.”

“Great.” Tony turned back to the injured sorcerer. “Let's bring him to the infirmary. Can you open another one of those magic circles?”

“It’s called a portal.” Wong rolled his eyes, but there was no bite in his voice.

“Of course. Whatever you say.” Tony helped the younger sorcerer onto his feet. The boy groaned in pain as soon as he moved his leg.

Tony put his arm around his shoulders, taking most of his weight.

“Thanks,” the sorcerer muttered. “I’m Aimar, by the way.”

"Tony." Aimar didn’t seem to be aware that he was talking to royalty. Tony helped him limp through the portal that Wong had opened. “Don’t worry, you will be back in shape in no time.”

Aimar hummed. “Did we win?”

“There may be some of them left, but we will get them. You rest.”

The sorcerer nodded.

Tony helped him sit down on an empty bed in the infirmary and Aimar passed out almost instantly. Tony waved over a healer before he and Wong went back outside; this time through the front door.

Just as he was about to descend the steps of the temple, he noticed a movement and looked up. Stopping in his tracks he stared as he saw Stephen fighting another sorcerer on the roof of a temple.

Kaecilius hurled a powerful spell at Stephen, some kind of purple beam. Tony didn’t see what Stephen did, but before the beam hit him, it exploded into hundreds of butterflies. They scattered in all directions.

“Wong!”

Wong, who was instructing some apprentices, whirled around, alarmed by the king’s worried voice. His eyes followed Tony’s pointing arm.

Stephen moved as if his shoulder was injured. His movements were no longer fluid, his face tense. He was biting back the pain.

Nevertheless, he returned the attack. Wind came up, roaring into an almost visible storm of yellow and orange, moving around them. Small, delicate swirls, that suddenly morphed into needles and attacked Kaecilius.

It cut his skin and he let out an angry cry that was heard even in the yards.

Tony hated not being able to do anything to help. Even though he had fought enough wars to know when to join a fight and when to trust others to win. Any interference from him would only hinder Stephen.

He sent a prayer to all known gods that his husband would return safely to his arms.

Stephen mustered up all his strength. He couldn’t just use raw power. Kaecilius simply had more of it.

But he could try the Sorcerer Supreme’s way.

Stephen closed his eyes for a moment. His fingers touched – as he had seen the Ancient One do so often – and he crossed his hands.

The Eye of Agamotto opened, glowing bright green.

Kaecilius laughed. This was Strange’s end. You needed years of training and studies to use the Eye without any consequences. Strange was a fool for trying to use it. It would be his downfall.

As soon as the Eye opened, Stephen felt its power. It was so much more than he had ever imagined. It was like embracing a wave while trying to redirect it with nothing but his bare hands.

His broken hands.

He could only hope it would not drown him.

It was dangerous to experiment with these kinds of powers; it was easy to be corrupted by them – or crushed by them.

At that moment Stephen didn’t care. Anger and grief clouded the rational part of his mind, letting him become careless.

It also allowed him to dig deeper into his own powers.

Kaecilius hurled a spell at him and Stephen wasn’t able to block it; his whole focus went into controlling the Eye. He did manage to stay on his feet, but still slid backwards. It hurt. He was bleeding from somewhere. But there was no time to dwell on it.

The green glowing necklace on his chest felt like a pool of lava. Stephen needed to draw from it without burning his hands. It was an impossible task.

He moved his fingers anyway; in a pattern he had once read about. A spell of banishment, forceful enough for a demon.

A memory of the Ancient One came into his mind. She smiled gently at him – patiently – whenever he had thrown a tantrum. And Stephen had thrown a lot of them when he first started to study magic.

A single tear ran down his cheek.

Another attack hit Stephen and he heard Kaecilius laughing. He clenched his teeth. By now he was standing up only by willpower alone.

“Faith is my sword, truth is my shield, knowledge my armor,” he murmured. It was something the Ancient One had taught him and he had internalized the words.

Everything hurt. Especially his heart.

Stephen's mind wandered to Tony; his brave, beautiful husband, who was still at the temples somewhere. Stephen would defend him, fight for him until his dying breath.

“Let’s see if you still laugh if you meet the demon you planned to summon in person,” Stephen growled through gritted teeth.

The faint green glow that had followed the movement of his fingers, finished its pattern and lit up brightly now.

Kaecilius’ laughter stopped abruptly. There was suddenly fear in his eyes upon realization.

Stephen had done it.

With a grunt he pushed the green magic at the rogue. Kaecilius tried to dodge it, but it was to no avail. The magic wrapped around him, held him tight and confined his movements as well as his voice. The magic had him in its grip and there was no escape.

The green got brighter and brighter until it exploded in a sphere of light, as the rogue sorcerer was catapulted from this world.

Stephen barely noticed it. The blast wave from the explosion had caught him and knocked him backwards off his feet. His focus was solely on controlling the Eye, which was why he lost grip of all the other spells - including the one on his boots that had been holding him on the roof.

And thus he fell.

Tony panicked because it was too fast and Stephen was diving head first. His movements were slow and staggered as he tried to perform a spell.

However, nothing happened – his magic failed him – and Stephen continued to fall, unhindered.

Suddenly, a golden glowing portal opened in front of him; its counterpart leading to Wong, who was controlling the spell. Stephen fell through it, hitting the ground at a shallow angle that abruptly ended his fall. He tumbled across the ground, rolling over several times before coming to a halt groaning.

He felt like he had just bruised everything for a second time today.

Tony ran over to him. “Stephen! Shit, are you okay? Talk to me!”

The sorcerer struggled to get to his feet; his legs trembled and gave way under the weight of his body when he tried to move.

Tony’s hands were all over Stephen, making sure he was alive.

“You’re alright! Everything’s fine.” Tony reassured Stephen as well as his own self. Seeing his husband fight – and almost falling to death – had shaken him more than he cared to admit.

“You’re not allowed to do these kinds of stunts again. You hear me? I don’t… I need you to be safe.” His voice was shaking.

“Is he gone?” Stephen asked, his voice rough.

“That other guy? Yes, he exploded or something like that. He is gone.”

Relieved, Stephen stopped trying to get up and rolled onto his back instead. He hissed in pain. “Can you… get a healer please?”

“Of course!” Tony turned around to pass the request to Wong – because there was no way he was leaving Stephen’s side.

Only, Wong was gone. Always a step ahead, the sorcerer had hurried inside the infirmary as soon as he had closed the portal behind Stephen.

Tony praised his quick thinking. Wong deserved a raise.

Stephen was on the verge of fainting, overwhelmed by the pain that seemed to get stronger the more the adrenaline was wearing off.

He didn't notice a rogue sorcerer creeping up, a black dagger in his hand.

Not all of them were neutralized yet. The rogues were defeated, their plan had failed; but that only made the remaining ones angrier.

It was easy to direct that anger onto Strange, who had stepped in to stop them. Who was wearing the Eye of Agamotto now.

Strange, who had left the temples a while ago to play consort.

Strange, who lay defenseless on the ground. Vulnerable.

The rogue saw his chance for a quick revenge. Even with Tony at the sorcerer’s side, he thought they would be an easy target. Tony's clothes were clearly not from Kamar-Taj, so he wasn’t a Master of the Mystic Arts.

Stephen didn’t notice the rogue sneaking up.

But Tony did. With a swift motion he drew Whisperwind and swung the blade at the rogue. “Don’t you dare touch him!” he spat angrily.

Tony had been trained in sword fighting since the age of nine, when he had been tall enough to hold a wooden weapon in his hands, and wield it. His movements were practiced and precise.

The rogue sorcerer was surprised by the fury that met him. He defended himself but he stood no real chance against the fierce husband.

A blade in his chest stopped the rogue’s beating heart.

Tony stepped to him and connected the sword back into one piece before he pulled out the blade, ignoring the blood dripping from it. His eyes darted around to see if anyone else was stupid enough to attack his Stephen.

There was no one.

“Tony..” Stephen coughed weakly and Tony was back at his side instantly.

“I’m here, Stephen.”

Finally, Wong was back, a healer hot on his heels. He was startled by the freshly dead rogue next to Stephen, but Tony gave him a look that reassured him.

Everything was under control.

Tony stayed at Stephen’s side while the healer moved faintly glowing fingers over the sorcerer’s body. Tony wasn’t sure what kind of magic he did, but Stephen exhaled deeply. His breathing seemed to come easier to him after that and he was in less pain. He was even able to sit up.

It didn’t stop Tony from fussing over his husband and he only stopped when Stephen took Tony’s hands into his.

“Tony,” he spoke softly and waited until Tony looked at him. “I’m fine.”

“You’re fine…” Tony echoed.

And it was the truth: by some miracle both men had survived.

Tony accepted a cup of water handed out by some apprentices in red robes and handed it straight to his husband. Stephen drank from it and then gave it back to Tony, wordlessly asking him to do the same.

They were still sitting on the ground near the infirmary. It wasn't even midday. That such an attack had happened in broad daylight was unusual. The attackers had used the cover of the fog, but they must have been very sure of their victory. Maybe overconfident.

Stephen looked at the place where the body of the Ancient One no longer lay, and he realized something. “She knew it.”

“Who?” Tony asked.

“The Ancient One. She must have known what would happen today. She wasn’t even surprised by the alarm. She probably even suspected she would die today, and I was the person she asked to see before she… I think she wanted to make sure I was happy in Midgard.”

Stephen looked at Tony, his eyes suddenly wet.

Tony put a sympathetic hand on his arm. He had known her only for a day, but that was enough to see what an incredible woman she had been. And she had clearly cared about Stephen a lot.

Tony briefly wondered why she had not tried to prevent her death if she had known. He couldn't imagine living with that kind of knowledge and still letting it happen.

He remembered Donna’s words about time magic.

And who knew… maybe the alternatives had been even worse…

“Luckily we had chosen now to visit,” he concluded his trail of thoughts. At least that had given Stephen the opportunity to speak to his mentor one last time.

The sorcerer made a noise that sounded somewhere between a hollow laugh and a painful sob. “There are no such things as coincidences. Everything happens for a reason.”

Tony didn’t fully agree with that. They had planned this trip and informed the Sorcerer Supreme, or really anyone, only after everything had been agreed on.

On the other hand… if Stephen hadn’t stepped in fighting that evil guy – who else would have? And would they have succeeded?

Wong stepped to their side. He had stayed close to him the whole time since the fight had started. Not only as Stephen's manservant but today,  as their guard and – most importantly – as Stephen’s friend.

“Stephen, The Council is meeting to decide how to proceed. They asked us to join them.” He turned his face to Tony. “As Stephen’s husband and ally of Kamar-Taj you are welcome as well.”

Stephen nodded and slowly got up to his feet. He briefly staggered when a wave of dizziness overtook for a moment, but he rejected Tony’s hand that tried to support him.

“I’m fine. Just magical exhaustion.”

Tony didn’t know anything about that. Sure, Stephen's exterior wounds seemed healed; mostly scratches and cracked skin from when he was rolling all over the ground. But he didn’t believe that deeper, internal injuries would heal just as quickly. Even with magic.

Tony was glad to be able to join the Council and keep an eye on Stephen. Although he would have understood if he had been excluded from what was clearly a discussion about internal affairs of the sorcerers.

Some might say it was way too early to deal with the political consequences; the damage caused by the attack was still being recorded. The bodies of the fallen were still being carried off the battlefields.

But this had been an act of war and war didn’t care about sensibility or anyone’s grief.

Tony wasn’t fully familiar with the command structure of the sorcerers, but he knew they were in a weaker position without their leader.

Wong led them to a nearby temple and into a smaller room. Several other men and women in robes of various colors had gathered there. They greeted the three men and introduced themselves to the King of Midgard.

Stephen removed the necklace from his neck and put it onto a pedestal that had the exact shape to hold it. Nobody else touched it.

Tony noticed someone had brought food. It was just a big bowl of rice – nobody had time to cook with the attack - but Tony was still thankful. Breakfast seemed like an eternity ago and everyone knew that council meetings could go on forever.

And really: it started with everyone present telling what had happened from their perspective. It helped to get the big picture; like pieces of a puzzle.

It took a long time and often the stories overlapped.

Stephen was the last to talk, as he reported how he managed to defeat the head of the attackers, Kaecilius.

For once, Tony leaned back and listened quietly. He only talked when he was asked to.

The council meeting was long and tedious. Some people were circling back multiple times to discuss why the incident had happened in the first place.

Tony was used to this; it was similar to holding a council with the nobles. And Stephen seemed to feel the same way, except he wasn’t shy about his opinion on that. There was a lot of eye rolling from his side and he took an active part in the discussion, although he no longer lived here. But he was still a sorcerer – the Ancient One had said he had a forever  place here – and he was also still their prince.

Then the question was raised who should become the next Sorcerer Supreme, and instantly silence fell.

Stephen looked at the others and needed a moment to realize all eyes were on him. He frowned.

“No.”

“It was supposed to be you,” an older sorcerer interjected. Tony had gotten to know him as Master Hamir. “You are one of the best candidates we have ever had.”

“I have other commitments,” Stephen interjected. “And I'm going to be king.”

“Not of Kamar-Taj. It's a technicality, but the law doesn't apply in this case,” Master Minoru interjected.

Stephen was truly surprised that all his arguments were discarded and instead he even received encouragement. He hadn't expected that; he had been gone for months and had not planned on coming back for anything more than a visit.

He looked at Tony as if asking him for backup. He had made a promise to Tony the day they had married. The day he had signed the wedding contracts.

But to his surprise, Tony sided with the sorcerers. “We could arrange around your new duties.”

“It would mean that I would mostly stay in Kamar-Taj,” Stephen pointed out.

“I know.” Tony stepped closer to his husband. Stephen flinched and it almost looked like he would draw back, but he didn’t move away, his feet planted in the ground. Gently, Tony took the scarred hands into his. “I don’t want to keep you from this. It’s important to you.”

He remembered the Ancient One’s words from yesterday – and oh god it was really only yesterday they had arrived in Kamar-Taj and met her. It felt like weeks ago.

Even if it meant making sacrifices and only getting a small part of Stephen; Tony wanted him to be happy.

The other masters listened in silence. This was now a discussion between husbands. And between the rulers of a kingdom.

Stephen realized just how serious Tony was. He didn’t know how he deserved this man.

When his parents had presented him the marriage proposal he had thought that this part of his life was done and over. But now Tony offered him a second chance.

Stephen knew what it meant for Midgard and its king: Stephen would barely be there, his attention always divided between two realms that weren’t even close to each other.

How often would they even be able to see each other?

It was a big decision to make and Stephen should take his time for it. But he knew what he wanted for his future; even more so after what Tony had just offered.

“You are right.” Stephen was suddenly clear on what to say. “But there’s one thing that you didn’t consider. The most important thing.” There was a smile on his lips. “I love you.”

Tony looked at him in awe, his mind blanking. He needed a second to find his words. “You… uh, really? You really mean that?”

“I truly do. There are other perfectly fine candidates and-…”

Tony pulled him into a kiss. It was a kiss that spoke of whispered confessions and shared dreams.

Stephen would stay at Tony’s side. He chose Tony.

Tony was enough for him.

He felt like the happiest man alive.

Tony only remembered there were other people in the room when someone cleared their throat. He didn’t care; kissing his husband wasn’t the worst he had been caught doing.

Stephen's cheeks, on the other hand, were tinted red. He stood up a bit straighter when he turned to the other masters, but he kept his fingers interlaced with Tony’s, who was outright beaming.

“I decline,” Stephen announced what they had come to realize was his final answer. “That doesn’t mean I won’t aid you if anything happens. Just not in the position as the Sorcerer Supreme. Instead I propose Loki, Prince of Asgard, for that.”

Now, those words surprised some of the sorcerers.

Some others didn’t seem shocked at all.

“We will consider it,” Master Hamir said.

And somehow that marked the end of this meeting.

_____________

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