#like i devote some days just to stream those two
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karinasbaby · 10 months ago
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yang jungwon — GUTS.
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P. fem!reader x vampire!jungwon (17+) | W. unprotected sex, not an accurate deception of vampires, blood drinking, biting, marking, making out, multiple orgasms, subspace, petnames, tying up, just filthy. filthy shit. cursing too. | WC. 5.1k (was supposed to be 3k) | A,N. this one’s for nia my beloved @intromortal i hope u find some sort of comfort in this (⺣◡⺣)♡ love u lots + hope u and all jungwon girlies enjoy !
in which.. you trying to get used to your fangs somehow leads to jungwon getting tied up.
very important ps ! this was not edited or proofread in any way i wrote this at 4 am sorry! + this was inspired by moonstruck if u couldn’t tell (stream romance untold)
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this totally wasn’t the ideal situation you were hoping to find yourself with a mere year ago.
a scenario consisting you, your supernatural boyfriend, his fangs and yours.
something single, hopeless, last year you would’ve had a hard time grasping and processing. that is if she was able to believe the fact that you were alive in the first place. as last year— well it wasn’t the best year you’ve experienced, and that statement heavily sugarcoats the tragic ups and downs you tumbled through.
but thankfully, in one of those depressed, cold night where you found yourself walking through the streets of the city all alone, you also found the love of your life.
again, not in the most ideal situation. seeing your future boyfriend ripping apart a random human’s flesh in the dark alleyway wasn’t the best first impression of a potential partner you’ve seen.
but alas, that faithful day did somehow manage to develop and nurture the relationship that evolved between the two of you. deeply connecting your beating heart to his frozen one, which was the sentimental beginning of the flourishing love for you.
now those days— the ones where you spoke to jungwon shyly whereas he tried his best to avoid eye contact with you in order to not get flustered were long gone. the bond that formed for both you allowed all the embarrassing and unnerving moments to quickly disappear.
some might claim you were moving on too quickly with your relationship, others might say that you’re just in the high peak of your love and that your fall was soon. yet none of those words mattered. not when jungwon has confessed his love for you.
not when he worships you every chance he gets. devoting himself to you completely and even begging you for a chance of eternity for your love. “an eternity for you, an evermore for us.” he would whisper against your skin.
and you agreed. of course you did. you would love to spend an eternity with jungwon. a happily forever after with your dear lover who always whispers how if his heart was alive, it would beat continuously for you only.
your lover that made you forget what your other previous relationships were like, the cliche sensation of falling atop a puddle of clouds and travelling through euphoria was long forgotten. replaced with the sinking feeling of drowning. a deep deep ocean of pure ardour that made you sink further below with each and every frosty wave that washed upon you.
and though your limbs became frozen, wrapped between icy fingertips and your breathing became impossible with the cold lips pressed against yours, you wouldn’t have it any other way.
not when this was the love jungwon was providing you.
and maybe you agreeing was when things started to head south a bit too quickly. too unexpectedly.
turning into the same creature as jungwon was an unforgettable experience. a beautiful yet painfully traumatising one. though with your lover’s support and care it became a distant, memorable thought for you in the back of your head.
one that you weren’t able to focus on due to the pounding in your ears. the ache in the back of your skull. and the pulsing pain right on your canines.
two hundered and sixteen hours. it’s been exactly nine days of pure agony since you turned.
the pain was unbearable. noxious. a carnal and vile sensation that raked through every vein in your unfamiliarly cold body. still not used to the dizzying icy feel of your fingertips against warmer surfaces that once felt cool beneath your touch.
you felt unstable. hunger overpowering every rational thought in your head. the absolute need to feed on the metallic taste that your tongue craved so deeply right now was wicked. the desire digging through each inch of your being and setting off every nerve with animalistic crave.
regretting every offer from jungwon to feed from him was futile. going on your first hunt while your lover was resting just to satiate your hunger was discarded out the window and feeding on the newly brought blood bags jungwon stored in your fridge was also forgotten as he did warn you that newly turned vampires should feed from someone else instead of a blood bag.
which didn’t make sense. bullshit excuse. but you were too scared.
that was the thing that stopped you from accepting all of jungwon’s caring offers, fear. the terrifying fear of possibly hurting your lover webbed its way around your head so intricately no matter how many times jungwon tried to get rid of it, it never worked.
but you were struggling.
canines turning sharper by the minute. elongated bones poking against your lips and swollen tongue that grew sensitive from the spiky edge. the thirst in your chest became wanton. your throat turning drier and drier the more time passed. nothing was working.
closing your eyes as your grip on the couch below you turned tighter only infuriated you more. it was way past midnight. jungwon was resting in your shared bedroom. the furthest point away from the living room where you were situated, in complete fear and hunger.
despair clouded your thoughts. nine days with no feeding since you turned was ridiculous. jungwon had warned you multiple times about how dangerous your actions are. harming your body and turning you weaker than you already are. yet you wouldn’t listen. as the defiant fear flourished further, you couldn’t bring yourself to take his worries into consideration.
well up until now.
up until this current moment, when you physically felt your body and surroundings shifting entirely. a forceful push making you stand on your own two shaking feet, coaxing you to move from your spot towards the door you’ve been staring at for the past few hours.
the bedroom door, where jungwon laid peacefully resting after a long and exhausting night of hunting accompanied by fruitless attempts of convincing you to feed on him. muffled footsteps barely reached your eyes through the loud ringing of your ears.
you weren’t aware but jungwon could feel your presence. even see you with his eyes closed due to his severely heightened senses. he could see and feel the way your eyes glowed a dark, dangerous red. lips bitten and split open in tiny cuts due to the sharpening of your fangs. and most importantly, he could very obviously feel your hunger.
the sensation coming as a shocking, staggering wave to him. he felt the way each cell in your body craved and yearned for blood. the iron taste to coat your tastebuds and satisfy your reeling mind. he could practically taste your hunger on his own lips.
yet he didn’t move on the bed, deciding that if this is what it took you to finally feed on him, then he’ll stay resting. asleep even in your mind. allowing you to do whatever your vampiric mind desires and deems as useful in this current moment.
which is why when your crazed eyes caught the sight of the animal chains used by jungwon to capture creatures that wafted through the forests, he felt a wave of excitement wash down on him. especially when you gripped the chains so tightly between your fingers and dragged them along with you towards the bed.
he patiently awaited you. eyes closed to further fake his sleep, unaware that you couldn’t differentiate between reality and your thoughts to let alone remember the fact that vampires don’t usually sleep. bringing up the heavy chains to wrap around jungwon’s wrists, the click and clank of the metal loudly echoed through the room yet you could only hear the continuous ringing in your ears.
with an unnoticeable smirk, jungwon kept his wrists pressed against one another to give you more ease in tying the chains, he could tell you were completely delirious. out of your mind as you tried to somehow make the pieces of metal stay in place. “fuck..” you cursed quietly, an unclear pronunciation reaching jungwon’s ears as you struggled to speak with the sharp fangs and swollen tongue. something jungwon found really endearing.
once you finally tightened the animal chains around your vampire lover’s wrist, your glowing red eyes shifted downwards. his pale skin shimmering with a sheen layer of sweat that appeared like glitter. the bright hue illuminated by the moonlight was so breathtaking, he looked so bewitching.
yet your admiration for his beauty couldn’t last long, as the heavy, dizzying scent of divine blood reached your nose aggressively due to the close proximity. with jungwon being a mere inches away from your mouth, the sound of his beating heart and circulation echoed enticingly in your eyes.
blood, oh how sacred it was. serving as the connection point between so many living creatures. the tilting brink for life and death. and the reason why you’re still alive till this day.
jungwon had always taught you the importance of the feathery light liquid that weighed a whole life, the revered blood that served the purpose for the existence of your lover. the light of your whole life and your eternity. the ichor that has been worshipped for centuries, the same one you were about to taste on the tip of your tongue right now.
and the most precious kind too.
the scent was dizzying, intoxicating. your senses picking up all the pulse points travelling in jungwon’s body, each one pulsating the crimson liquid that made the elongated canines in your mouth ache all the more. it was as if the remaining blood in your body cascaded away from your brain. making you lose all logical thinking as you lowered your head towards jungwon’s inviting, delicate neck that appeared more delicious oddly.
your shallow breaths grew even more irregular. if you had a heartbeat you knew it would’ve been raging by now, pounding nervously against your ribs. you opened your mouth, puffed lips separating and allowing your fangs to glisten against the moonlight. you were so close. so so close to getting exactly what you wanted.
and when your teeth grazed the surface of jungwon’s skin, the decrease of distance making your head spin as you could inhale his scent better now. and god was it so alluring. such a electrifying scent that enlivened all parts of your body and brain. setting off a different fire that blazed up your being entirely, driven completely by hunger. crave. voracity.
before you could flow further in the cloud of euphoria caused by the mere scent of the vampire’s blood beneath you, your instincts took control, sinking your teeth into his vein and allowing the absolute ecstasy of his flavour to wash down on your body.
and god did it reawaken you entirely.
the regret of the previous rejected offers that weighed like rocks on your shoulders disappeared the more blood rushed into your mouth. at jungwon’s unnoticeable hiss, you were reminded of the fact that you need to inject your venom inside of him.
he thrashed beneath you once your ecstasy forged its way into his bloodstream. instantly sending his mind into a state of complete delirium that made his eyes roll to the back of his skull in pleasure. he was on the seventh heaven.
jungwon tasted so unbelievably delicious. an overwhelming sweetness that sent your senses into a frenzy. the hunger that bloomed and grew in your stomach and chest bursted all over your body. nourishing your veins in a different kind of euphoria, a new taste ascending down your throat that closed and gulped the precious essence in fear of wasting a singular droplet of it.
your weakened knuckles tightened around his broad shoulders, nails gradually digging deeper into his skin the more you rode off the high from the bliss provided by jungwon’s blood. you could detect every unique factor about his taste, the first rush of sweetness followed by the warmness that swam in your mouth and the metallic, iron slaty like aftertaste that you slowly grew addicted to.
you pressed your body as close as possible to his, chest on chest as his heavy breaths and groans fell right onto your ears. the air shifted the longer his essence spilled onto your mouth. and you continued to suck, licking up the fervid blood that was as addictive as an aphrodisiac. the high and elation you felt from it only encouraging you to suck more. to swallow more. to feed your desire more and more.
jungwon’s breaths got heavier beneath you, uneven and shaky exhales that brushed against your cold skin. he could feel his body blazing up the further your sickeningly sweet venom spread. he felt so satisfied though he wasn’t the one that was feeding. finding a different kind of joy rushing through his body at the sight of you finally smearing the ruby liquid along your lips.
“finally?” he croaked out, voice quiet as his muscles twitched under your bite, a muffled noise of pleasure reached his ears as a response which made him chuckle. “you gave in.” he continued, shoulders sagging under your touch while the metal clanked around his wrists. he closed his hands to enjoy the close vicinity he had you in, the precious moment that solidified your relationship further.
the connection between two vampires, the exchange of delicious blood for precious venom.
it was a ritual, a connection and a form of bond jungwon had always searched for. unlike most vampires that didn’t pay any mind to getting marked by their lover after marking them, this act however held a heavy weight over jungwon’s unbeating heart.
could it be the influence of his loving parents that marked each other and valued their marking night as more memorable and precious than their own wedding? might be. either way, this bond. this gift that he had been blessed with, was something he had be waiting for patiently as the centuries passed by.
though he had turned some humans into one of his own kind, he had never gotten marked. preserving his neck as something only his lover, partner for life and eternity will have the right of approaching.
“tastes nice?” chuckling as you only continued to satiate your hunger. his smile deepened when you just hummed against his blood, dimple appearing as he allowed you to drink from him as much as you desired.
in the blink of an eye the metal chains fell across the floor besides the bed, “you never needed these, precious.” he spoke gently. lowering his hands to cradle the back of your neck and wrap around your waist, he tilted his head to the side to give you more access to the expanse of his neck, encouraging you to drink more.
humming in delight when you released more venom further into his bloodstream, yours felt so warm and heavy. intoxicating as the pleasure from it raked through his body, he felt so good. so ecstatic. drunk on the sensation of your venom rushing through his body just as much as you were drunk on the flavour of him coating your insides.
the mixing fuse of his venom with your blood was euphoric. yet nothing could compare to the feeling of his blood unifying with your venom. an indescribable febrile sensation that set all his nerves aflame. burning with a fire that only blazed bigger and larger. the need and crave for you increasing by the second.
the longer your poison stirred with his blood, the more he yearned for you. a feverish want and an ardent need, functioning purely on impulse when his hands lowered to press you lower on his lap. the pleasure awakening another arousal that spread throughout your bodies. you could feel his length rock hard, pulsing with need as it was confined in his pants. “you’re in my blood.” jungwon whispered dazedly.
“finally.” his muscles clenched and tightened under your bite the more he spoke, the action pushing out further blood that spilled down your throat, your eyes rolled to the back of your head as all your senses reawakened, rekindling every nerve with your brain that made you become more aware with everything.
every sensation suddenly seemed intense. each movement in your body felt electrifying. like a new consciousness that just stirred awake after your first feeding, everything felt surreal. with every gulp of blood, another shock passed through your limbs. the revival of your senses become overwhelming, resulting in your hands to lower, to grasp onto jungwon’s muscular arms to ground yourself.
“that’s enough, doll.” he cradled your face in his large hand, his touch though icy cold, felt warm against your skin. he gently pulled you away from the open bite, your fangs slipping out as blood trickled down your lips and his neck. he quickly guided your lips back to lick the wound, finally sealing your marks on him. “did so well for me, my love.”
“feel satisfied enough now?” his catlike eyes stared at you in wonder, his own lips having a light pink hue to them due to biting them from the overwhelming pleasure. his stare at you darkened when you shook your head in denial, feeling far from satisfied. anything but satisfied with his rock hard length pressing against your core.
“what do you need then, princess?” he asked, dipping his nose to run the tip of it along your cheeks softly before burying his head against your neck, pressing a tender kiss on your pulse points. “you.” whispering breathlessly for him, his hands tightened their hold around you. lustful gaze challenging your own lidded one, “you sure you can handle me right now, pretty?” he teased.
you whined in need in his embrace, feeling the way his cock throbbed in need for you. each cell in his body craving you, the urge to hold you as close as possible to him wasn’t as fulfilling as it used to feel, he felt the infernal need to bury himself inside of you. mould and shape your souls into one so that he can breathe freely.
you nodded your head to his words, the arousal that awakened in you stirred hotly in your stomach, reaching further down into your abdomen and blazing your whole body on fire. you felt so warm. so fitting into his frame, so alluring to him. that he had no other choice than to claim you as his.
“get on the bed, princess.” he whispered into your ear, in the blink of an eye he moved your bodies around on the mattress. his speed and strength evident in every movement as he pinned you under him between the silk sheets, he stared at you. from his position and perspective you looked so ravishing. so delicious he wanted to devour you whole. let you become a piece of him and him a piece of you.
“you smell delightful, my love.” whispering against your skin as he pushed his nose against your jugular veins, his strong hands brushing against every inch of your body on their way to your core, their pace turning slower the breathier your gasps and moans of his name became, just to rile you up further.
“please, baby.” you begged, voice barely above a whisper as your eyes closed in intense pleasure, each touch of his fingertips leaving a trail of fire behind them as they brushed along your body, “i know, angel.” he kissed your exposed collarbone to soothe you, “i know.” and without a warning he teared off your clothes from your frame.
relishing in the surprised gasp that left your mouth as his eyes raked your body, the one that no matter how many times he kissed and worshipped, he’ll always crave and fantasise about. you were so enchanting to jungwon. if he could spend your eternity with him marking every inch of your skin, he would. the mere thought of dedicating himself to your body only seemed like a dream to him.
and each time he got you under him, he tried to do just that. to devote himself to your body entirely before pleasing you two to the edge of your limits, pushing you so far not even the peeking sunlight through the dark blinds could even make him consider the possibility of quitting for the day.
“smell so good baby.. taste so sweet.” he ran the tip of his tongue along your skin, praises falling like waterfalls from his lips when they were not pressed against you, you could only whimper and writhe under him as he pleased your body. as this was no longer a matter between you and jungwon, it was your body and jungwon.
he knew and had memorised you like the back of his hand. knowing exactly what parts of your body were the most sensitive, what kind of kiss will make your eyes roll to the back of your head, how to angle his hips to hit your sweet sweet spot and make you unravel beneath him in seconds, and this doesn’t even cover even a quarter of it.
though he was a vampire, your body was heaven to him. and he was the most devoted and committed angel.
“won.. i need you. right now, please.” you shakily moaned when his fangs grazed your hip bone, right over the fresh hickey he placed on your skin, his eyes raked over your body and over the new marks. his artwork that glowed underneath him, before they reached your pleasured face. and god did you look stunning.
how could he deny you of pleasure any longer when you stared at him with glossy eyes? the rapid raising and falling of your chest as you tried your best to regulate your breathing, and the scent of metallic blood that made his head spin. that’s when he noticed the tiny crimson droplets decorating your lower lip from your harsh bites.
and fuck did that just push him past his own limit.
“i got you, doll.” he pushed his pants and boxers down before discarding them in the room, sliding his shirt off and throwing it besides the bed as he finally lowered himself onto you. his skin burned against yours. the contact almost electrifying, building up the hilt of his ecstasy gradually, he then connected your lips, allowing your soft moans to stay muffled between his lips. brushing his tongue against yours as he fell deeper and deeper into the spell of pure intoxication of your love.
he guided his length to your core, leaking tip brushing along your soaked folds which made you whimper into his mouth before he pushed himself in. thrusting his hips to fill you up completely and relishing in your pleasured moan. he so good inside of you. so big and perfect, stretching you out so nicely the burn of it alone made you see stars across your vision.
he kept his arms around your head, caging you under his body while your nails dug into his muscles. resorting to sucking on your bottom lip only and reveling in the sugary sweet taste of blood that coated his tongue. the taste only making his hardened length twitch inside of your leaking walls. the more he tasted you the more he craved you in every way.
“feel so good wrapped around me baby.. your pussy is milking me so well.” he praised as he spoke between kisses, his thrusts slow yet so powerful. filling you up to the brim, pressing against your cervix in a way that made your toes curl before pulling back. you were on cloud nine.
you felt the air around you shift the moment you felt the familiar tightening of the coil in your abdomen, your climax approaching as your senses suddenly heightened more. jungwon took notice of your incessant tightening, the way your hands brushed through his soft hair and pulled gently while you whimpered and mewled his name out so desperately. both of you were floating to a different dimension, wrapped up in complete and utter euphoria that the only thing your clouded senses and awareness were able to pick up were the approach of your releases.
jungwon felt an animalistic urge clawing its way through his chest, a primal need to fuck and stuff you full of him when his own abdomen tightened. picking up the pace as his muscular hands wrapped around your thighs while his hips began to piston against yours, he breathing was laboured, panting as his eyes rolled to the back of his head the further you sucked him in.
your fingers began to grip against the sheets. searching for anything to ground yourself with as your body arched against his own, your chest pressing against his. the air feeling electric and steamy as both of your bodies buzzed in overstimulation over complete euphoria.
“i’m so close, baby.” you choked out, throwing your head back against the satin pillowcase and exposing the skin of your neck to jungwon’s eyes. he felt feral.
like a carnal impulse controlling his body as its puppet. jungwon instantly sank his teeth down your veins. relishing in the sob that escaped your throat while crystal tears ran down your cheeks. the pleasure so overwhelming and uncontrollable your body shook in overstimulation as your orgasm washed over you. leaving you to twitch under jungwon’s possessive hold.
“just like that pretty.. cream all over my cock.” he spoke with his words slurred, almost choking on your blood as he sucked more and more. pure ecstasy rushing throughout his body as it burned with passion. he felt like the pleasure was almost too much to keep up with. he whispered sweet nothings to your skin while your ears rang in hot white pleasure that descended down your body in brutal waves.
the combination of his bite and cock so deep inside of you sent you into a frenzy. your body felt scorched. completely ablaze as jungwon fucked you through your pleasured climax, blurring the lines between your release and overstimulation.
your head continued to spin as jungwon’s venom spread throughout your body. his venom so intoxicating and potent. you felt exhilarated in deep pleasure and passion that only your lover provided you.
as he kept fucking you into subspace, you slowly lost touch with reality. the only thing processing in your dizzied mind was the raging sense of ecstasy. unable to pick up jungwon’s reassuring words as he pulled away and sealed his marks on your neck. his cock pressed snug against your cervix while he kissed the two deep bites that portrayed his claim on you.
“feeling good, princess?” his voice sounded muffled for you. barely able to reach your puddle of a brain. yet you could only nod as your eyes remained closed, pretty lips parted allowing soft pants of air out while heavy tears hung from your lashes. he kissed both of your cheeks lovingly, leaving behind a slight smear of your blood on your skin before he began to slowly roll in his hips against yours. chasing his own release by using your body.
jungwon threw his head back as your cunt sucked him in greedily. closing his eyes to revel in the pure, breathtaking pleasure that ran along his veins along with the feeling of your blood rushing through his body. he felt so ridiculously great. living through a high that only your body and blood could supply him. and he was so fucking addicted.
he lowered his head to commit the mistake of looking at your connection point, the sight of his pulsing red cock disappearing into your dripping cunt made his shallow breath hitch. the white ring of your arousal circling his cock made him tighten his hold on your thighs. sharp nails burying themselves onto your skin to leave behind small crescent shapes, serving as reminders of jungwon’s devotion to you.
the louder the filthy wet noises became in the room, the closer jungwon felt his release. the nasty sounds combined with your mixed moans of pleasure driving him absolutely crazy. everything felt so lewd. so erotic. and so stimulating to him. only you were able to make his head spin and pound in delirium as sweat rolled down his burning body.
he continued to thrust so deeply inside of you. keeping his leaking tip pressed against your cervix for longer periods as he felt his body tightening up aggressively. his orgasm a mere seconds away from washing down on him while he wrapped your legs around him and lifted your arms above you.
he pressed his forehead against yours as he thrusted in an animalistic pace. his heavy breathing combining with your own making you breath each other’s air as he chased his release. all the noises, the sensations, everything became so much more intense while he practically molded your cunt into his shape.
fresh tears rolled down your cheeks as jungwon unknowingly fucked you through orgasm after orgasm. coaxing a new one out with every few thrusts as your legs weakly trembled around his waist. your eyes rolling to the back of your head when jungwon began to mindlessly lick against your skin.
“i’m cumming, doll— shit. gonna fill you up, yeah? you gonna like that?” he moaned against your jaw as his eyes rolled to the back of his head. the mere thought of breeding you triggering his release that made his body freeze, still buried so deep inside of you while he filled you up completely. the feeling of his warm cum inside of you pulled out another orgasm from you as you convulsed under him. clawing at his body desperately when you felt yourself a few seconds away from passing out.
“fuck.. princess…” he gasped, opening his eyes and lifting his head to take in the sight of your fucked our body, quickly pulling out, “baby..?” he whispered softly, his hands leaving your wrists to gently cradle your face, a feeling of relief washing down on him when you leaned into his touch even in this state.
“you feeling alright, doll?” he smiled when you slightly nodded, deciding it’s best to clean you up and get you tucked in his embrace as soon as possible. “i’ll get you a cloth and clean you up, then we can go to sleep yeah?” he spoke, his eyes lighting up in adoration when you hummed softly before detaching his sore body from your own and disappearing into the bathroom.
and a few more minutes, whines from you and chuckles from jungwon later, you were safe in his embrace to rest for as long as you wanted while jungwon laid besides you, a hefty amount of blood bags and other vampire-friendly snacks situated on his bedside table for his own feeding as he knew the moment you wake up, you’ll be tremendously hungry, and he was excited to offer his neck to your aching fangs.
and maybe it was his jealousy, but he really didn’t want you to touch any blood bags.
his blood should suffice for now.
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a,note. hope u enjoyed ♡ !!
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talesfromawannabewriter · 5 months ago
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Leathery Love
@things-arent-what-they-seem66 here's part one, hope you enjoy
and @lilacwriter07 enjoy your early Christmas present
Lilith: I'm leaving you Lucifer
After twenty years of marriage never did Lucifer ever imagine those words ever being uttered from the love of his life's lips. Especially not on the day of their wedding anniversary.
Lucifer: What?
Was all he could say to Lilith who looked both tired and disappointed with him as she sat at the table with her arms crossed. They were supposed to be eating a meal together, drinking some wine, then watching a movie. They were at home at Lilith's insistence from a few days ago. She said she wanted to spend the evening with just him. No one else was to see what she wished to do.
He just thought she wanted to try something new. Not break his fucking heart in private so no one can see him cry.
Lilith: I said I'm leaving you Lucifer, I want a divorce.
Lucifer felt his heart start to pace as his breathing slowly turned erratic.
Lucifer: But, but, but I, I don't...why Lily
Lilith bristled at the nickname for a moment before answering.
Lilith: Because I no longer wish to be in a relationship where I fell out of love with you years ago. I swore that when Charlie moved out, I would finally bring myself to get out of a place that has only brought me misery.
With that she stood up and headed upstairs. Lucifer was still reeling when about five minutes later she was coming back down with two bags full of her stuff. Her stuff. Lucifer's eyes widened at the sight of them. It meant,
Lucifer: Lilith please, I beg of you don't go! Please! Lilith
He ran to her when she got to the doors. She stared him down as he stood in front of her exit; however, Lucifer could only stare up with tears starting to stream out onto his pale cheeks.
Lucifer: Lilith...please my darling I'm sorry for whatever I did wrong.
Lucifer then proceeded to do something he'd never thought he'd do in his lifetime due to the man's humungous pride and ego.
Beg
He fell on his knees, clasped his hands together, and begged for her to change her mind. Never did Lucifer ever felt so pathetic in his entire existence. He thought that it would get Lilith to at least think about doing something other than divorce. However, the thirty-eight-year-old singer had already made up her mind a long time ago.
Lilith: I'm sorry Lucifer, but I don't think you were ever meant to be mine.
With that she stepped aside, threw open the doors of their large, grand home and walked out. Never to step inside her former home again. All while Lucifer kneeled on the ground in total despair. It was only when he heard a car engine turning on did, he turn around and saw Lilith pull out of the driveway with her purple convertible and proceed to drive away did he close the door behind him to let out the anguish sob that had built up in his throat.
--
(Two months later)
Lucifer felt like his life was slowly falling apart. Ever since Lilith left, she had been sending him papers and been talking through her lawyer to him. Lilith had been one the most shining aspects of his life. In the entirety of their marriage, he devoted to making her happy. Including to working hard to provide for the both of them. So that way she could work on her music career. He bought her anything she wished for; heck he'd buy her the greatest diamond in all the world to make her happy.
In the end he guessed it just wasn't enough. When she sent him the final paperwork to sign off on their divorce completely shut the once proud, strong man down. Lucifer hadn't been out of the house in weeks and had mostly been taking to moping around the house. Or just laying all day in his bed, not sleeping, just staring up the ceiling, wall, or even occasionally the tv in his room that he put on for white noise. He didn't even go to the office.
Which would have been worse if Lucifer wasn't the boss of his toy company. Even if lately, he's been having his brother/partner Mammon and his assistant Moxxine take care of his work for him. Speaking of family, his brothers, sisters, and even daughter had seen how bad his depression had been and wanted to help him. Especially his daughter Charlie, who went to her Uncle Ozzie and begged for her to find a way to make him feel better. Since him and Ozzie have been the closest out of all seven siblings. Oz had an idea, but he didn't know if it would work
Lucifer: A sex dungeon?!
Lucifer sat across from his brother in his living room while in his robe. Oz noticed he also had deep, dark bags underneath his eyes. His hair looked a bit oily, and he appeared to be growing some hair around his muzzle. However, despite his shaggy appearance his body was rigid, his stark blue eyes wide awake as he took in what his brother just suggested.
Ozzie: Hun, please I know this might seem a lot and too soon after...
Lucifer: I don't care about ugh her. Look Oz even if I wasn't hung up over losing my wife, I don't think it would be right to go to fucking prostitutes!
Ozzie: But that's the thing though I really think these girls or boys can help you, Luci!
Lucifer: How!? How in the hell can they help me!?
Ozzie: By helping you get over Lilith. If you're with one those bad guys down, there soon Lilith will be nothing more than a distant memory. Plus, I distinctly remembering you telling me about this one domniatrix porno you kept watching. You kept telling me how you wish you could be Lilith's naughty boy. Well now you can do that! Just you know not with her.
Lucifer: I told you about that. Since when?
Ozzie: Since that time at that barbeque back in July where you got drunk and confessed to me.
Lucifer must've been hard hammered drunk to have told his brother about that. Since usually Lucifer was extremely private when it came to what happened in his bedroom. The blond man opened his mouth to once again reject his brother's offer but then stopped to think about it. It had been so long since he'd been in the warmth of someone's arms in the bed. Even before Lilith left, she had been distant from him for quite some time.
It actually was the reason for Lucifer looking up on those sites in the first place. He knew no love would be with the person he'd be with; he still wanted to forget about his heartbreak. Even if it was for only one night. Taking a breath, he looked straight at his expecting brother and said,
Lucifer: Alright, I'll go.
192 notes · View notes
muffinrecord · 28 days ago
Note
I know you've been getting lots of asks, and I know it's only been a couple of days, but what are some little improvements you think have been made in Exedra so far?
The first one isn't an improvement, just my favorite thing: being able to play the game and understand it and look at the translations without going onto youtube. I have an iphone so I was never able to use the fan translation patch there; I had to use it on an emulator. There's something about actually playing on the phone though that made me feel a lot more connected to it, so being able to play again and have that direct experience made me really emotional.
Okay actual improvements:
Your portraits (memoria) and girls (kioku) auto upgrade when you get dupes. I don't think the memoria auto-upgrading in magireco would have worked because it would be better sometimes to have a bunch of memos spread out as single copies over one copy (or a half ascended copy), but it works out great here. No forgetting or spending a lot of time going back and ascending characters/portraits.
Speaking of portraits, I like that they're tied to gameplay and not the gacha. You don't need to worry about bad luck in not getting some of the best memoria in the game; just if you can defeat a boss or an event.
I like that there is a gallery section devoted to showing CG portrait art, witch labyrinths, and music.
There is a "streamer" mode for the game and you can also choose to play licensed music or not. This will be great for recording and uploading videos to youtube (or streams in general).
Main Story, Battler, and Nightmare modes do not cost action points! You can play as much as you like.
I really like that some events will be permanent (and that so far the two presented have been voiced!). I think this is great, especially for newer players down the line who don't want to miss out on materials or portraits. I'm not sure how likely it'd be, but it would be super cool if, after a year, events would come back permanently and just be there. That way folks don't miss out on story content either!
A huge quality of life improvement is that you can use the single-use keys as a tenpull. It doesn't give the guaranteed 4* nature of it, but it's still great and I wish Magia Record could have done that.
Tanking (and healers in general) is MUCH improved. Fuck dude! I can't believe that Magireco went out with tanks/defense who couldn't actually draw aggro to themselves without using a damn memoria! NOT ONLY THAT BUT THEIR CONNECTS WOULD DRAW AGGRO AWAY FROM THEM ONTO OTHER UNITS. HOW DOES THAT MAKE SENSE?? And yes, tanks could use Provoke/Taunt on their magia/doppel, but you first need to hit that magia/doppel, and tanks in MR got less MP unless they were hit... which is going to be hard when you don't have a native passive way of generating aggro.
Not only that, but tanks felt straight up useless if they weren't fully slotted. You needed at least three slots to make sure you had an on-demand aggro memoria and some passives to keep you from dying.
BUT EVEN THEN. Tanks just... Why use them when you can kill the enemy? The best offense is a good defense and yeah that applied to magireco.
But finally, tanks and healers feel like they are actually worth a damn. It's possible this will change later in the game (LET'S HOPE NOT) but at the moment you do need some sort of sustain. And there are a ton of options! You can use tanks-- Kirika, Kokoro, Sana. You can use healers-- Yuma, Leila, (unsure of who else if any). And even some of the debuffers count! Felicia in Magidora for example can stun the enemy, protecting your team.
Making defense have shields apply to the team is great, and having the strength of those shields being tied to the unit's DEF stats is also great. I think they also did a good job making the units have their own strengths and weaknesses. Sana has stronger shields than Kirika, but Kirika's last for three turns and Sana's last for two. Kirika's shields also increase the rate of mp you gain when you're hit (meaning that in some cases, you actually want your units to take attacks) while Sana gives buffs to her team. I'm not as familiar with Kokoro because I use Kirika all the time, but I've heard she's viable and helpful. And that's the thing-- all three units have slightly different niches but you hopefully don't feel punished for using one over the other.
Those are my thoughts thus far on improvements!
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thyras · 28 days ago
Text
→ twistedly devoted
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PAIRING → mairon | sauron x thuringwethil
WORD COUNT → 8.1k words
WARNINGS → 18+ only MDNI - unprotected p in v, fingering, oral, obsession, manipulation, one-sided love, betrayal, fall from grace, heartache
SUMMARY → She has always harbored a fascination with him, even desired him. But what she became was more than he could have ever foreseen: twistedly devoted, consumed by her love for him. In that devotion, she follows him over the edge into a world of darkness, only to stumble upon the truth. The truth that would eventually be her end.
AUTHORS NOTE → I am in fact not dead. I just took a hiatus for a while and was going through a lot of health problems but now that they have been coming on the mend I have had some energy to write again. This hints to being tied to the of Sauron & Moriquendi universe but it is not required for that story and stands alone. Y'all can thank @hailturinturambar for this because ever since her fic I have thought of writing this. I am very partial to the idea that Thuri was a Maia, and she served Manwë as his messenger. But I took it a step further and kind of fleshed out her story a little more. Also I am so obsessed with how Tolkien's vampires are and wanted to expand on it more. Hope y'all enjoy and it is so good to be back. This will be a two parter as it is well over 12k words in total and I am still writing.
ao3
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In the beginning, Elenwë, sister of Eönwë, messenger of the King of the Valar, shone with unshadowed grace. Like her brother, she was radiant as the Lamps, her hair white as winter’s breath, her eyes clear and deep as the streams that wandered through Yavanna’s flowering fields.
When she soared upon pale wings in the shape of a raven, all who beheld her held their breath—for she was the voice of Manwë, and his watching gaze. And the eyes of a raven, sharp and knowing, held the silent weight of the gods’ own wisdom in them.
Elenwë knew not the taste of darkness, nor the shape it wore. But the wheel of fate turns for all, and not even the Maker himself could foresee what was to become of her.
She watched from afar. At first, it was curiosity—no more. Not infatuation, not desire. For as one of the Maiar, Elenwë was meant to dwell above such fleeting thoughts. But something in him pulled at her—subtle at first, like the tug of a current beneath still water. A fascination, deep-rooted and quiet, that she began to indulge whenever her duties brought her to the forges of Aulë, when her lord summoned his most faithful servant.
Mairon, the smith, burned with a beauty not easily named. He moved through the firelight as though born of it, his red hair catching the glow of the forge until it seemed he was the very source of its flame. And Elenwë would linger, silent and unseen, letting her thoughts drift toward dangerous musings—of what it would be to draw that fire into herself, to feel its warmth not from afar, but within.
But on this occasion, she watched him toil not for Aulë, nor at the bidding of any will but his own. His hands moved with purpose born of desire, not duty—shaping something known only to him. The fire danced higher that day, and in its glow his face was lit with a strange intensity. His brow was furrowed, his gaze alive with some hidden thought, and in those eyes—soft blue, yet burning—Elenwë saw a reflection that caught her breath.
They mirrored her own, or so she told herself in fragile moments. And in that quiet self-deception, she imagined a truth that had never been spoken: that he had been shaped for her, as if in the song of Eru, his name had once been sung beside hers.
It was a beautiful lie.
And it was there, in that lie, that the first seed of shadow took root.
Elenwë drew back from the doorframe, wings already appearing, poised to take flight into the high airs of Almaren—but his voice caught her, warm and melodic, like embers stirred to song.
“Elenwë?” he said.
She paused, breath held, then stepped softly back to the archway. When she looked in, he was no longer at his task. The tools lay scattered and forgotten across the workbench. Before him, nestled in the cradle of a ring holder, was a silver band—simple, but luminous. It shimmered in the forge-light, and from it danced a pale blue glow, encircling the ring like a living flame.
She stood still, caught. It was beautiful, as all his works were to her—but this one shone with something more. There was a tenderness in it, a quiet devotion woven into every curve and edge. It radiated a love so intimate, so intentional, that it could only have been forged for someone cherished.
And in that moment, she wondered—against reason, against wisdom—if it had been made for her.
But how could it be?
Elenwë had never spoken to him beyond formal words—brief inquiries passed in service to her master. Never once had she revealed the pull he held over her thoughts, the quiet wonder he stirred in her spirit. How, then, could he have known? How could he feel anything for her—let alone enough to forge something so intimate, so seemingly meant?
“He is not in,” Mairon said, breaking the silence. His tone was even, matter-of-fact—as though he assumed she had only come, as always, with some message for Aulë.
“I am aware,” she answered softly.
At that, he tilted his head, one brow arched in quiet curiosity. There was no malice in his gaze—only puzzlement, the kind that arises when a pattern is broken. She had lingered too long, said too little. And now, standing there beneath his questioning eyes, the truth of her presence felt suddenly fragile. Exposed.
“Did you need something else?” he asked, his voice gentle but edged with mild confusion.
“No,” Elenwë said, the word catching in her throat. She swallowed, eyes flicking past him before returning, drawn once more to the silver band. She nodded toward it. “Only… I wished to commend you. The ring—it’s beautifully crafted. Even for your hand, it stands apart.”
Mairon’s expression shifted, and for a moment, the light of the forge seemed to catch in his eyes. A quiet pride bloomed across his face. He inclined his head, the gesture graceful, almost reverent.
“Thank you,” he said, simply.
Silence fell between them, soft but heavy. The only sound was the quiet crackle of the forges and the measured breath of two beings who had never stood so close without a wall of formality between them. And in that stillness, something unsaid stretched long in the air—fragile, uncertain, waiting.
“Though, if you are willing—before you depart—I would ask your opinion on something.”
With that, he turned from her and gestured toward the workbench, an unspoken invitation. Elenwë hesitated only a moment before stepping forward, drawn not just by the request, but by the strange pull the ring still held over her.
As she neared, she realized she had been mistaken about the blue light. It wasn’t a mere reflection or enchantment—it was an inscription, glowing faintly along the inner curve of the band. The letters shimmered like starlight, unfamiliar and alive, and something in them stirred her fëa, as though they reached for her, yearning to be understood.
“The tongue is unfamiliar to me,” she murmured, eyes narrowing with curiosity. For all her knowledge, and all her years in the courts of wisdom, she had never seen this script before.
Mairon’s gaze lingered on her a moment longer before falling back to the ring. His expression dimmed slightly, touched with something like regret.
“I do not know its meaning either,” he said softly. “It came to me—unbidden—as I worked. I had hoped, perhaps, your wisdom might offer some clarity.”
At his words, Elenwë felt warmth bloom across her cheeks, unbidden and impossible to hide. Among the Maiar, her insight was well regarded—she was the voice and vision of Manwë himself. Yet hearing Mairon speak of her wisdom—not with formality, but with quiet sincerity—struck deeper than any song of praise.
Her heart beat faster, a soft and unfamiliar rhythm that unsettled her more than she dared show. Before she could stop herself, the words slipped from her lips, unbidden and soft.
“Maybe we could find out together?” she breathed, her fingers brushing lightly against his arm.
Mairon turned to her, and for a moment, the firelight danced across his face in such a way that it cast both warmth and shadow. A smile touched his lips—gentle, almost tender—but beneath it, something darker flickered. A glint in his eyes, elusive and veiled, as though some deeper thought stirred behind the charm.
She told herself it was nothing. That it was only the forge-light, only her imagination. She should have questioned it—should have listened to the subtle disquiet that stirred in the back of her mind.
But how could she, when her heart beat loud and unrelenting for the one who stood before her, radiant and near? When every part of her longed to stay in that moment, tangled in the light he seemed to carry?
The darkness whispered—but her desire sang louder.
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It became a ritual.
Each eve, when Manwë released her from her duties, Elenwë would make her way to the forges of Aulë. There, amidst the heat and humming flame, she would find Mairon—and with him, the ring, ever gleaming, ever silent. Together they pored over its mystery, seeking the meaning woven into its glowing inscription.
Time passed—but how much, she could not say. In Almaren, time did not move as it did in the circles of the world. Hours melted into one another like gold in a crucible, and in Mairon’s presence, the days bled into dreams.
The search for truth became secondary. What began as curiosity had transformed into something else entirely. Being near him—speaking with him, watching the delicate precision of his hands, hearing the low timbre of his voice—was a kind of intoxication. She drank it in without question.
And when she was freed from the weight of her duties, it was not rest she sought, nor starlight nor song. It was him.
Only him.
On this eve, they lingered long past the dimming of the forge. The fire had softened to embers, casting only a faint glow across the stone, yet neither of them rose to leave. By now, they would have parted—returned to their duties, their paths diverging with the coming light.
But something held her here.
And when she looked into Mairon’s eyes—those crystalline waters that so often mirrored calm and concealed depth—she saw it reflected: he wanted her to stay.
The Maiar were not made for longing. Not for companionship in the way the Children would come to know it. Most walked their paths alone, content in purpose. A few had taken bonds, rare and radiant, but Mairon had never seemed the sort. He showed no hunger for closeness, no desire beyond the pleasures of his craft, and the idle passing of knowledge between minds.
He asked of her only light things—tales from the halls of Manwë, murmurs of order and judgment, fragments of divine work she had witnessed. He never strayed beyond that. Never reached for more.
A quiet voice within her found that strange. Odd, even. That he, so brilliant, so full of flame, never let it spill into yearning.
But her body, her heart, steeped in the golden haze of his nearness, hushed the voice before it could speak louder. Desire wrapped around her like warmth, like safety.
And so, she stayed.
And on this day, everything changed.
It began with a simple gesture—quiet, unassuming. Mairon reached up and tucked a strand of her white hair behind her ear, his fingers brushing lightly against her skin. But in that moment, it felt as though the air shifted, as if the world leaned in to listen.
He smiled then, not with the sharp brilliance she had come to know, but with something softer—something that made her toes curl inside her slippers and her breath catch in her throat. She had ached for this—longed for it in every stolen glance, in every moment stretched too long between words. And now, it was here.
His hands surprised her. For one so devoted to the hammer and flame, she had expected roughness, calluses, the wear of labor. But they were soft—disarmingly so. Gentle, as if they had never known violence. She welcomed the touch, let it linger, even as her cheeks burned with a warmth she could no longer conceal.
“Elenwë,” he breathed, her name falling from his lips like a spell.
His breath fanned across her face—warm, laced with the scent of smoke and something sweeter. Her own breath faltered beneath his gaze, her body trembling with a quiet fire she could not quell. Every nerve in her fana sang beneath his touch, his heat mingling with the crisp coolness that ever radiated from her form. His flame danced along her skin; her air curled around him like mist.
Opposing elements, drawn to one another.
And in that space between them, the world held its breath.
“Yes,” she exhaled, the word trembling from her lips like a leaf in wind.
Her eyes held his, searching, reaching—trying to divine some trace of intent, some flicker that might reveal what stirred beneath the calm surface of his gaze. But Mairon gave nothing away. His expression remained unreadable, a mask of quiet focus carved in shadow and light.
Then, without a word, his lips met hers.
Her heart surged so suddenly she thought it might tear free from her chest. His kiss was gentle at first—soft, deliberate, edged with uncertainty, as if even he was unsure of the boundary he was now crossing. But when she answered him, when she returned the kiss with trembling conviction, something shifted within him.
The flame ignited.
His restraint melted, and the softness gave way to heat—his mouth pressed harder, deeper, with a hunger barely contained. The fire in him swelled, devouring hesitation, and she felt it—truly felt it—his flame wrapping around her, pulling her in.
But she was not consumed.
Her own power, cool and clear as the high airs of Almaren, rose to meet his. The breath of her being swirled with his flame, not smothering it, not fleeing it, but mingling—twisting in spirals, dancing in tension, in contrast, in need. Element met element, and instead of undoing one another, they bound tighter.
And in that kiss, in that collision of fire and wind, something ancient stirred. Something neither of them yet understood.
For this was not Eru’s plan, but the quiet birth of something else—an older stirring, hidden in shadow, waiting beneath the surface of flame and breath.
Mairon’s hands traced the contours of her gossamer-wrapped form, reverent and deliberate. His lips parted from hers only to wander lower, down the slender curve of her neck. He pressed kisses there—slow, searing—nipping at the pale, divine skin as if tasting the light itself, then soothing each mark with the gentle brush of his tongue.
Elenwë whimpered, the sound escaping her unbidden. His fire curled around her, not to burn, but to bind—to awaken her, to drown her in warmth so complete she could no longer recall what it had meant to be untouched by it.
He lingered at her clavicle, mouth teasing, claiming, until her body arched into him. His hands rose, ghosting over silk and skin, cupping her breasts with a tenderness that belied the power beneath his touch. She gasped, a soft moan blooming in her throat, and he silenced it with his mouth, deep and consuming.
Flame and air twined tighter still.
And above them, beyond the forge and the hush of spent embers, something watched.
Something waited.
For in this act—not born of love, nor of Eru’s Song, but of longing twisted from its root—a thread in the great pattern frayed.
“Mairon,” Elenwë breathed, her voice catching like wind through trembling leaves.
Her arms lifted, fingers threading into the copper flame of his hair, pulling him closer. His hand slid to the delicate strap of her gown, and with one smooth motion, the gauzy fabric slipped from her shoulder. More skin laid bare. More of her given over to him—to his fire.
He kissed her there, slow and possessive, and his warmth spilled across her like molten gold. She should have risen above this. They were not meant for such things—desire, hunger, lust. These were not the ways of the Ainur, not in the shape of fana, not as Eru intended.
But Mairon’s touch defied every law of heaven. It awakened something in her. A deep, pulsing ache that echoed not with love, but with craving.
His flame. His flame consumed her.
And in its heat, she felt that darker stirring rise—sinister and ancient. Lust was the longing of the fallen, the thirst of those who had strayed from the Song. And yet, in this moment, she wanted nothing more than to be taken deeper into that abyss.
In one swift motion, he lifted her with effortless strength and set her upon the workbench, the ornately carved wood groaning beneath them. The echoes of craft and patience that once lived there were now drowned in passion.
Mairon stepped between her thighs, parting them with a confidence born of fire. He hiked the silk of her gown to her hips, and his lips found her again—this time at the swell above her breast. He kissed her there with a hunger unmasked, like a creature long starved tasting divinity for the first time.
He was not gentle now.
And she did not want him to be.
“So divine,” he murmured, his breath a ribbon of heat across her skin, reverent and possessive.
Then his mouth found her, lips closing around one breast as his hand cradled the other. He sucked, nipped, and circled her with his tongue in slow, burning strokes—worshipful, yet unrestrained. Each motion drew more of her breath away, until her head tipped back, white hair cascading like starlight over the edge of the bench.
Her fingers tightened in the silk of his hair, holding him to her as if he were the only thing anchoring her to form.
And Elenwë—once so composed, so divine in bearing—let slip sounds not meant for the halls of the Valar. Moans shaped from breath and light, filled with the kind of hunger the Ainur were never meant to know.
Mairon drank it in.
Her voice, her air, the essence that radiated from her—he devoured it as if it sustained him. As if her purity, once untouched, was now his feast. His flame licked along her skin with every motion, not burning her, but branding her—marking her with the hunger that only he could awaken.
And in the mingling of breath and fire, of moans and murmurs, the foundations of something ancient began to shake.
For each divine sound that passed her lips was not just desire—it was surrender.
Surrender to the being beneath her grasp.
Mairon released her with a slow exhale, then slid his hand to the second strap of her gown. With two fingers, he slipped beneath the sheer fabric and pulled it down, letting it fall to her hips in a silent cascade. Her form, now bare to the flickering light of the forge, glowed like moonlight touched by flame.
His eyes—once like crystal waters—had darkened now, clouded with a hunger that no longer felt entirely of this world. He drank in the sight of her fana, every curve, every breath, as if committing her to memory not as a lover would, but as a craftsman might before shaping his masterpiece.
Elenwë could feel it—that deep, rising thrum. This form she had once worn like a veil was now filled with aching need. The desires of flesh, foreign and fevered, surged through her with intensity. The wet heat between her thighs was no longer a subtle whisper but a clear cry of longing.
Then his fingers traced upward, trailing fire along her skin, until they curled around the delicate line of her neck.
A shiver rippled through her, goosebumps rising beneath his touch like stars surfacing in twilight. Her moan escaped before she could stop it, soft and needful, as her body arched into the press of his palm.
She did not resist the grasp. She welcomed it.
For in that moment, she didn’t want to remain as she was.
She wanted to be undone.
She wanted to be made again—by him.
To be his next creation, not shaped from song or flame alone, but from sin and surrender. She wanted him to mark her as no Ainur had ever been marked. To mold her into something new, something wholly his.
Mairon’s grip tightened, and his eyes burned with a fevered light, the kind that once guided stars and now set them adrift. Elenwë moaned louder, helpless beneath it, every part of her pliant, open, ready.
And far above them, the Song faltered for a breath—just long enough to know that something had changed.
Irrevocably.
“Good girl,” he murmured, his voice low and molten, the words curling around her like smoke.
He could feel it—her surrender—not just in the pliancy of her body but in the trembling resonance of her fëa. A wicked smile curved his lips as his free hand glided up the smooth expanse of her thigh, fingers trailing with deliberate slowness. He caressed the tender inside of her leg, teasing, coaxing, until her breath hitched and her knees threatened to falter.
His grip on her neck tightened—not cruel, but commanding—cutting off just enough air to make her acutely aware of every heartbeat, every pulse, every inch of skin pressing against his. She gasped softly, head tilting, and he leaned in to nip at the shell of her ear, his breath a fevered whisper.
Her hands clutched the edge of the worktop, knuckles white, trying to ground herself as the heat of his arousal pressed against her thigh—undeniable, unhidden, and very much meant for her.
“So pliant… and wanting,” he breathed into her ear, each word vibrating along her skin. “Ready for me. Begging for me.”
“Yes…” she panted, her voice barely a sound. “Yes…”
Her hips moved, almost involuntarily—her fana aching to roll, to meet him, to be filled. The form Eru had gifted her was no longer a vessel of divine will—it had become a crucible of desire. It knew, without thought, what it wanted. What it craved.
And it was him.
All of him.
His flame. His power. His possession.
And still, deep within the song of her being, something flickered—a single, distant note, trembling off-key.
But it was drowned in the rhythm of breath and the rise of fire.
His fingers found her core, and with deliberate precision, he began to play her like a symphony—each stroke coaxing a new note from her, each movement composed with wicked grace.
Elenwë rolled her hips against him, unable to resist the rhythm he conjured. The forge had long gone silent, but here, between fire and breath, a new kind of music filled the air—one of moans stifled against bitten lips and trembling gasps that refused to be swallowed.
He leaned in, his teeth catching her ear again in a teasing bite as his grip around her neck tightened, firm and possessive.
“Come now, little raven,” he breathed, voice a velvet snarl, “let me hear you sing.”
And she did.
Her breath, once cool and steady like the high winds of the peaks of Almaren, grew ragged—gusting against his heat, mixing, challenging, needing. Each exhale was a whisper of divine air laced with desperation.
His touch quickened, drawing her higher, deeper, until she could no longer contain it.
A broken sound left her lips—a plea, fragile and trembling.
More.
It wasn’t enough. The strokes of his fingers, the clutch of his hand, the flame of his body—they had only opened her. Awakened something raw and unrelenting inside her.
Elenwë, the raven of Manwë, the messenger of the Valar, the voice of wisdom and order…
She wanted more.
Not meaning.
Not union.
More.
And in that whispered cry, something shifted in the air—something ancient and watching. The fabric of her purpose stretched thin as longing eclipsed light.
And Mairon, smiling into her skin, knew.
He had her.
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Every eve after was like this.
Twisted cries of ecstasy echoing through stone and shadow. Flesh against flesh, moving in a rhythm no song could capture—only they knew its cadence. A dance of flame and air, of hunger cloaked in passion, and longing that no longer knew restraint.
Elenwë was lost in it—willingly, completely.
Addicted.
She no longer counted the days, for her nights belonged to him. Her thoughts were filled with his hands, his voice, his fire. She did not care where they met—entwined in the tangled warmth of his sheets, or upon her own sanctified bed, now anything but sacred. It did not matter.
Every moment was precious.
Every touch, every thrust, every release pulled her deeper into the net he spun around her—silken, unseen, and seductively tight.
She told herself it was love. That what she felt was divine, fated, beautiful.
But in truth, it was need.
A need that stripped away who she had once been with each passing night. And with every moan that passed her lips, every breathless cry swallowed in his mouth, a thread of her old self unraveled, disappearing into the dark fire that was Mairon.
And still, she returned.
Again and again.
For nothing else tasted as sweet—or burned as beautifully—as falling for him.
And when the cry came—the cry of the Valar, fierce and mournful—Elenwë did not hear it.
Wrapped in flame, in the fevered heat of Mairon’s arms, she was blind to the world beyond their union. The warning came too late. She had not flown to Manwë’s side. She had not been his eyes in the moment he needed her most.
And so, she could not speak of what was lost.
The Lamps—those sacred vessels of light, the first great works of the Valar—were shattered. Their beauty, their balance, their brilliance… gone. Darkness swept over Almaren in waves, and in its wake came ruin.
When she emerged, breathless and hollow, the weight of it crashed into her like stone.
Guilt wrapped itself around her like a chain.
And Manwë, who had once trusted her beyond all others, did not need to speak his scorn. It radiated from him like a storm. She felt it in his silence, in the way he turned his gaze from her as if her presence alone now dimmed the air.
But it was her brother, Eönwë, whose absence cut the deepest.
He did not rage.
He did not ask why.
He simply turned away.
The bond they had once shared—twin spirits in harmony, voices woven together in purpose—was now severed. A chasm yawned between them, carved by betrayal and widened by shame.
And Elenwë, who had flown so high, did not know how to return to the sky.
Not when her wings had been scorched by her own choosing.
In this new realm, Aman—land of light, of order, of second chances—Elenwë sought peace once more.
She sought to make herself whole again.
To mend the fractures left behind in Almaren’s ashes. She longed to stand once more at her master’s side, to feel Manwë’s gaze rest on her not with caution, but trust. And above all, she longed for her brother—Eönwë, her twin in spirit, her mirror in will—to look at her again and see not the shadow of what she had done, but the sister he had once known.
She devoted herself to duty with relentless grace. She carried messages through the skies of Aman, her wings catching the light, her voice as steady as it had once been. And in time, trust began to return. Even Manwë, cautious still, allowed her closer—though never quite as near as before. There was always a pause, a silence behind his kindness. As if he was still watching her too closely. Waiting.
It was understandable.
For desire still whispered beneath her devotion, smoldering in silence.
Mairon’s flame had not dimmed.
It grew brighter, more alluring with every passing age, and though she kept herself away from his presence, the memory of his touch flickered like heat beneath her skin. She fought it. Daily. Hourly. Her penance was silence, her strength measured in denial.
But her brother… Eönwë was not so easily mended.
He had been her fiercest protector, the keeper of her secrets and sharer of his own. As two of the most powerful Maiar, they had been united in thought, in speech, in every purpose. Together, they had stood as a symbol of balance—of harmony within the order of Arda.
But something had broken.
Now, Eönwë kept things from her. Brief glances, unspoken doubts, moments of tension that had never once existed between them. And she, in turn, withheld the truth of Mairon—the truth that his fire still haunted her dreams, that her heart still bent toward him in the quiet moments.
She held that secret tightly, sealed beneath layer after layer of silence.
And in doing so, the distance between her and Eönwë widened into something greater than time or words could mend. Mistrust took root where certainty had once bloomed.
And her greatest support—the one soul who had always known her best—began to drift so far from her, she feared she might never reach him again.
That evening, as the light faded and the stars rose high above Aman, a sharp tapping broke the stillness.
Elenwë turned from her reading to find a black raven at her window, its feathers shimmering with a dark iridescence, catching the red flicker of her candlelight. The sheen was unnatural—like flame trapped beneath its wings. And its eyes—clear, glinting, unsettling—were unmistakable.
His eyes.
Mairon’s.
Her throat tightened. She turned away from the window, willing her pulse to slow, forcing her eyes back to the open pages in her lap. The text blurred. She tried to bury the flicker of emotion—the dread, the longing, the ache—beneath the calm she had so carefully cultivated. He had taken her form, her pale-feathered shape, and twisted it into something that echoed her. It should have angered her. But instead, a quiet thrill coiled in her chest.
The raven let out a shrill squawk, a sharp, familiar sound, and then—cleverly, insistently—began tugging at the latch with its beak.
She barely had time to react before the window creaked open and the cold night air swept in, extinguishing her candle. Startled, she rose to close it, but the raven slipped past her, feathers brushing her cheek as it darted into the room.
She spun and slammed the panes shut, locking them fast.
When she turned, the bird was gone.
And Mairon stood in its place.
In the center of her chambers, cloaked in shadow and warmth, the fire of his presence made the air feel heavier, richer—dangerous.
“You cannot take the hint that you are unwelcome,” she said coolly, her voice even, though her heart pounded beneath her skin.
Mairon smiled—slow, infuriatingly soft. That same smile that had once melted her resolve like wax under flame.
“Perhaps,” he said, stepping forward, heat rolling from his body in waves, “but I don’t recall you ever truly wanting me gone.”
His words hung between them, heavy and true. And though her mouth drew into a line of disapproval, her body—traitorous, remembering—did not step away.
“I didn’t say it,” Elenwë replied, her tone edged and clipped, “but I thought my actions were clear enough.”
But even as the words left her lips, she could feel the heat blooming beneath her skin, that all-too-familiar current crackling along her spine. His gaze—devouring, knowing—always left her body aching before he ever laid a hand on her.
Mairon’s eyes raked over her, and his smile curved with quiet confidence. “Then why do you stray?” he asked, his voice slipping into that low, velvet lilt that had once unraveled her so easily. “When I know you still crave what we shared.”
She swallowed hard, grounding herself, anchoring her resolve.
“I was distracted,” she said softly. “And in that distraction, I brought ruin to my home. To my kin. My family.”
He was close now—so close she could feel his breath, the warmth of his presence folding into the cool air that surrounded her form. Her words faltered beneath his nearness, but she stood her ground.
Mairon tilted his head, feigning innocence, though the flame in his eyes betrayed him.
“How could their destruction be your fault, little raven?” he whispered. “When it was their pride, their blindness that broke what they built—not you.”
His voice was honey and ash.
But the words burned.
Elenwë’s eyes snapped to his, narrow and sharp, her breath catching—not in desire, but in disbelief.
“That is traitorous speech, Mairon,” she said, her voice like wind slicing through storm. “And I will not trade words with you if that is how you speak of your kin—of our kin.”
She stepped to move past him, her body brushing his only briefly, but his hand caught her upper arm. The touch was not rough, but it was firm—fiery against the divine chill of her skin. His heat pushed into her, wrapping around her will like it always had, and her body softened despite the thunder rising in her mind.
Still, her jaw was set. Her heart a storm.
“I will not be pulled back into your fire,” she said, voice lower now, trembling not with fear—but with defiance warring against temptation. “Not if that flame is built on the bones of our brethren.”
Mairon chuckled at her words—a sound that once might have felt warm, even teasing.
But now, there was a chill beneath it. A hollowness that clung to the edges like smoke curling from a dying flame.
Elenwë felt it.
The shadow.
It had always been there—quiet, buried beneath his charm, veiled behind the fire that had first drawn her in. But now it stirred more boldly, no longer content to hide. Something had changed in him. Or perhaps, she thought with a quiet dread, it had always been there, and she had simply chosen not to see it.
The voice in her mind stirred again, louder now—an ancient instinct honed by centuries of divine clarity.
But when she looked into his eyes—those glinting, crystalline eyes that haunted her waking thoughts and whispered through her dreams—all caution vanished like breath against flame.
She could not hear the warnings.
She did not want to.
Her body betrayed her yet again, softening beneath the weight of his presence, yearning for the touch that had once made her feel celestial. Pliant, yes. But not from weakness—from want. From memory. From the ache to feel beautiful in the way only his hands could shape her.
Hands that had once created wonders in the name of the Ainur.
Hands that now sought to create something darker—in her.
“Elenwë,” he breathed, and her name fell from his lips like an incantation.
His fingers trailed up the length of her arm, slow and deliberate, until they reached the delicate golden piece resting at her shoulder. He traced it with maddening precision, the contrast of warm skin and cold metal sending shivers down her spine that coiled deep into her core.
She trembled—not from fear, but from the memory of what it felt like to be undone by him.
"Little raven," he said, a wicked smile curling his lips. It was affection laced with danger, with possession. A name spoken like a promise… or a claim.
And Elenwë, who had sworn to stay away, felt her will falter once more.
“Mairon,” she breathed, lashes lowering like a veil, “we cannot.”
The words came soft, frayed at the edges with ache. Not rejection—never that—but restraint strained near breaking. A plea not to stop, but to make stopping possible.
“Cannot…” he murmured, voice velvet and ash, “or will not?”
His fingers slipped beneath the strap resting at her shoulder, slow, unhurried, already certain of her answer. “I feel it in you. The want. The need. The ache to be unraveled…”
The strap fell. A whisper of silk down skin, and she inhaled sharply, the breath catching in her throat as warmth spread from his touch outward.
“Your wish,” he whispered against her skin, “to be devoured—as only I know how.”
“Stop tempting me,” she whimpered, eyes closing against the flood of sensation, the tide of memory, the pulse of fire rising through her once-pure vessel.
His hand glided from her shoulder to her clavicle, tracing the fine lines of her fana like a sculptor recalling a cherished shape. Then to her throat, where his thumb lingered, pulsing with heat against the place her breath caught.
“Look at me,” he commanded, and there was no gentleness in it.
There was hunger. Force. Need.
And it shattered what little resolve remained.
Her eyes opened.
They met his.
And in that gaze—burning, endless, consuming—she found no salvation, only surrender.
She surged forward, capturing his lips with a desperation that surprised even her. It was a kiss full of storm, of ruin, of longing too long denied. Mairon responded in kind, deepening it, claiming it, pressing her back toward the bed like a tide overtaking shore.
The backs of her knees met the edge, and she fell with him, the weight of him covering her, overwhelming her. His hands moved with purpose now, stripping her bare with reverence and hunger, every motion worship and undoing.
The chamber was silent save for the rustle of fabric, the shared rhythm of breath, and the quiet gasp of skin meeting skin.
His lips left hers only to trail fire across her chest, tasting her with slow deliberation. Each kiss, each graze of his tongue, stole a piece of the divinity she had once worn like a mantle. It was no longer hers alone—it was his to claim.
Elenwë tangled her fingers in his copper hair, guiding him lower, urging him wordlessly.
She wanted this. Needed it.
To be played like a harp strung with longing, plucked until she sang with ecstasy only he could conjure.
Her mind clouded with his scent—fire and ash, soot and sweetness. The scent of temptation, of fallen stars and broken vows.
And as he worshiped her with his mouth, with his hands, with the ruinous devotion of a god unbound, she gave herself to it—completely.
No more protest.
No more resistance.
Only flame and breath and the soundless echo of the Song, trembling in the distance.
Mairon knelt between her thighs as though at an altar—devoted, commanding, entirely in control.
His lips traced slow, reverent paths along the tender skin of her inner thighs, each kiss a benediction, each breath against her burning with promise. Elenwë gasped, a sharp intake of air that caught in her throat as her fingers wound tighter through the silken fire of his hair.
“I’ve craved you, little raven,” he murmured against her skin, his voice a caress in itself.
The warmth of his breath fluttered over her already soaked core, and her body, so treacherously attuned to him, pulsed with need. Flesh answered him like it always had—eager, ready, helpless to resist.
“I’ve longed to seek you out as we once did... but—”
His teeth sank into the flesh of her thigh, and her breath hitched into a whimper—quickly swallowed by a moan that trembled through her like thunder across still water. The sound that escaped her mouth was not just one of pleasure—it was ancient. Echoing beyond time, beyond place. It belonged to no one but him.
His tongue followed the mark he’d made, soothing and reigniting all at once, and she trembled—not with fear, but with a need so consuming it bordered on worship.
“You’ve been such an uncooperative girl,” he finished, his words a whisper laced with punishment and pleasure alike.
His hand tightened on her other thigh, grounding her, possessing her, reminding her who she belonged to in this moment—if not in name, then in flesh and fire.
Elenwë bit her lip, resisting the desperate urge to pull him to where her body throbbed for him. She wanted him there, needed him—but she also wanted this. This torment. This tension. His words—cutting, cruel, and laced with want—were their own kind of ecstasy.
She craved the degradation as much as the praise. She needed to be broken apart and made whole in the heat of him.
She was no longer the voice of Manwë, no longer the raven soaring above the Song.
She was his.
A servant to the flame that had claimed her, body and fëa, again and again.
And she would let him burn her to the end.
“Mairon…” she panted, the syllables barely shaped, shivering from her lips as his mouth trailed to the crease where thigh met hip—his cheek grazing her most sensitive place, a ghost of contact that left her nerves burning with want.
He hovered there, a breath away, cruel in his mercy.
“I don’t think you deserve it,” he murmured, voice low and electric, laced with dark amusement.
She twitched beneath the warmth of his breath—raw and exposed, soaked and aching. Every word he spoke was a spark, and her body was dry kindling.
“You made me wait… so long,” he continued, pressing a slow kiss into the hollow of her thigh. “So torturously long.”
He hummed, and she whimpered—a desperate, broken sound—and tears prickled at the corners of her eyes. Not from pain, but from the weight of want, the ache of restraint that had already unraveled inside her.
“I deserve… Mairon, please…” she begged, each breath a quake, her voice trembling with humiliation and hunger.
He chuckled, deep and cruelly delighted by the desperation now bleeding through her voice. His lips brushed against her skin again, reverent and wicked all at once. Then his grip tightened—fingers digging into her thighs, holding her still, pinning her to the mattress as if she might otherwise rise up in rapture or ruin.
She could barely breathe beneath the weight of anticipation, her chest fluttering like a bird caged too long.
And then, at last, in one long, devastating motion, his tongue parted her.
Her cry was sharp, unrestrained. “Yes—”
It wasn’t just pleasure.
It was release.
The coiled storm inside her shattered, her body trembling violently in devotion to his touch. His tongue moved with divine precision, twirling and teasing her swollen mound, and she whimpered again, breathless.
“More…”
But he gave nothing freely.
Mairon took his time, savoring her need, his every movement calculated to push her further, to stretch her longing like strings across a bow. He laved her slowly, deliberately, tasting her like something holy—and forbidden.
Her hands twisted in the sheets, her hips arching against his face, desperate for more friction, more force—but he held her down. The strength in his hands was unrelenting, godly. If she were mortal, her bones would have splintered from his grasp, her thighs crushed to ash beneath the pressure of his hold.
But she was not mortal.
She was Maia.
And still—she was undone.
He devoured her like something starved, tongue and lips working in rhythm until she was writhing beneath him, a symphony of broken whimpers and gasps, her body no longer her own, only a vessel for the pleasure he pulled from her.
And in the growing fog of her mind, even as she neared the edge, a single thought trembled like a dying note:
She had never been closer to heaven.
And yet she was already burning in his hell.
In a crashing wave of flame and wind, she came undone—writhing and gasping as her climax tore through her like the breaking of a storm. Her body pulsed against his tongue, his hold on her unrelenting as he guided her through the divine aftershocks, each flick and caress sending tremors through her fana.
When her breath had nearly steadied, he rose between her thighs, lips glistening, eyes gleaming with cruel satisfaction.
“You taste so good,” he whispered, voice thick with reverence and desire. “So sweet… so ripe for me.”
Elenwë trembled beneath the lingering heat of his words, her body sensitive to every breath of air, every shift of the mattress beneath them. And yet—even as her mind fought to return to itself—her body betrayed her again.
She ached for more.
With no hesitation, she reached for him, threading her fingers into his hair and pulling him up to meet her lips. She kissed him hungrily, tasting herself on his tongue, and the sinful intimacy of it sent a fresh pulse of heat surging through her.
He groaned into her mouth, deep and resonant, and she drank it down like sacred wine.
Their breath tangled between them, desperate and rhythmic, and her hands began to explore again—sliding down, fingers deftly undoing the final barrier of his clothes. The fabric fell away in hushed whispers, swallowed by the heat rising between them.
Once bare, she did not wait.
With fluid grace, she hooked her leg around his waist and rolled him beneath her, taking her place atop him like a queen claiming her throne. The sight of him below her—copper hair spread across her bed like a fiery crown, crystal eyes darkened by desire that burned only for her—nearly undid her again.
A dark smile curved her lips.
She traced her fingers down the firm lines of his chest, her hips rolling slowly, purposefully, against the hardness pressing between them. He shuddered beneath her, his hands gripping her thighs like he might tear through the veil of reality just to hold her tighter.
And still, she trembled.
Not from shame.
From need.
As much as she hated the part of herself that had let it come to this—as much as guilt and memory clawed at the edges of her soul—her body knew no remorse.
Her fana responded to him as if it had been made for this.
For him.
And in that surrender, wrapped in heat and hunger, she felt the faintest flicker of something crack within her—something holy, something ancient.
But she did not stop.
Because now, more than ever, she craved to be consumed.
When their bodies finally joined—flesh to flesh, spirit to spirit—they sank into a realm that existed beyond time, beyond space. There was no beginning, no end. Only sensation. Only power.
And in that first roll of her hips, as he filled her completely, Elenwë felt her fëa tremble—not in fear, but in recognition.
This was home.
He was home.
Buried inside her, threaded into the very essence of her being, he was everything she craved—everything she needed to sustain the flickering light she had long feared was dying within her. His flame rekindled it. Fed it. Claimed it.
And she welcomed the blaze.
They devoured one another—body, soul, and breath. Moans, whimpers, gasped prayers to no god, echoed through the room. The friction of skin and the slick, sacred rhythm of their union became its own kind of song—one only they could hear, and one the Song of Eä dared not echo.
Her hips moved with frenzied grace, relentless, purposeful, riding him like wind over storm-torn skies. She twined her fingers with his, lips seeking his in a kiss as consuming as the act itself. They lost themselves to it—lost the world, lost their names, lost everything except the pulse between them.
The bed beneath them creaked and groaned, straining beneath divine force as she chased her peak, her whimpers and cries swallowed by his mouth. Her climax came sharp and shuddering, her body locking around him, milking him with a desperation that made the air crackle.
“Mairon,” she moaned, the sound falling from her lips like a prayer—blasphemous and beautiful.
He smiled against her mouth as her motions slowed into slow, sinuous rolls, her body trembling with aftershock. Then he unlatched their fingers, palms sliding down to her hips, gripping her with purpose as he began to guide her into motion once more.
She followed, willingly.
Her breasts bounced with every movement, her white hair cascading like starlight across her back, catching the dim light seeping through her window. And in that moment—watching her, feeling her—Mairon knew no higher creation.
She was breathtaking.
And she was his.
His hand slid up and gathered her hair, wrapping it around his wrist like a tether, a claim. He yanked her head back, forcing her chest to arch, her moans sharper now, cracked with need. The angle brought a friction between them that made stars burst behind her eyes, her cries growing more frantic, more desperate.
Her gales surged.
His flame roared.
And in one final, devastating thrust, they shattered—together.
He spilled into her, and her core took everything, like it had been crafted for the sole purpose of receiving him. Their powers tangled, breath and essence and light colliding in the sacred violence of climax. Her air wrapped around his fire, cradling it, feeding it, holding it close—not as an enemy, but as something beloved.
And in that moment, her heart—so long torn between duty and desire—no longer wavered.
It was his.
Entirely.
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liveontelevision · 1 year ago
Note
Hallo!!! I’d just like to say to start I ADORE your work! Especially with Lucifer, the way you depict him is SO refreshing you have no idea.. your work practically canon in my eyes I love it!!! You’re super awesome.
I did also notice that in your Lucifer works you talked about his more ‘unappealing’ traits, so-to-speak. Like his temper, his possessiveness, and especially his paranoia and panic.
I suffer with a paranoia disorder and some ptsd of my own, and it was really nice to have those traits made known, but not have them severely criticized, y’know?
I understand and agree that Lucifer would need a patient partner when it comes to these things, someone to stick around and be reassuring through it all; And while they can get frustrated, not criticize or even leave him for it; something I theorize may have been a reason for Lilith’s own departure.
But what if the reason for the reader’s patience is because of their own panic issues? Or their own temper?
Now to be fair, not sure how i’d exactly want it to go. It could be them comforting him when he panics, or Lucifer when they panic, or just a simple heart-to-heart about their combined struggle and the resilience that is forged because of that…
Like while their breath quickens, hands clutching into their thighs as their brain practically screams at them to calm down through all the mind-numbing internal noise; boiling tears stream down their face as they shiver within the darkness of an empty corridor. Perhaps Lucifer steps around, bearing witness to their storming off, getting a glimpse of the uglier side of their lover. The strange, uncomfortable, terrified side of them. But that isn’t what he sees, not at all. His gaze softens as he stares into their tear-blinded irises and carefully sits in front of them. He sees a person. A real, true human being.
(hahaaa got a bit too silly sorry xP)
All I know is that I think Lucifer, while also being equally concerned, would appreciate having someone who could understand what he’s going through; Well, as close as a sinner could get to understanding it, at least.
But what do you think? Would he act any different? I’d love to know ^^ ❤️
Thank you so much for getting into these details! After reading this I realized how much I connected my own mental struggles to what I write. So just seeing that you're about to relate to it as well made me feel really good :)
This was honestly a little hard for me, trying to get into this mindset. Even though it's not super motivated by Lucifer's character, I kinda needed to write this for myself honestly :') but still, I hope you enjoy this!
---
Comfort
CW: Descriptions of depression and panic attacks, flulff, angst
You were head of heels for Lucifer. And you’d do anything for him, that goes without saying, even if you do enjoy seeing his reaction to your devotion. You knew Lucifer as the king of Hell before anything else, so your first impression of him was obviously different from the Lucifer you know and love today. He was always portrayed in media as some suave, flirtatious, powerful being. No one dared talk negatively about him, his true authority being misinterpreted as pure malicious intent. But that didn’t stop the media from tearing Charlie apart. Why didn’t he defend his daughter then? In summary, Lucifer was known for two things; incredible power and little consideration for the actual ongoings of Hell, even with whatever his daughter was involved with. At first. His saving the hotel, defending Hell on extermination day, and encouraging his daughter, was the side of him that only a handful of trusted people could experience firsthand.
Luckily, you got to be one of those people. It’s easy to take his goofy exposure and temper and make it appear that he is an aloof king. But no one can handle being a hermit for centuries without having a different view on life. And being an outcast from his original realm? Being abandoned by his brothers? Even the most powerful demon couldn't experience that without it taking a mental toll. That was obvious. Comforting Lucifer would never be an easy task, even for someone who’s experienced exactly what he has. And who knows exactly how close Lillith was to him? Was she able to see him in this state? Was it another factor of himself that he chose to bury in fear of rejection and abandonment? It was a pitiful thought, but definitely not an impossible one.
Whether or not you truly understood Lucifer's past, you wanted to be there for him. It felt good to comfort such a powerful being, being an anchor for someone who has an absurd amount of baggage. But it’s not like you always knew what you were doing. You weren’t this perfectly healthy person who knew what to say all the time. When you first got together, you had your doubts about even having feelings for him. He was an icon, a celebrity, royalty. It was great he confided in you, but was his status clouding your judgment? Were you only enjoying the dominance you had over his emotional state because of who he was? Was your admiration misconstrued as love? It took a while for you to get over this mindset. The longer you were together, the less it became you constantly praising and fawning over him, the more it became being in love with your best friend.
You didn’t really bother to bring any of this up to him, the idea made you cringe. Would bringing up your doubts about the relationship only transfer those feelings to him as well? The moment passed, so there’s no need to get him worked up over nothing.
That’s a great example of how your mind works. You assumed that all these spiraling questions, that brought you to the brink of tears, just went away. That, because you realized how much you loved him and how much he loved you, that meant that you never needed to express these thoughts. Nothing could be done about it, those feelings were in the past. Why bring it up now?
There was also the question of how much you gave into the relationship. You gave Lucifer your all, gave him your heart and body, and yet you don’t feel comfortable enough to share your own suffering? You could've blamed Lucifer if you wanted. He should be supporting you the same way you support him. Or you could blame yourself. Obviously, if you wanted support you should feel comfortable asking for it. But why do you have to ask? Lucifer never asked for it. Why don’t you feel comfortable sharing your feelings? Your own trauma? What’s wrong with you?
That ended up being your downfall. Nothing ever just goes away. How could you constantly comfort Lucifer and push him to let out what he needs to, yet refuse to express anything that truly upset you? Demons are essentially immortal, these feelings couldn't be bottled up forever. But they can be bottled up until you break.
Lucifer had an especially rough day, he was looking forward to finding his sweetheart and venting about how shitty his meetings went and how Alastor pissed him off, along with some other daily struggles. That’s all it was; a daily vent session that helped him decompress. What he wasn’t realizing was how much that affected you. It wasn’t really his fault, or he wasn't doing it on purpose at least. You weren’t really the type to share your own struggles, you mentioned that to him once or twice. You felt that crying and letting it all out, venting about struggles that simply don’t need to be discussed, none of that really helped you when you were struggling. But today, you were struggling. 
“Ugh! That tacky son of a bitch made fun of my suit today, can you believe it? Like - I mean - C’mon! We basically wear the same things but in different colors, I don’t know what he’s on about. Oh, and I had to go to the Embassy today. Luckily I didn’t need to meet with anyone but I - “ As Lucifer started his long-winded complaints, he stripped himself of his boots, hat, and jacket, then approached you. You were lying in bed, which wouldn't exactly be strange if it were early in the morning or late at night, but it was nearly dinner time. You were wearing your usual pajamas and had been scrolling through your phone for who knows how long. Did you have anything to do today? You didn’t have time to think about that.
Lucifer placed a quick kiss on your forehead, then between words, one on each cheek, then a final, slightly lingering, kiss on your lips. He finally plopped down and laid perpendicular to your lounging body, laying his head in your lap and looking into the ceiling as he went on. You set your phone aside, that had been plugged in and turned on since late last night, leaving it hot to the touch in your hand. You had become numb to it at this point.
None of this seemed to really come off as an issue to you. Who doesn't have a day or two where they can't get out of bed? You were sure you’d be ready to get back to work the next day, so it’s not a problem. Plus, Lucifer was here! You could get some quality time in with him and convince yourself that you weren't wasting a whole day. He went on and on. Talking about the Embassy got him on the topic of Heaven, which led to him sharing a story of how his brothers weren’t supportive of a specific invention he was sharing. “It was really something, you know. If I could've just been accepted by them, if they supported me.. like you do! maybe things could've been different. Maybe - “ Plop. Lucifer flinched at the sudden drop of water that hit his cheek. He wiped it away before finally discovering its source.
You were crying. It was silent, and you were holding your breath to prevent it from turning you into a heaving, sobbing, mess. Lucifer was quick to sit up, seating himself on his knees as he tried to question your disposition. He was finally noticing your overall situation. You are in the same spot that he left you in this morning, wearing the same pajamas, scrolling through the same phone that never left the nightstand. He started to feel ashamed that he didn’t notice any of this sooner. You had shifted your gaze downwards, picking at your clawed fingers like you would your skin when you were alive. This is embarrassing. You don’t want him to see you this way, you look like a mess. You tried your best to keep tears from coming from your eyes, but the fact that Lucifer was sitting near you in absolute silence somehow made it worse. You hitched your breath, trying to control your emotions in any way, then let out a shaky exhale that made your body shrink.
The moment seemed to go on forever. It felt like his eyes were burning into you. You had to do something. Anything. “I’m okay! I’m okay, Luci. Sorry, J-Just a rough day. But it's over now! We can just relax now. Promise.” You quickly said, your voice raspy due to it being the first words you had spoken today. You shifted yourself over, pulling the blanket aside and patting the spot next to you. Lucifer didn’t know how to respond. He’s seen you like this before, everyone has rough days. And why would you lie to him? You could go to him for anything. You knew that, right? He reluctantly moved into the bed, holding his arm out to allow you to snuggle into his side, finally resting your head on the center of his chest. Your eyes looked vacantly towards the other side of the room, as your finger mindlessly traced the seems on the side of his shirt. A monotonous task that kept your mind on anything other than how you were feeling. Today was just one of those days where every little problem you’d encounter was tipping you over the edge, sending you into a spiraling mess.
He knew something was wrong. He didn’t push you away, you clearly needed the contact, but the warm spot that you created from staying in bed all day was apparent when he went in to hold you. Sure, he’s seen you like this before. But this was different. “Darling..? Erm.. Sorry, I didn’t get a chance to - I should’ve.. How was your day, love? Wanna.. talk about it?” He always struggled with words. It’d take him a while, but he’d always manage to get what he intended when he spoke. “Oh, um.. It was good.. My day was good. Didn’t do much, but that’s okay. Just a relaxation day I suppose.” Ah, relaxation. You’ve used that word before. He always wondered; How come relaxation never meant going to a spa or doing something legitimately soothing? Was laying in bed all day really what you considered relaxing?
“ I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make you worry. Go on, you were talking about your brothers? What were you - “ Your diversion was immediately noticed. Before you could even finish your question, Lucifer had taken your chin and angled your head upward to look at him. It was a struggle for you to meet his eyes. You gulped, and no matter how much you wanted to pull away from his grasp, you didn’t. Tears were welling in your eyes the whole time, and even though your breath had calmed, you still seemed winded. “Please tell me what’s wrong. Please. Let me help.” It seemed like everything just fell into place. Lucifer finally picked up on things you never realized came from your insecurities and paranoia. And he wanted to fix it, not stop it, actually fix it. You hated how the idea of it surprised you. It shouldn't, of course, he’d do this for you.
“ I-I promise it’s nothing.. I’ve just been feeling off today, I just want to be close to you. That always helps.” You smiled up at him. No matter how forced, he returned your smile. “Well.. Do you think.. Talking would help?” You tensed up as he spoke, an obvious sensation to Lucifer since you laid suddenly uncomfortably on his chest. “Hun, you know that stuff really isn’t for me… I don’t benefit from that, I think. So don’t worry. Just - be here. For me? Can you do that?” You began to sound agitated. It wasn’t an aggressive plea, more like a plea for this conversation to be over. He wasn’t a huge fan of how you spoke, it came off as a sort of insult to him. Did you not think he could help you in the same way you did for him? He could try. He wanted to try.
He planted a small kiss on your forehead, then traced his hand up and down your back, feeling your tension melt as he did so. He pressed his cheek against the top of your head and picked up your hand in his. He traced your palm, running along the wrinkles and folds of your skin, then lightly grazed his claw up the length of each of your fingers. He sent a starfish motion across the entirety of your hand before finally interlacing your fingers. You stared at his movements the whole time, watching only for a moment before your eyes glazed over, leaving you in a sort of mindless state. He squeezed your hand after giving it attention, which brought you back to reality. Your eyes had continued to drip, leaving a few small specks of wetness on the part of his shirt that sat below your face. With the newfound grip he had on your hand, he pulled your still clasped hands up to his face, rubbing his cheek on the back of your hand before pressing gentle kisses across your knuckles. His eyes looked at you, half-lidded, with your hands still held to his lips.
Well, you weren't lying when you said being around him helped. Just the sight of him caring for you in this way, calmed your mood. You managed to accept that your actions today wernt like you. That something had taken over in your mind to keep you weighed down in your shared bed. “Thank you.” It barely came out as a whisper when you said it, bringing your clasped hands to your own lips and pressing a kiss on his own knuckles in response. “Of course, love. Anything for you. I mean it.” These actions weren't exactly new to the two of you, these were methods you occasionally used to help Lucifer fall asleep, or calm him down after a rough day. But he was using it on you. He had learned how to take care of you, by watching what you do. Noticing how you act on a daily basis and how that contrasts from the version of you he’s seeing right now. It was a subconscious transaction that you two had. But when you did notice it happening, you could hardly contain the mixed emotions you felt. Embarrassment, Pride, Love.. 
“ I mean it.” He repeated, snapping you from whatever state of mind you caught yourself in, “You know that, don’t you? You know I can help you, right? ” Now, this was new. He’s never questioned you like this. For some reason, it became difficult to respond. To admit that you knew he had your best interest in mind. “Tell me.” He wasn’t demanding, he seemed genuinely concerned as he spoke. Your cheeks flushed, feeling some sort of embarrassment. “Y-Yeah, I know.” You were quiet, still.
Lucifer didn’t seem completely convinced. “I’m sure you do. But can’t you just.. I want to know what goes on in your head.. If that makes sense. I don’t know, maybe I’m overthinking this - No, I want you to try and talk to me. Just try?” You almost scoffed, trying to play it off as some kind of joke. “It’s not important, I’m feeling better now, that’s what’s important.” 
That’s when he became agitated. He gently sat up, lifting you up with him. “No! It still matters. Tell me how you feel. Or - how you felt, I don’t know..! Talk to me. Please.” He had a tight grasp on your arms, almost shaking you as he spoke. You tried to calm down, you really did, but you felt forced into talking. Not in a negative manner, just in the way that your instinct to isolate yourself in this state was being challenged. You were physically reacting, tensing under his touch and lowering your eyes to the point he couldn't see them. You rubbed your hands against your thighs, trying to figure out what to say. It seemed like it took too long for you to respond. When you did it came out in the form of broken sobs, your hands moved from your thighs to your cheeks, running your forearm across your face to wipe tears. You broke.
You finally open up about your day. About how today, you felt like you didn't have any reason to get out of bed, how it felt okay to just rot there. You tried your best to describe what makes you this way, but you really weren't all that sure yourself. And despite how much Lucifer struggles with his own words, you were almost silent when it came to describing how you felt. He would nod his head and keep a calm composure, just like you do for him. It took everything in him to just hold you as tight as he could, to repeat I'm so sorry and it'll be okay and I love you so much. But that's not what you'd do at this moment, and he realized how much he'd hate that for himself. It’d feel disingenuous. You loved physical affections, even the slightest intimate moments were improved by a simple hand-holding, or just sitting close to Lucifer. And right now, you felt ashamed for wanting to push him away. But you didn't.
He cooed you, and pulled you in close, his arms engulfing your curled up body. He continued to rub your back, just like you’d do for him, and would ask if you needed anything multiple times, even if you politely rejected each time. Just to be safe. You let out a gross mixture of sobs and apologies, and possibly some things that you’d regret saying later, but the dam was broken at this point. After you had calmed down, he loosened his grasp to let you sit up, your body stiff from holding it in that position for so long. He was quick to create some tissues out of thin air and hand them to you, catching sight of your reddened eyes and nose, but he also made it a point to not stare at you. He’d turn his gaze to the floor, or to your hands, or he’d rest his head on top of yours. “So..? How are you doing?” He almost sounded nervous when he asked as if he might have messed up at some point. “I feel disgusting.” You said bluntly, your voice nasally due to your nose being so stuffed up. He chuckled and pressed a kiss to the top of your head. “I told you this stuff doesn't work for me, I feel awful still.” A bittersweet smile hit his face, but you were still making it a point to keep your eyes away. “I know, love. But, I’m glad you did it. I’m.. well, I’m glad you’re talking to me - I know it was hard.. So.. thank you, I suppose. You did good.” His words were choppy as if he was still figuring out what he wanted to say. He said what he needed to though.
You let out an absolutely exhausted sigh and leaned back into his chest, bringing both of you back down onto the bed. After a bit more backrubbing and hums of affection, you finally lift your head to look up at him. He was absolutely glowing. The smile on his face brought you butterflies that you didn't realize could resurface after being with someone for so long. “You did so well~” He said in a low tone, keeping his eyes locked on yours, and keeping your head turned upwards by gently holding your chin. “W-Well, don’t say it like that.. Perv..” You let your suddenly dirtied mind blurt out a nervous response. “Hey, that one’s on you. I would never proposition a damsel in distress.” He tapped your nose, speaking in a theatrical voice, before meeting your lips in a much-needed kiss. “Love you.” You muttered into his lips, only to feel his smile form in response. His eyes weld with affection for you when he pulled away. “I love you.”
Even if you felt awful after your little outburst, the reality of laying in bed all day finally hit you with a burst of adrenaline. You weren’t able to sleep after that and Lucifer had no complaints about that. The rest of the night was spent doing silly little things, Lucifer demanded you do your nightly routine, insisting it would help your mood. He provided snacks, started a movie that you mentioned you wanted to see a while ago, and sat behind you as he either brushed your hair or spent the time to give you a thorough massage.
You were so proud of him. You always struggled alone when this kind of thing happened. And, although a little awkward, he was exactly what you needed him to be at that moment.
---
OMG LOOK AT MY LITTLE TAG LIST ILY GUYS:
( @vififofum @thornwolfy235 @tinywolfiegirl @chipper-chip @bat-boness @misfitgirlwrites @nayomi247 @lonelynmisunderstood )
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a-d-nox · 2 years ago
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Hi :) I love your web of wyrd posts. I'd love to learn more about it 🥰🩷
web of wyrd: the right-most number, who we are destined to be / what you must accomplish in this life
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the number we are focusing on today is based on the YEAR you were born - ex: i was born in 2000, as you see above, my rightmost number is 2 (2 + 0 + 0 + 0 -> 2).
but what does this number mean?
this number represents who we are destined to be. sort of like self fulfilling prophecy - everyone from a distinct year had many years where the expectation of their behavior was press into who they would become and how they would act (via schooling, world affairs, etc). that's what is occurring here in some regards. this the general assumption of what we, and the people born in the same year as us, will become. and thus what we are tasked with accomplishing in this lifetime to become this person.
so let's talk about some examples:
2 - the high priestess
rider-waite's high priestess is depicted as woman dressed in blue seated on the beach. she stares at the viewer blocking their view of the ocean behind her. in fact, her set up on the beach blocks the view as well. seated between one dark and one light column, she presents the viewers with the idea of balance - as the B stands for "boaz" and the J stands for "jachin" which are "strengths establishes" is hebrew they often indicate extremely like dark and light, day and night, etc. while blocking the ocean, she showcases it's ruler - the moon (which she represents). her headdress is that of the phases of the moon showing the shifts in feminine life - maiden, mother, and crone. she wears a cross and holds the Torah showing her devotion toward higher beliefs. behind her is a tapestry covered with pomegranates (fertility symbol).
2s are destined to be connected to the divine. they will be intuitive - they will see through the shadows and all that is hidden from the naked eye (no matter how much blocks the view). they will not fear looking within. they will be comfortable with the cycles of life and their femininity. they are destined to guide others as well as themselves through life.
2s need to accomplish the ability to look within and trust themselves over others. they need to learn to look past logic and small details and trust the universe to take them where they belong most in life. they must also learn that they are more than just their body/vessel.
4 - the emperor
rider-waite's emperor is an older man who sits on a stone throne - ram heads (he represents aries) perch on the corners of the throne. he wears armor beneath his red (desire/passion) robes. the emperor is the divine masculine of the deck; he is a strong leader (we see this in all the stone elements of the card - the throne and mountain range (alludes to the hermit and the fool) behind him - and the golden crown, rod, and orb he has with him). the landscape behind him is barren except for a stream (emotions and intuition) - he can see anything coming. the warm tones in the card serve to emphasized power, authority, and materialism.
4s are destined to lead. they will be strong and powerful individuals. they will take action on the things that matter most to them and those around them. they will believe in and acknowledge their authority, ambitions, and power. they will serve the greater good, not just themselves. they will have big personalities and won't be afraid to take up space.
4s must accomplish self-confident and leadership in this life. it's easy to lead others - but it's difficult to be someone worth following. being a good leader is hard. these individuals must find what inspires them and campaign for that inspiration and action to take place.
7 - the chariot
two sphinxes pull rider-waite's chariot and the man on it. one white and one black (goes back to the high priestess's columns) sphinx lie motionless on the ground - the white looks to the right (the future - the positives) and the black looks to the left (the past - the negatives). despite being armored (he represents cancer) and thus looking ready for battle, the charioteer holds no reins. with the warships and river at his back and the stars (alludes to the star card) over his head, the card depicts the importance of not acting on impulse but rather acting intuitively.
7s are destined to ascend from one reality and into another - they will break generational curses/patterns. they will meet the goals they set in life. these people will be determined, intuitive, and methodical.
7s must accomplish the ability to plan. they need to think clearly and intentionally when making moves in this life time. solid foundations and certainty of the next move is necessary to this person's success. they must face patterns in their life and break them. not all violence/confrontation is necessary, so they must decide throughout life what is worth the fight and what is not.
that's all for today. the next number we will be looking at number between this number and the crown number.
have ideas for new content? please use my “suggest a post topic” button!
return to nox's guide to metaphysics
return to the masterlist of the web of wyrd
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wickedsrest-rp · 14 days ago
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Owen Lundkvist He / him
"Look, I can tell you the ugly, bloody truth about how this goes down or we can pretend I'm solving your problems diplomatically. Price is the same either way."
SPECIES: Hunter (Slayer) OCCUPATION: Freelance Intermediary AGE: 31 Years Old PLAYED BY: Hera FC: Bill Skarsgård
BIOGRAPHY:
TW: Infidelity
Owen Lundkvist was born, bred and trained to be a great slayer and for a time, that’s exactly what he was. The first child to the prestigious Lundkvists, well known in their hometown of Uppsala both to those in the know about their violent heritage and to those in the dark. Their name warranted a certain degree of respect and in turn, Owen harbored an innate lack of it as he grew up. What he did respect was the mission that came with his heritage, the training and more importantly, the fight. He was damn good at it, too, if a bit more violent than was strictly necessary, right on track to proudly continue the family legacy. 
No one could have foreseen that love would be the young slayer’s undoing. Devotion can be a dangerous thing in the hands of a seemingly sweet vampire. 
Rosel Christian had seemed like the perfect exception to everything Owen knew about vampires. What had started as morbid curiosity morphed into genuine interest and beyond the scope of his control, love. Unsurprisingly, the relationship bloomed without the support of Owen’s parents. So the young couple ran. America was thrilling, truly the land of opportunities and the perfect place for a dysfunctional couple like a slayer and a vampire. For a while, everything was perfect. Close to perfect, at least, as Rosel still needed to feed and what kind of boyfriend wouldn’t help his partner stay alive? They avoided casualties… at first. Crossing that line, for her, didn’t seem like much. They got into other trouble too, and Owen’s hands got increasingly covered in both vampire dust and blood, human or hunter. Minor setbacks. When you were in love, and loved, you would do anything. Because he was loved. Right?
She’d pulled away slowly at first - staying out later turned to a day or two with no contact, bringing a friend or two back to their apartment mutated into an endless stream of vampires coming and going as they pleased. And then, once Rosel had realized there were no more boundaries to break in the relationship, she unceremoniously vanished. It took weeks for Owen to finally spot her again, complete with a new victim of her manipulation hanging off her arm. 
Staying in Boston after that was too painful. Too void of vampires to kill and take his boiling anger out on. It was time to get back to what he truly was - someone who killed monsters. It had been stupid to think they were anything other than heartless creatures that took what they needed and left the corpse bleeding. His training needed some dusting off, sure, but what better place to let his true colors shine than a town supposedly crawling with these selfish, wretched creatures? Wicked’s Rest was truly a goldmine for those looking to take their issues out on unsuspecting undead. The thing about just running from your heartless and cheating mistakes though, as opposed to grinding them into dust? It means those mistakes can hunt you down when you least expect them to. 
After years of relative peace (a violent slayer’s version of peace, at least) Rosel tracked him down again. This time, there was no pretense. She was in control and Owen would do as he was told like a good little slayer or there would be consequences. Despite a valiant effort, Owen hadn’t been able to completely close off his heart after Rosel’s first go at shattering it and the haphazardly glued together pieces had accidentally found people to care about in Wicked’s Rest. People that Rosel now threatened unless Owen played along. So, for just over a year, he was her personal slayer on retainer, doing the exact opposite of what a slayer should; protecting undead and killing his fellow hunters. 
Lucky for Owen (and the town’s thinning hunter population) the people he had tried so hard to push away, the ones whose lives were supposedly being spared by the blood Rosel was having him spill, pushed back. Through a little teamwork, Rosel’s little plot was unearthed and surprise, it was a load of manipulative bull all along. There had never been any threat to the people Owen wished he didn’t care about. All those hunters had been killed for nothing and while he was no stranger to violence, being puppeteered was an experience he could not let slide. After brutally tearing Rosel to pieces, Owen went into self destruct mode, close to succeeding in that mission if not for a stranger looking for a protege. 
Dragging Owen back from the brink of death, the stranger named Cecil had an offer to make. As they were getting on in age, it was time to make sure their important business would live on and over the last few months, Owen’s detour from your regular slayer activities had caught their eye. Someone who had relations across the span of different species, whether positive or negative in nature, was exactly the person Cecil could train to take over. What was the business? That part was slightly complicated. 
Cecil had a knack for fixing problems, which sometimes included causing new problems but in a very deliberate manner. That is to say, people came to him for assistance with their troubles, the troubles of the supernatural kind and Cecil was there to help - or outsource the help. A spider in the middle of a web, capable of pulling on the right strings to make sure things ran smoothly. All for the right price, of course. You need the secret of your aos sí to remain secret? A mare keeps haunting your aunt? There’s a hunter dead set on killing your spouse? Cecil’s business doesn’t discriminate between species, they simply fix the problem, by means of money, threats or blood. If you know the right people, anything is doable. And so Owen was given a choice: continue to spiral to his own inevitable destruction or take over the business, make himself useful and, by extension, untouchable.
PERSONALITY:
Ruthless · Manipulative · Clever · Goading · Hot-tempered · Inappropriate · Sentimental · Closed off · Charismatic
OTHER INFO:
Previous work experiences include hobbyist drummer, half-decent bartender and employee at Fable Blades - only the last one proved genuinely useful for the slaying gig, making Owen somewhat knowledgeable about different kinds of weapons and also various fae trivia. 
Much like any hunter who’s fortunate enough to make it to their thirties, Owen has an impressive collection of scars. It used to be a point of pride that no one alive (or undead) had managed to leave a scar and live to tell the tale. That no longer applies and he is not willing to talk about it. 
Although a sociopathic vampire is the only actual relationship in Owen’s past (which is honestly plenty), there is a trail of flings and situationships that have gone up in flames, spanning various species and intimacy levels because learning from his mistakes is not one of Owen’s talents. 
Having a very single minded focus on vampires and their undoing, Owen’s abilities as a slayer are very vampire-centered; his sense for other undead is less honed, his blood is caustic to only vampires and they are the only subspecies he is immune to being turned by. It applies to his fighting style as well, most of his skills revolving around close up combat and melee weapons. It comes in handy for all of the other fights he gets into, too.
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forrestdabeevee · 2 months ago
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I'd like sfw and NSFW headcanons for a relationship with Meloetta please! It's genderless, but maybe fem leaning?
Happy Valentine's day! And Meloetta huh? This one will be hard and probably very short as I personally have never encountered her before, so what I write will be from what I've heard and read from others who have encountered her. I do hope to meet her someday but I understand her not wanting to meet a professor like me.
Sfw
Well for one her singing voice is one to fall for, listening to recordings of her voice during some late study nights is quite soothing plus she has helped with some restless nights. Another thing is that her form and movement is just as if not more graceful than that of even the most experienced human and pokemon dancers and contest masters.
Her pirouette form hasn't been shown off as much these days but I do remember seeing footage back then of her back when she was quite scrappy but she was just as graceful as she was strong in that form, part of me wishes I could've seen that form in person but I should try to stop my fantasies from distracting me.
From the people who have dated or almost dated her they describe her as being a force of nature, heavily obsessed with them, and easily overwhelming people who are soft and yet it seems like she almost prefers those kind of partners most of the time.
There have been a few cases of people who date or dated her that have gone missing but not enough evidence has come up against her, and even then they'd have to fight against her devoted fans and her profits so she's safe, even then I doubt she's related to the disappearances as she doesn't seem the kind of pokemon to do that.
I remember her valentines event she did a few years ago back when she had multiple boyfriends and girlfriends, with said event lasting the whole week Valentines day took place on. With it starting with her concert then changing into a crowd event where everyone showed off their beloved(s), then a drawing concert, then the last few were private events that I sadly have only heard of and watched recordings of. I will discuss those next.
NSFW
As I mentioned earlier most of her partners are pretty soft and submissive and if they aren't she's still quite dominant and just as obsessed with them. Most aren't able to handle her and eventually the two change to friends with benefits or move away from each other but the ones who can handle and match her they either help her test her new bfs/gfs or help her with her videos and finding new "Toys".
Despite her small frame and height she can surprisingly take a lot within her, I've seen her bulge out and take large loads and hold them all within her with no sweat. It's intimidating yet interesting.
Welp back to talking about her pirouette form, there aren't many videos of her using that form but from the few I managed to find it seems like she's even more relentless and absolutely draining in that form, I pray for those poor souls pelvis.
The few times she's done collabs with other pokemon involved she doesn't seem too involved or interested in mating with them which is surprising to me but I guess we all have our own tastes and who am I to judge when I study pokemon more in depth than most professors.
Back to the valentines event, along with the previous events, the private ones would first start with an orgy of her and her bfs and gfs with the next one being another one with her favorite fans that visited the events, and the final one was her randomly picking one fan after another until she was finally satiated. All three of these were recorded and I managed to buy a dvd set before they sold out completely. I enjoy watching them whenever I'm in the mood and nothing else is doing it for me and I'm alone in the lab.
I remember when she used to do private dances for people who donated a bunch to her streams and Pokétreon back when she first started, sadly never got the chance to have or view one as I was still studying to become a pokemon professor at the time. probably could've skipped that stupid frat party and experienced one of them instead…
(OOC cw this part mentions cuckolding, skip if your not into it )I do remember hearing rumors of a video meant for one of her more kinkier bfs, it involved a bunch of her fans having a night long breeding session while said bf watched either in a chair or from far away. There's no official recording or statement from her on it's existence but part of me hopes it exists since it sounds hot.
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velvet-cupcake-games · 1 year ago
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Made Marion Development Update, Feb 2024
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Hello everyone, and happy belated Valentine's Day! Will took a moment of his time to make everyone a very special Valentine.
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Darn it, Will.
The Writing Desk
I am moving into Will Chapter 2!  These first couple months of Will route development have been challenged by some unavoidable IRL issues, but those are all cleared up now and I am devoting the rest of February and March fully to writing Will's route.
Chapter 1, as predicted, will be around 20,000 words. I still have one more Chapter 1 scene to finish, but it's a big action scene, and those tend to take me forever as I figure out all the logistics. I decided that rather than delaying the rest of the adventure, I'll slowly add to that action scene while writing Chapter 2.
Will Preview Video:
In case you missed it, we created a preview stream featuring the beginning of Will's route for the Steam Storyteller's Festival in early February.  Here it is!
youtube
Art Roundup
Some backers have been curious as to the completion status of our art, so here's the roundup:
Sprites and CGs (Arrapso)
All main character sprites are complete, save for a ??? variant sprite that will only be seen in the DLC.
We have 3.5 major NPC sprites yet to be completed: Hugh, leader of the Grey Wolves (backer sprite); Issa, Lord Geoffrey's cousin in from Nibiru (backer sprite); Kafeel, leader of Nottingham's Sunjati Merchant association and Will's friend; and the final version of Thomas, a character who is only seen in Alanna's route. I will need Kafeel for Will's EA release and am hoping to have Hugh and Issa for it as well, although they are more important on the Nottingham side.
After those are complete, Arrapso's main job will be CGs. I have ordered 4/5 Will CGs and am still deciding on the design for the final one. We also still need to design the backer wallpapers (which will be available in PC and phone formats).
Backgrounds & Creature Sprites (Sandra)
Backgrounds are almost entirely finished. I have one more major background to commission and then it'll just be the occasional variation as needed or maaaaybe one or two more major backgrounds later on to add more variation to the Nottingham Town exteriors.
All major creature sprites are complete.  I may commission one of Geoff's beloved hunting hounds during his route, but haven't decided yet. Meissa's bird friend will likely be a cut-in like our messenger doves.
Lore Intro and Cut-Ins (Lawrichai)
Lawri has been having some IRL challenges but should be back with us soon. Her main jobs right now are sexy silhouettes and the lore intro animation. We may be transforming the lore intro graphics into a full .webm animation instead of using Ren'py's built in Animation and Transition Language, as this might actually be easier for Lawri, as well as looking a lot smoother and making me pound my head against my desk less. It's a win/win/win! We'll have more on this next time.
Otherwise, Lawri's work is ongoing depending on budget and how much she is able to complete from route to route (I can always add in more cut-ins, but for now we're focusing on more critical ones as we have time after the sexy sils are complete per route).
So that's where we are with art right now!  We're in pretty good shape overall, there just might need to be some more intense art production while I complete the second half of Will's script.
See you next month!
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xsapphirescrollsx · 2 years ago
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Touch
Written: 2020-04-28
Bucky Barnes x Black female reader
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Bucky Barnes thinks he doesn’t deserve you.
That he was unworthy of this very moment too.
Rain fell in sheets swelling the air around you in scents of dark soil and juniper. He sniffed the moist air again and breathed in deep, it smelled a touch like honey too. Bucky huddled in further next to you, hair wet, the droplets fell to your cheeks and he discovered the sweet smell was coming from you. 
A pavillion of sorts, but it was a small and broken pile of wood to the point a stream of spring rain came pouring in from the roof, on to the base of the floor and down the side like a waterfall. 
Bucky groaned inside, What are you doing here? Why did you follow him?
You slid down the column running through the center of the junky gazebo with a frazzled but excited gaze. 
“Just a little rain,” you said in a chipper tone.
He was not sure whether to sit or to continue to stand. Bucky glanced from your bare legs, to your flip flop barely on one foot, to your hands gently wiping off the rain from your thighs. Not entirely comfortable with how smooth he found your skin to be, he quickly looked away to the rain that was still coming down hard.
“Aren’t you going to sit?” You loudly asked over the roar of the downpour.
The apple of his cheeks were still pink when he nodded stiffly, refused to look you in the eyes and sat down next to you.
“Afraid of me?” you asked playfully and bumped his shoulder with yours.
Bucky brought a knee up and rested his metal arm on it and didn’t speak. 
He shook his head and kept his eyes panned on the rain. In the past, he had women, some of those moments he had become hopelessly devoted too, though to his detriment for only just one thing. But now, his eyes fell to your hands cupping and rubbing the bottom of your foot. 
Bucky imagined your hands, the soft pads of your fingers tracing along his face, his lips. The little movement of your thumb messaging the pinch in your hell was enough to send his heart hammering into his chest.
“It was a pretty day,” you said offhandedly. 
You rocked forward on your hands and knees, pushed closer to the cascade of rain and rinsed your hands.
Tilting your head back over your shoulder a small smile met his. Blood rushed to his head again and Bucky looked away.
It was still a pretty day, he thought.
Bucky concentrated on a blade of grass being pelted. “You got stuck out here with me. Why’d you follow me in the first place?” He asked.
“You looked upset after the reaming from Fury.” 
You scooted closer, folded your legs underneath you letting your knee touch his shin.
“So?” 
Bucky’s eyes fell to the place the two of you were connected up to your eyes.
You shrugged gently, he could see the confidence melt a bit and the shyness take over.
“I didn’t want you to be alone.”
Tender, with merciful care you laid the tips of your fingers on his calf.
The rain let up a bit. “Why would you care if I was alone?” he asked quietly. 
“Same reason you cared when I didn’t show up for the briefing a few weeks ago.”
He remembered. He found you in your room, unbathed, the assertiveness in your eyes had vanished and you just wanted to be alone.
And he remembered in that moment he wanted to touch you then, like he wanted to now.
“I just want you to be okay,” You said and your eyes moved to his stubbly cheek. Smoothly your fingers left his calve and with the tips of your fingers you caressed his jaw.
He felt his inside skip and stuttered, his skin flushed to a deeper pink. Bucky’s jaw tightened, his heart thumped quicker as your palm was joined by your fingers.
Your touch was like light, raw and pure it cut through the dark muddling his mind and he shut his eyes. Bucky unclenched his jaw as the back of your other hand swept up his neck. The warmth of your body fell over him, through him and he breathed in the sweet silkiness of your rain soaked skin.
A sob racked from his chest. It scared him, he hadn’t expected to feel this unfiltered joy. You hesitated, and Bucky opened his eyes and gazed at you.
“Don’t stop,” he said softly. 
You brushed a few wet strands away from his forehand.
“Never,” you whispered.
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savelockwoodandco · 2 years ago
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In all honesty, I don't think Lockwood and Co will be saved. There is too little hope for me. Especially since the petition is no longer really progressing. (although I still hope for a miracle)
Hey Anon! Thanks for your honesty and for sending this in, because I'm sure there are many, many people out there who feel this way too.
First off, in case anyone is feeling guilty for not being optimistic -- there's nothing to feel guilty for. Like all Save the Show efforts, we're up against some pretty big odds, and that can be incredibly daunting. Add burnout to that, and it's easy to see how people end up there. It's why we encourage y'all to take breaks and rest -- there's nothing like unending, 24-hour-a-day efforts to make one want to throw up their hands and throw in the towel.
However, I (your humble tumblr mod) think looking at the rate of growth of the petition as evidence of Failure is taking the wrong tack.
In the first five days or so -- even up to the first week, what we saw was Exponential Growth; people who'd seen the show were finding the Organization efforts and getting involved; fans of the books who had no idea that the show had even been made were discovering, watching, and joining our ranks. The petitions blew up because no one had signed them yet. The growth was huge and rapid because, well, we were starting from zero.
Fast forward to today, two weeks + a day and a half later, and we're not seeing thousands added to our ranks every day -- because that'd be impossible. Despite what social media platforms like to say, not everyone is on social media -- in fact, vast numbers people aren't, including those who watch and love the show/books.
The petition still grows every day, which is great news -- it means that we have more people than just a one- or two-hundred die-hards. A few hundred die-hards is what every fandom has and, to be frank, it's not enough. The die-hards are the wonderful graphics makers, the video editors, the johnny-on-the-spot organizers (and, in a small way, the mods of this tumblr/twitter), and they're so, so important.
But far more important is the layman that comes in much larger numbers, watching and supporting and signing but not spending every day tweeting. Every show to do well needs a broad audience, and with our slowed but still steady growth, that's what we're demonstrating to CF, Stroud, Cornish, and the streaming networks we're reaching out to. The votes in our awards and polls shows greater numbers than just a handful of devoted fans, as does our ability to have trended for 16 days straight, as do the many, many articles that are written and are still being written about #SaveLockwoodandCo. We don't just have the core of a hundred people -- we have the layman as well, and our stats demonstrate it.
If you're worried because we're not growing exponentially, I can confidently say to not let that worry you too much. Every campaign loses exponential growth -- that's not a problem, that's just math.
We're thrilled to hear that you hope for a miracle, Anon, because hope is a very, very powerful thing. We hope for a miracle too -- in that a miracle to us would be the show immediately picked up, given an unlimited budget, and filming starts next Tuesday.
But we don't think that the show being saved is a miracle -- we don't think it's unlikely at all. These things take time, and with time very naturally comes worry and uncertainty. If we do nothing, then guilt makes a home with the worry and uncertainty, and that's not good for anyone's brain.
It may not be renewed tomorrow; it may not be for another month or three. But, as a fandom, we're passionate, creative, and invested, and we're being supported (not led, luckily, but supported) in big and small ways by the cast, crew, and creators.
If you can't muster up optimism and faith today, Anon, that's totally fine -- feel free to lean on ours, if you want. We all spend worried and anxious moments every now and again in this fight for the show -- that's not a failure; that's just life. But good things are happening every day. Eventually, those good things will spin themselves into a ball with the greatest thing of all -- the announcement of the show being saved.
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dustedmagazine · 1 year ago
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Slept Ons: 2023
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Reverend Kristin Michael Hayter
If you write for Dusted, you listen to music all the time and you try, at least within your general area of interest, to stay current with what’s current. Ask any of our significant others, and they’ll say we listen to too much music, to which we inevitably reply “What’s that, this ‘too much’ you speak of?” We listen to music while we’re eating, while we’re working, while we’re exercising, while we’re driving from one place to another, even while we’re brushing our teeth sometimes; though, admittedly, the sound quality is not that great in the bathroom.
Even so, we miss things. Here, in what has become an annual tradition, we revisit some of the albums that slipped away in one fashion or another, the ones that we kept putting off until it was too late, the ones we somehow didn’t catch wind of until well into January, the ones we discovered tardily on other people’s lists and year-end podcasts and radio shows. So here are our late finds, a favorite or two each that we never got the chance to write about. Fortunately, unlike bread and fresh fruit and bunches of cilantro, albums don’t go bad if you let them sit for a while.
Die Enttäuschung und Alexander Von Schlippenbach — Monk’s Casino Live At Au Topsi Pohl (Two Nineteen)
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This record wasn’t so much slept on as patiently sleuthed. Die Enttäuschung, the long-running German quartet (their name translates as The Disappointment, an appellation that says more about their sense of humor than the quality of their ever-buoyant reimagining of bebop and early free jazz) started selling it at gigs in the spring of 2023. I bided my time, and when I made it to Berlin last fall, scoring a copy was on my agenda. To this day, the record and the internet are near strangers; while you can buy it from Bandcamp, there’s no download, streaming or videos. So, you’ll have to just take it from me that Die Enttäuschung’s reunion with now-octogenarian pianist Alexander von Schlippenbach will take wrinkles off your brow. The first time that these musicians recorded together as Monk’s Casino, back in 2005, they performed every one of Thelonious Monk’s compositions over three CDs; pith was essential. The repertoire hasn’t changed this time, but the approach is looser. Crammed into the intimate confines of the now-shuttered Au Topsi Pohl just as Omicron started ruining parties, the five musicians goose the tempos, spike the solos with impertinence, and veer around Monk’s sharp angles with a combination of intimate familiarity and belt-busting abandon.
Bill Meyer
Reverend Kristin Michael Hayter — SAVED! (Perpetual Flame Ministries)
Not slept on so much as avoided— and why, at this point I am not entirely sure. When I saw Kristin Hayter perform under her previous Lingua Ignota moniker back in December of 2022, she opened with a set of devotional songs on piano, a variety of metallic objects set and chains draped across the instrument’s interior string works. It was extraordinary, and SAVED! features the same basic set of raw, austere elements: that prepared piano, Hayter’s remarkable voice and the problematics of faith. The avoidance may stem from my own fraught relations to the sort of grim Protestantism Hayter reimagines; I spend some time around fire-and-brimstone Baptism as a child, and it left a mark on me. She wove some of that language and those textures into the excellent Lingua Ignota record Sinner Get Ready, but there they were much more symbolic, and largely couched in specific fundamentalisms (Amish and Mennonite) that distanced them somewhat. The sounds and spiritual gestures on SAVED! are a good deal more familiar to me, and they haunt. Likely the haunting is the point. Certainly “All of My Friends Are Going to Hell” and “I Know His Blood Can Make Me Whole” smolder and then burn with varieties of hellfire I have smelled before. One can also hear those songs more metaphorically, and “I Will Be with You Always” (the best thing on the record) is replete with images and intensities that call to multiple levels of meaning, simultaneously and sublimely. SAVED! is a hard record for me to listen to, and that’s why I have come, somewhat belatedly, to prize it so highly.
Jonathan Shaw
Illusion of Safety — Pastoral (Korm Plastics)
Daniel Burke has been carefully and consistently nurturing his Illusion of Safety project for 40 years, and I’ve been embarrassingly ignorant of the output until now. Burke released multiple audio artifacts in 2023, including a 40th anniversary ten-cassette box set, so choosing a single album to write about for the Slept On column was a daunting undertaking. Pastoral is unique in that it shows off a more delicate and expansive side of the Illusion of Safety oeuvre. It’s also one of the few music-focused objects that the stalwart Korm Plastics label has released in years; the imprint focuses on the written word these days. Sonically, Burke has established a series of vignettes that follow a similar pattern. The music flows from short, sharp attacks into lengthy sustained quietude. Burke unleashes his jarring, frantic salvos both percussively and synthetically, and these brief but unsettling periods morph into slowly churning drone swarms. Given that this is just one example of Burke’s sonic vernacular, I’m excited to hear more. Thankfully, when it comes to Illusion of Safety, I’ve been a veritable Rip Van Winkle.
Bryon Hayes
Malla — Fresko (Solina)
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So slept on was Malla Malmivaara’s second solo album that even the normally reliable Beehype missed it, but even if you did happen to notice its inclusion on my midyear list, overstating how well-crafted and immersive Fresko’s dance-pop tracks are is hard to do. It makes sense given she’s better known for her acting career, but Malla’s been in the Finnish music game for a long time, too — first in the short-lived mid-aughts house trio Elisabeth Underground, then as herself with 2019’s “Sabrina” single (which got a Jori Hulkkonen remix, a guy who once redid M83) that ended up paving the way for her self-titled 2021 debut full-length. Despite using similar synth arpeggios and a healthy dose of vocal reverb as she did on Malla, Fresko is a little bit darker, moodier, more down in it. Lead single “Moi” (“hi” in English) tells the tale, its perfectly crafted video full of young Rolf Ekroth models doing things like looking impossibly cool in ridiculous outfits and having fashion shows with ATVs in snowy back alley Helsinki parking lots are a perfect marriage of audio and video, images and a melody burned in my brain the moment I saw it. It is very much a dance record flush with tech-house tweaks and no grander artistic ambitions, but Malla’s barely crested 40; now that she’s pledged more time to her music career, it’s entirely possible Fresko is but a warmup for something bolder — and even if it’s not, you could do much worse than a third album full of body movers like this. Hi is right.
Patrick Masterson
Kevin Richard Martin – Black (Intercranial)
Ostensibly a eulogy to Amy Winehouse, Kevin Richard Martin’s Black is a deeply humane expression of isolation, loss and grief. Built from the ground up, the bass deep and warm, swathes of glacial arpeggiated synths and beats that hint at the club. Notes echo and ripple away to create silhouettes of solitude, a tangible manifestation of absence. Despite the deep weight of his music, Martin imbues Black with an incredible delicacy. His abstract architecture allows the mind to roam and the listener to connect with emotional truths. It’s the balance Martin finds between the particular and universal that gives Black it’s power. In the strutting bassline of “Camden Crawling” smeared with narco/alcoholic fuzz, the looming threat of “Blake’s Shadow” and the bleary saxophone in “Belgrade Meltdown” there are the faintest echoes of Winehouse’s sound which emerge from the depths of Martin’s echo chambers. A work of terrible sadness, great beauty, empathy and comfort.
Andrew Forell
Derek Monypeny — Cibola (2182 Recording Company)
Cibola eased into the world as 2022 turned into 2023, but it took me nearly a year to get to it. Monypeny is a confirmed westerner, having lived in Arizona, Oregon, and (currently) the California desert, and an awareness of both the wrongfulness and the good fortune of living in that neck of the woods infuses Cibola, which is named for one of the American southwest’s legendary cities of gold (helpful hint; if you ever encounter a conquistador looking for gold, tell them it’s somewhere else). Monypeny alternates between guitar, shahi baaja, and on electric autoharp the LP’s seven tracks, and Kevin Corcoran contributes time-stopping metal percussion to one of them. The music likewise toggles between stark evocations of space and swirling submersions into nether states. In either mode, Monypeny effectively suggests the gorgeous immensity and pitiless history of the land around him.
Bill Meyer
The Sundae Painters — S-T (Flying Nun)
One minute, The Sundae Painters are churning wild screes of noisy guitar, the next they construct airy psychedelic pop songs of a rare unstudied grace. The band is a super group of sorts — Paul Kean and Kaye Woodward of the Bats, Alex Bathgate of the Tall Dwarfs and the late Hamish Kilgour of the Clean — convening in loose-limbed, joyful mayhem in songs that glisten and shimmer and roar. “Hollow Way” roils thick, muddy textures of drone up from the bottom, the slippery bent notes of sitar (that’s Bathgate) and Woodward’s diaphanous vocals floating free of a visceral murk. “Aversion” lets unhinged guitar shards fly over the thump of grounding drums as Kilgour chants inscrutable poetry. The two HAP tracks, I and II, stretch out in locked-in, psychotropic grooves, relentless forward motion somehow dissolving into an endless ecstatic now. This full-length, sadly the only one we’ll ever have from the Sundae Painters now that Kilgour is gone, is as good as anything that its esteemed participants ever did in their more famous bands, and that’s saying a lot.
Jennifer Kelly
U SCO — Catchin’ Heat (Self Released)
Here’s the extent of what I currently know: Someone I have on Facebook posted a link to it as one of his favorite records of the year, and someone I don’t know responded that they bought a copy of the cassette before the first track even finished. U SCO are Jon Scheid (bass), Ryan Miller (guitar), and Phil Cleary (Drums) and they are from and/or based in Portland Oregon. According to Discogs and Bandcamp Catchin’ Heat is the first thing they’ve released since 2016. That’s it! I started listened to this with the same box-checking, due diligence energy I tend to have for the dozen or so records I hear about one way or another after I’ve already done my year-end writing; most of them, every year, I don’t even make it through one play (the fatigue has fully set in by this point in the process). But sure enough before the end of that first track, I knew this was going to have to be the record I slept on. It’s perfectly structured, with extra-long, absolute blowouts beginning and ending the record, the second and second-last tracks being the two shortest and the only moments of relative calm, and the middle two making up a strong core that both brings in some elements not found elsewhere on Catchin’ Heat (the vocals on “trrrem”) and is just the most straightforward version of the absolute burners U SCO can clearly summon up on command (“woe dimension”). As great and arresting as that opening track is, though, the closing “abyssal hymn” might be the real highlight here, bringing in clarinet and saxophone to add a whole new layer of skronk to what they’re cooking. I’ve listened to this record about 10 times in a couple of days, and they deserve to sell out of that run of cassettes.
Ian Mathers
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I'm so upset Dana....
I was living happily in my non-PoppyPlaytimeCh3 existence, knowing everyone else was freaking out about some giant purple cat and I guess theres also a dog too idk.
And then I watch Ceph play that chapter with you and everybody....
AND NOW THEY WONT LEAVE MY BRAAIN
A SUNSHINE BOY SO GOOD SO BROKEN KILLED IN RIGHT FRONT OF US?
A SILENT(ish) SCARYASS CAT WITH THE DEVOTION OF A BORN-AGAIN CHRISTIAN AND ALSO IS A BIG FUCKOFF CAT??
YET ANOTHER SUN/MOON DUO IN A COMPLICATED SITUATIONSSHIP THAT IS DRIPPING IN PAIN AND TRAGEDY!?!?!
and the worst part is I havent even really fallen into hell yet. It's being so coy rn my brain is like
"damn those two were so interesting idk I kinda wanna like see what else other people have made about them at least a little bit their personalities seem like something id vibe with possibly"
KNOWING FULL WELL I CAN FEEL THE FULL BRAINROT JUST *WAITING* IN THE BACKGROUND, READY TO DROWN ME WHEN I LEAST EXPECT IT
I cant believe this is happening to me.....
HOW AM I SUPPOSED TO EXPLLAIN THIS TO MY PRECIOUS boyfriends BLORBOS!?!
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I KNOW RIGHT
Also, Catnap and Dog Day are friends with Sun and Moon. (Or they have plushie pets of them)
I love watching smiling Critters fanart stuff where they're just all furries and friends. There are actually some really good animations out there that just pretend that they're the television show the critters are based on.
I really love both of them
Also just wait until you see ch4 content where we basically get the FNAF golden Freddy or stitchwraith concept of multiple children possessing one body actually taking center stage and not the backstory or footnote of the narrative.
(also sorry Ceph hasn't played poppy playtime in awhile. I'm in bg3 hell and Ceph doesn't want to stream when I've been like streaming every night hyperfixing on this fucking game cus like BBRRRRRRRRR)
Ps. Everything on my phone updated in my sleep against my wishes including my textpad for my phone, moving the letters slightly in different positions then before. I apologize for any spelling mistakes or weird autocorrects.b
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madameaug · 10 months ago
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Reunion
Pairing: Hoseok x Nala
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Author Note: Nala is a plus-sized woman. So while there is no fc plus sized women will be selected to show outfits. Also she's dyed her hair a ginger color. So yeah :)
Club Carnival did not disappoint. The music was catchy, rotating between hip-hop and reggaeton. The vibrations could be felt outside when Hoseok was handing his keys to the valet. The exterior was upscale. Red carpet, security carrying firearms, and who looked sharp in their crisp suits. Hoseok flashed his ID before the two men parted, allowing him to enter.
Hoseok noticed the sweet smell in the air. Most clubs he went to had a pungent smell of must. He was pleased. It was clean, another check in his mind.
Hoseok, nicknamed Jay by many celebrity friends, was among the expected guests of honor. Hoseok a game changer in the fashion industry. Four years ago, he launched a clothing line that rivaled many other luxury brands like Gucci, YSL, and Prada. He was a businessman looking for new ventures to invest his money into. The entertainment business was lucrative and showed signs of paying off. But he had a philosophy. Before signing any checks, he had to ensure the venue met his standards. He had to trust management and trust that they can manage a club. As anything attached to his name, he saw himself liable for.
Hoseok is a thorough man who gained lots of respect for it. He exchanged brief pleasantries with the friends he spotted. He hoped to find Seokjin, the man he spoke to on the phone. Hosoek stood on the edge of the bar. He sent a quick text to Seokjin, letting him know he arrived.
From a distance, Hosoek knew his sense of style made him appear standoffish. He frequently wore dark shades that hid his eyes, often wearing muted colors, and rarely smiling in pictures. Nevertheless, those who truly knew the man knew he was approachable. Willing to always assist those in need. Taking a look around, I observed the clubgoers. Many in cocktail attire, dancing freely. The dance floor was spacious and far enough from the bar to not feel overstimulated. Even standing on the bar's edge, he could hear the bartender take an order from a customer. It was genius.
Seokjin: Thank you for waiting. I'm stuck in traffic and will be late.
A grunt slipped out of Hoseok's mouth. He read the message, shaking his head. Tardy manager? Hoseok remembered that little fact in the back of his mind. Now, since he was playing the waiting game, he supposed he could divulge in the club atmosphere. After all, it was a Friday night, a typical way for young adults to let off some steam.
Ordering a strong whiskey beverage, Hosoek sipped, swaying to the music. The song was a classic throwback. A song from his b-boy days in high school. His muscles remembered every movement of choreography. Dance was his first love. A talent that he wished he discovered much earlier. Who knew where he would end up if he devoted the same hours to his clothing brand, to a dance studio. Hmm. Maybe even becoming one of the greatest dancers in the world. Wishful thinking. He finished off his drink, returning his glass to the pair. Rolling up his cuff links to dance when he saw a woman in the corner. She stood alone, her back facing to him. She occasionally turned, showing half of her face. Her mouth moving a mile a minute, Hoseok could tell alone by her body language that she was not in a good mood. Maybe the strong whiskey wasn't in his blood stream right now he would have migrated tot he dancefloor. But the little voice in his head was compelling him to go over.
"Is everything alright?" He spoke clearly, trying not to startle the woman.
Her slicked-back donut bun sat perfectly on top of her head. Wavy pieces shaped her face, dangling beside her lips. She nodded her head at Hoseok.
"Okay, just get here as soon as possible." She sounded defeated before hanging up the phone.
"Yes, I am, thank you." She said, looking into her bag and shuffling around in it. The woman in front of him missed his taken-aback 'shocked face'.
"Nala?"
"Whose asking?" That caused her head to pop up. Her face mirrored Hoseok.
"Hoseok? Oh my goodness! So good to see you." She embraced the taller man in a hug. Breaking out of the hug, she looked Hoseok up and down.
"And you look good."
Hosoek smiled, returning the compliment. Nala also had a good sense of fashion. She could always follow trends yet maintain her own identity, never truly 'copying' someone else. Even six years later, that part about her stayed the same.
"I knew the ginger hair was familiar."
"Oh, you know me, if it ain't broke, don't fix it." She smoothed down the bun. Her stressful phone call was now forgotten. Hosoek was a pleasant and well-welcome distraction.
"Are you busy? I-"
"No. Nope, not busy." Taking her arms in his, she walked Hosoek toward a private section. Laughing at her eagerness, Hoseok allowed Nala to lead him to a section in the club. The area was in a well lit spot in the club. Not toward the discarded hooka smoke, but with a second-floor view of the dancers below.
"Soooo what have you been up to?"
The conversation between them flowed naturally. The six years of no talking didn't make it feel awkward or stale. Nala was charismatic, witty, and most importantly herself.
"It was humbling having to move back home. I tried to stay in the city longer, but jobs weren't hiring. So I started working as a secretary at a medium-sized record label. Hours weren't great, but the money was good so I couldn't complain.
One random day, I was delivering a stack of contracts for my boss to sign when I saw my neighbor in the office signing some papers as well."
"Your neighbor."
"Yeah him." Nala looked around the club, before pointing at the brown-skinned man with blonde locks. He was standing at the center of the floor, rapping. A shiny chain around his neck.
"Lil durk is your neighbor?"
"When we were kids. He was just as surprised to see me. He gave me his business card for his record label, he was looking for someone to manage his friend Von and it was kinda history ever since. With much better pay too."
"Good looking out." Hosoek looked back in the direction of the rapper. Another rapper stood beside him with locs, slightly taller than Durk. He was interacting with the crowd, holding the hand of a female fan. In a similar fashion, a chunky chain with a large 'O' around his neck.
Seokjin: I apologize again. I'm five minutes out.
The notification reminded Hoseok he wasn't visiting this club for leisure fun. He was here to network and expand his business partners.
"Do you have to go soon?" Nala questioned, picking up on the minor shift in Hoseok's mood.
"Yeah, I'm supposed to meet with this Seokjin guy about potentially getting into the clubbing business."
"Oh you're gonna like Jinnie. He's sweet, corny, but sweet."
Nala stood up, and Hoseok followed suit. "May I have your number?" Hosoek asked. He peered over the second floor to see Seokjin enter the club's doors.
"Yes! And let's take a picture, too. I'm glad I saw you." Hoseok, slightly bent down, got in frame. He used his signature 'no smile' pose. Nala snapped several pictures.
"Okay, now don't let six more years go by before we hang out again." Nala joked but was very serious. She would put more effort into ensuring that they would keep in touch, no matter how far either of their work took them.
"You have my word."
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thebookofm · 2 years ago
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Paper Girls Changed My Life: A Queer Origin Story
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In honor of the first anniversary of the Paper Girls television adaptation, I’d like to discuss the impact that this franchise and its fans have had on my relationships and my gender identity.
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By early 2022, I had seen Paper Girls on several lists of highly recommended comics. Each time I saw it, I wondered what the title meant. Was this a comic about girls made out of paper? Spoiler: No, it wasn’t. 
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When l saw a trailer for the Amazon Prime Video adaption, which would premier in less than two months, it was a call to action; I finally bought and read the comic. (I would later learn how limited Amazon’s promotion of the show was and how fortuitous it was that I saw one of the few trailers.) I loved Brian K. Vaughan’s complex time-travel storyline and Cliff Chiang’s colorful artwork. I watched all the Comic-Con videos and waited eagerly for the adaptation.
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And then the streaming series finally arrived. While I enjoyed the comic’s plot-driven story, I adored how character-driven the show was and how it took time for the audience to get to know the characters. 
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The cast not only almost perfectly resembled their comic counterparts, but also expertly portrayed their characters’ personalities. Between the writing and the acting, I fell in love with the characters and became even more invested in their stories. In particular, KJ and Mac’s nascent romance moved me, even though it was only hinted at in the show.
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Like all the fans, I was crushed when the show was canceled six weeks after its premiere. I went looking for people with whom I could commiserate and discuss the show, and I stumbled into a corner of Twitter devoted to Paper Girls. 
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I noticed right away that most of the fans on PGtwt were women, and at least a few of them were lesbians, which all made sense, given the nature of the comic and the show. It took me a few days to realize that the fans, at least on Twitter, were almost exclusively lesbians, and many of the people whom I’d ignorantly labeled women were actually nonbinary. Suddenly, as a straight, cisgender man, I felt very conspicuous. But I needn’t have worried. Everyone was very accepting; no one walked me to to the door and asked me to leave.
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Over time, the Paper Girls fans introduced me to their friends, and I was recommended other great shows with WLW storylines, like Warrior Nun, Willow, The Last of Us, and The Owl House. By then, virtually all of my online friends were queer—and I use that word in the most positive sense. They included trans folks, enbies, bisexuals, and lots of lesbians, many of whom identified with more than one of those labels.
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Which was both fascinating and educational. Hanging out with a bunch of queers didn’t exactly change my stance on any policy issues. I was already a progressive liberal who favored gay rights, trans rights, women’s rights, reproductive rights, and so on. But I like to think I developed a better understanding of some of my fellow humans, and I certainly felt even more strongly about advocating for all the rights mentioned above.
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So there I was, a straight guy with a bunch of queer friends. Life is funny sometimes, right?
Or at least, that’s what I thought when I first considered writing about how Paper Girls had impacted my life. But then a funny thing happened.
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After spending all this time with members of the LGBTQ+ community, I actually began thinking critically about my sexuality and gender identity for the first time. Upon careful self-examination, my sexuality didn’t change; I was indeed attracted to the same kind of people I had always thought I was. But my gender was a different story. I realized that, because I’d been raised in a cisnormative society, I had simply assumed I was cisgender all my life. If I considered myself nonbinary, it would explain so many emotions I’d felt, choices I’d made, and relationships I’d had, all of them since kindergarten. More importantly, identifying as nonbinary just felt right.
I talked to a few of my nonbinary friends, and they were both supportive of my self-exploration and generous with sharing their own experiences. I was even “formally” welcomed into the LGBTQ+ community. 
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So why did it take me well into adulthood to recognize my gender identity? The aforementioned cisnormativity is one important reason. Another is that I don’t experience the dysphoria that some enbies do. And finally, my gender expression has always been mostly masculine and therefore in line with my sex assigned at birth; there were only a few traditionally feminine traits I was interested in expressing (though I never felt I could).
Now that I’ve begun to think of myself as nonbinary, I find I feel, well, really good about it. I don’t feel compelled to be as masculine as possible, like I have for most of my life. That means I’m less embarrassed by my lack of stature or the moderately high pitch of my voice. (I usually speak at around C3.) Identifying as an enby has also given me “permission” to make choices I hadn’t felt able to make before, and I’ve been adding one or two traditional feminine touches to my presentation.
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So now, here I am, an enby with a bunch of great, queer friends online and even in the real world. 
And I don’t think it’s an exaggeration to say that Paper Girls changed my life.
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2a8n · 2 years ago
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New add. info 3
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Most of this post will be devoted to my comments on the new information that has appeared, and not mediocre my assumptions on them, since the amount of this very information from the streams from DSP has increased so much lately (she streams almost every day). So expect a lot of text from me here and a small amount of any pictures. And yes, these drawings were also made on the stream, if I'm not mistaken.
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I wonder what Rock did that makes Shirogane not even want to call him by his first name? Okay, he still doesn’t call Idate by name, but is this hot-tempered penguin really even worse than Rocma and Suno-san in the eye(s) of our depressive wolf? And yes, when did all the characters from Ice Scream manage to find out the name of the Orca? He had never introduced himself to anyone before. I understand that his niece Nagi and his "best friend" Rock may have learned his name as well as he learned their names due to long acquaintance, but what about the rest of the characters?
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And the second warmest DSP character will be his brother Yukiyoshi? =)
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--Especially in a place where there is a orca-rapist-abuser-bully-sociopath, a polar bear that can shred you to pieces at any time if she doesn’t like you or she is in a bad mood, a swearing penguin, which can also because of a bad mood or if you are not a child, say more nasty things and shoot you, and, finally, a living piece of pissed snow, mocking you at every opportunity. Indeed, Shirogane is really hard to get to think positively. I believe in it. Sounds like true.
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I see that Takama has become more talked about on streams. Well, not as often as about his younger brother, but still… =\
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Sorry dude, I forgot to mention you earlier. This character during the whole time that was his shown in Wadanohara and the Great Blue Sea, wasn't presented as very intelligent. I mean, all his conversations were about his hunger and even his longest monologue in essence consisted of the fact that "an empty stomach is the world's greatest pain". Even if he knew how to transform into a humanoid form, he wouldn't do it, simply because he couldn't even think about it: it would be easier to get food in his animal form, and he wouldn't even think about it, only because he is tormented by hunger more often than thoughts about his possibilities.
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Most likely, those who don't find this guy scary will themselves be no less scary persons… And it seems that everyone that Idate considers weak (they either cannot fight back, or don't want to for some reason, or all at once), he classifies as "toys". Now I remember that he calls violence a "play", and in my head it just goes "play with toys" -> use violence on someone. I want to hit him.
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Gosh, this friendship between Shirogane and Yukisada is clearly starting to go in some strange direction, don't you think? xD "Childhood friends" -> "close friends" -> "housemates" -> "great friends" -> "share a bed"…
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They look youngful and at the same time younger than Orca. The Orca looks older, and at the same time he is older than these two. It remains to find out who else looks older/younger than whom, in order to collect at least an approximate picture in myself head regarding their age composition.
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At least, before the meeting with Orca, he was definitely good health… ( - _ - )
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DSP clearly keeps all information regarding the Shirogane family a secret. This wasn't the case with the family of Idate, Rock, Peraco, and, possibly, Yukisada (no one has yet asked anything about Yukisada's and his brother's parents). Does it mean that they can play some role in the Ice Scream itself…?
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We recall that DSP divide into virginity into "rear virginity" and "genital virginity", and, based on this, we are already building our conclusions about what has been said.
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I remembered that there was an official art showing Yukisada with a suitcase. Is it possible then that not only Yukiyoshi, probably, not living on Iceberg Isle, is visiting his older brother, but Yukisada is also visiting his younger brother as well?
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But he only and does what he thinks about his childhood friend Shirogane and takes care of him all the time, so Yukisada indeed doesn't have time to think about love, ALTHOUGHWAITASECOND--! ( 0 _ 0 )
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BONUS.
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