#merin falls

[kats-chaotic-wonderland]

The tiny town of Merin Falls [Part 1]

(this is repost of my original reddit story so it's still structured for reddit. TW: mentions of blood, violence, gore, assault, and stalking. Nothing too graphic, but this is the set up for a horror story.)

Today had been a pretty slow day, so when I eventually found myself on Reddit, I whittled away my shift by reading through some of the posts in this particular sub. As I was on some post, about fifteen stories in, my coworker pointed out that some of the stuff we've seen would probably be interesting for some of you here. He suggested that I put a few of the more...bizarre? Creepy? I guess horrific? Stories about weird shit that happens in our small new England town.

So, as I'm sure you've heard before, I'll start by saying I live in a small town. It's settled in the northeast, a ways up from the Bridgewater triangle, and on the hill above a small bay. It's old, and has a history of witch trials and war battles. If you've ever seen a horror or Hallmark movie you've seen a town just like it. From calm summers to colorful falls, with old Victorian homes settled in old neighborhoods, complete with soccer moms and honor roll kids. This place is chock full of the American dream.

For context, we're small for this area. Like really small. One school, town square, a few neighborhoods, some mom and pop shops. We have a few docks down at the bay, but nothing bigger than a small motor boat. We do have one guy who lives on his boat, but it's a single room ship. Officially our population is about 1000-1500 on a good year. Unofficially, we stand about 2000 consistently. We'll talk about why at a different time, for now I just wanted to put it in your mind how small we're actually talking.

This place looks and operates like a normal New England town on the surface. Of course, I wouldn't be here if it actually did. There's a lot wrong with this tiny town of Merin Falls.

I spent a while today rolling around in my brain for what story really works for a start. See, we get a lot of weird, dangerous, unexplainable stuff out here. But starting off with true horror is a bit of a challenge. After six years, and for some other reasons, I’ve become a bit numb to some of what happens here. Not all, but some, and the ones that stick with me really aren’t something I want to dredge up just yet. But after some thought, I settled on one that I think will serve as a good look into what living here is like.

The day in question was a pretty typical day, maybe four or so years ago? I had gone into work, had a total of four customers. I remember because Iian still has a polaroid of each one tucked away and dated in his portfolio. This is one reason I started to hang around with him, his need to take way too many photos means I have easy access to memory triggers. But we’ll talk about that on a different day. For now all that matters is I had four customers. Holly Baker, came in the early hours right at open, she bought three binders, a sharpie, and a roll of yellow duct tape. I rang her up with no issue, my coworker Iian took her photo as she was checking out. She left and we were dead until around four o’clock. That was when Mrs. Miller came in with her rat dog and her spineless husband.

Mrs. Silvia Miller, is a rather irritating thorn in my side. From my first day working here she’s come in at least once a week in order to make snide comments about my appearance or moral choices, and make laughably bad attempts to return items she never purchased. She’s every retail worker's nightmare. (And no, unfortunately this is not the story about her being a horrible monster) Her antics have gotten so bad over the past six years that we have rules specifically for her. I’ll explain them in more detail in a later post, but she’s not allowed to shop when it’s just me on shift. We do not accept returns from her. Ever. And all of her receipts have a stamp that says “Non returnable. All sales are final.” These rules extend to her husband, a short stumpy man who looks like a frog next to his witch of a wife. As well as her kids, on the off chance they take the time to visit the old crone.

I remember this interaction clear as day, without the need for a trigger. Silvia had come in ranting and raising holy hell about some folders she had purchased from Arthur, on a day when I wasn't working. I listened to her diatribe as she gestured rapidly with her free hand, her faux pearl bracelet looking like it was going to snap off her knobby wrist. After five or so minutes I just stopped her, took her receipt, and pointed at the massive hot pink stamp that was glowing in the black light. With a look that I can only describe as, complete and utter entitled bitch bafflement, the look a Karen gets when the manager doesn't give them free stuff. She turned up her crooked hooked nose and snatched the receipt. Then she turned on her heels, a cheap pair from the thrift shop, of which she had painted the soles red with what I can only assume was cheap spray paint. Then with the fury of a western wind, headed for the door in a huff. Her shaking bug eyed rat and amphibious husband in tow. The former clutched in her cheaply manicured claws, and the latter being dragged by the scruff of his threadbare suit. The Millers are what you would call high class white trash.

The third customer was a guy I can't remember, but since Iian has a photo with the same date, I'm gonna assume he was there. From the photo, I can see he was an inch or so taller than me, gaunt face with some dark stubble, thin lanky limbs, and curly dark hair down to his shoulders. He was wearing some casual shorts and a tee shirt, and….round Ozzy Osbourne sunglasses indoors….for some reason. What strikes me as off on this one, is we have a lot of photos of him, but Iian doesn't remember ever taking them. And, for my weird memory issues, I can't bring up a single image of him in my mind if I'm not looking at a photo. It's like he just blinks from existence when we look away. There's a lot of photos of him actually….I wonder if he’s a regular? I’ll check the cameras for him at some point.

The last customer came in just before close. I call her Thelma, but I don’t actually know her name. She’s not local, but she is a regular. For whatever reason she drives out to this podunk to buy her music sheets from us. Thelma is always dressed in a similar outfit, just different colors and patterns. Always a top with 3/4 sleeves, a skirt that fits her closely but not tight that ends at the ankle in a ruffle. Sunglasses, sometimes she keeps them on. And her wiry gray hair is always up in some clip ponytail, updo thing. The top is always solid or stripes, and the skirt is always some kind of floral. Her shoes are either sandals, heels, flats, or sneakers. I wish I had more to say about her, but she never says much. Just comes in, wordlessly gets her blank sheets, checks out, pays cash, and bails. She did the same thing that day. Not a word more than needed, sunglasses on the whole time. Have I mentioned my store is lit up mostly by black lights? Yeah she makes no sense to me. But she doesn’t cause problems so I like her well enough. After Thelma left Iian and I cleaned up, locked up, and he headed home. We waved as I was taking my key from the door. We go in opposite directions, save for the off day when he walks my way with me so he can stay with Ryan for the night. That night was not one of those nights.

So there I was walking alone. It was a warm night and I was in a pretty good mood after everything that day. I’d made it a good six blocks when a car pulled up next to me. They rolled up real slow and kept pace with me. I didn’t give them any attention. Instead the hand on my opposite side was reaching for the knife I keep on my belt. I have a few on me at all times, I lived on the road for a while before I landed here. You figure out a lot about how to keep yourself safe in places like truck stops and roach motels. My knives won't save me from a bullet, learned that the hard way. But guns are rare in this area, instead kidnapping and other person on person crime is higher. But when they rolled their window down and I heard a whistle, my eyes just rolled.

Travis Heartly was the star of the football team back when he was in high school, now he was a community college drop out who could not understand the word no. Or fuck off. Or I will stab you and not feel bad in the slightest. He’d taken a liking to me just a few weeks after I had moved to Merin Falls. Unfortunately for him, I had sworn off guys. Not love, just guys. After getting abused three times in a row, I realized that me and guys romantically just don’t work. Travis didn’t get the memo apparently. He would come into my shop, near daily, and ask me out. Waste my time with his small town bragging. Act like a general Neanderthal. When Luther finally had enough and banned him from the store, he just started waiting outside for me to leave. Wait in my favorite coffee shop, bar, library, you name it he stalked it. His car was an old beat up sedan his mom gave him. He cleared out the back and put a bed in there. Needless to say that didn’t help his case when he busted into the shop excited to show me his new ride.

This car he was in however, was a rather nice Lexus. He was still beside me, calling out for my attention. I of course would not be giving him any. So he opted instead to move up the block and park right in the next street I needed to cross. Because of this move, the idiot gave me enough time to pull my larger blade from my boot. It's a good three inches longer than the belt knife, and an inch broader. See, my boots are clunky steel toed work boots. I don’t really need them, but old habits die hard, and hold big knives. I stopped a few yards away as he got out. We were close in age, though he had a good two years on me, but I had about six inches on him so I guess we're even. Still, after his flunk out, he’d taken up booze and dropped his work out. So his once toned body was slowly fading into the start of a beer belly and unkempt stubble.

He closed the door and leaned against the car,”Hey! How was work?”

“Leave me alone Travis.”

His expression dropped,”Come on, what did I do? Was it the roses? Look I just thought maybe-”

“Oi.” I cut him off, ”Shove it. I’m not interested. Now beat it.”

“Come on Am.” his voice was pitiful. He had his choice of girls when I moved here. He was pretty, young, fit, and locally famous. But when he clung to the freaky new girl, they all moved on after a year or so. A fair amount of his classmates were hooked up with someone new. Iian liked to gossip about his school a lot at work. In a small place like this most of the kids never really leave. But, his problems weren’t my issue.

“Move.” I ordered

He was looking at me like I’d just kicked a puppy.

“Fine.” I started to cross to the far side of the street. He panicked and ran toward me, closing the distance in a moment as he grabbed my upper arm. He'd learned not to try and grab my forearm. I always hold my knives down, with the bunt to my arm, blade out. In the event I need to block, or get grabbed from behind it's quicker to defend myself. Think Rambo or Hunter from the bad batch. Say whatever you want, but it's saved me more times than I want to admit.

“Wait!” he pleaded,”Please just one chance! I promise, I can-”

I ripped my arm away and rounded around with my free hand. The fist collided with his nose, I felt a crunch and heard a bone snap. Travis stumbled back and grabbed his now gushing nose. Tears welled and fell in rivulets as he looked at me in shock.

“I told you not to fucking touch me.” I spat and stepped back several feet. I kept my eyes locked on him and my guard up,”Try that shit again and I’ll do worse than break your nose. When a woman tells you no for two straight years, believe me she is not going to change her mind dumbass.”

He just looked at me, tears and blood running down his face. I’d always told him no. No maybes, no waffling. Always a direct no. And I’d put up with his stalking, but he’d never touched me before. This time he crossed a line he hadn’t realized was there. The look in his eyes was either rage, or passion. And I really didn’t want to know which. He’s the kind of guy who wants a woman to ruin his life. I guess he thought I would fit that bill.

He was right, but not in the way he wanted.

This standoff lasted for maybe a minute before headlights came slowly up behind us. Travis made the connection before I did. He saw the red and blues and bailed off into his Lexus. I watched him peel out from where he had been. I didn’t move until officer Lison parked and stepped out of his car. I lowered my knife and slid it into my boot as he walked over to me.

“Amber? Was that Travis I just saw?” he asked, he sipped on his coffee, getting a few drops caught in the edge of his salt and pepper mustache.

I turned and rubbed my hand, it was bruising from where I had punched him,”Yeah. He tried to grab me when I went to walk away this time.”

“Shit.” Lison chuffed with a bushy browed scowl,”What an ass.”

His reaction was so flippant, I just...I busted out laughing,”That’s all you got Boris?”

“What?” he asked confused,”He is. Plus he’s getting thrown in lock up tomorrow anyway.”

This made my laughter stop, it was my turn to be confused,”What did he do now?”

Another sip of his coffee,”Grand theft auto.” he shrugged,”Lexus was stolen from a lot east of town. That's why I stopped.”

“You’re kidding.” I asked slack jawed.

“Nope. I don’t think he even realized he was on camera.”

“So what? He just took it in hopes of a date night?”

“Looks like it if he was here for you. He’s a desperate man.” he shook his head,”Wanna lift home?”

I thought about it for a second,”Sure. Thanks Boris.”

We hopped in his cruiser, and made light conversation for a few blocks. Three blocks from my house though, a call came over the radio. Some mix of cop lingo and garbled static that I couldn't really understand. He did though, Boris looked concerned and stopped the car. He gave me a look I couldn’t really place,”Look, kiddo. I gotta respond on this one, but it’s back that way,” he gestured behind us,”It’s an all night type deal. Are you good for the last few blocks?”

I nodded,”Yeah, you go do what you gotta man. Thank you for the help, and the ride.”

“Any time Amber.” He nodded, his face looked a bit forlorn,”You should be safe from here, but be careful.”

“Always.” I smiled as I slid out of the cruiser, my boots hit the pavement and I walked behind the car to the sidewalk. Boris took off a moment later, back down the way we had come.

I should have asked how he knew Travis wasn’t around. I know now that's what he meant when he said I was safe. The look in his eyes should have clued me in, but I just figured it was part of whatever call he had gotten. I was right. Doesn’t make it easier for him though.

He’d get six calls of the same nature that night. And he wasn't the only one, a total of twenty eight similar calls came in one after another. None of them could be explained. He still blames himself for the two that survived, and the rest that didn't.

Boris Lison had lived in Merin Falls his entire fifty seven years of life. And he’d known Travis for all twenty one years of his. He’d been close with the football star's grand dad. But after his spiral, the officer just felt bad for the kid. That made it hard for poor Boris to pick him up off the pavement that night. The official story was that he crashed the Lexus into the retainer wall because of his erratic behavior. Some of the officers even insinuated that it was on purpose after my rejection and breaking his nose. That he had finally snapped and tried to end it all. Claiming mental illness was easier than trying to explain the gaping hole in his chest. Or how he had been dragged out of the car through the back windscreen. How he ended up a good half mile from the car. Or why he was frozen almost cryogenically with his heart yanked halfway out of his ribcage by the time Boris had found him. How he survived for the following week is beyond all of us. Not that he was any help in explaining anything. By the time I was ready to leave the hospital myself the following week, Travis tried to use his bed sheets and window for his own way out. I can’t say I blame him. I probably would have done the same after what happened. He spent the next two years in the Merin Falls psych ward. His time there was a horror show of its own.

What happened that night scarred a lot of people in this town. Unfortunately, myself included, both physically and mentally.

Boris had just gotten out of sight and I started making my way down the block. My body was still on high alert from my encounter with Travis. Every noise, flash of headlights, each passing car made me freeze. I'm not a skittish person. Anxious sure, but it's a quiet anxious. Not jumpy. Something in the air had me on edge. It felt like each step dragged me through a slurry of static and shaved ice.

My feet trudged onward. Alarm bells flagged in my brain, each thud of my heart sent a scream from the back of my mind. They all called me to turn and run. But….I didn't.

I should have.

The further I went the worse the feeling of unease got. Then, after a block, I saw something. A dark figure crossed the street ahead of me. I watched as it moved from my side to the other, then back again. Stopping in my tracks, my brow furrowed. It was like looking at something dipped in Vantaa black. My brain wanted to warp around it, like it was a void between two images that should be touching but weren't.

The way it moved, it wasn't….it wasn't right. Like a shadow blinking in and out of existing, but never moving all at the same time. I was frozen the moment my eyes caught it. My skin prickled as ice slinked in a slurry through my veins. I could feel the sludge crawling up the back of my neck as the thing turned to me. Whatever this was, I wasn't supposed to have seen it.

Thoughts raced in my mind, 'I've dealt with weird shadows before, if I tell it to leave it should right?'

'No wait, why isn't my mouth moving?'

'Hold on why can't I mo- wait is it getting closer!?'

A scream was lost in the void of my throat as I realized that the creature was moving in static flashes toward me, or was it? It was close, then it was miles away, a few yards, miles and miles, feet, then inches.

‘Shit!’

Freezing blood pounded in my ears as this...this thing...I couldn’t form a real thought as it neared me. What should have been it's face, instead just a chasm of inky blackness, was inches from mine. If it had eyes I couldn't see them. But I could feel them. It felt like a numbness trailing over me as it tried to understand what I was. Panic clutched my chest as the numb feeling hovered over my heart. The ice in my veins rushed to the center of where it was staring. A choked groan seeped from my throat as I felt the muscle in my chest freeze to a halt.

'How am I even still breathing?'

'Wait...am I?'

I couldn’t tell anymore.

It’s arm moved as it flashed back several feet again. Looking at this thing hurt. Like I was watching a game character glitch in and out as it tried to move. Just rapid, glitchy, morphing, shapes of shadow. It looked humanoid, but entirely not at the same time. Raising its arm I felt cold static touch the skin over my heart. My top was probably fucked, but I quickly didn’t care as I felt it slowly pushing it's claws into my flesh. I couldn’t scream. Gods I wanted to. I wanted to cry out in pain and terror. This creature was ripping my chest open. Claws in the shape of a perforated circle were digging, boring their way to my heart. Determined to remove the icy lump of muscle and sinew from where it was caged in bone.

Silent tears rolled down my cheeks, so hot they burned like flames as they fell. As they left blazing trails, it occurred to me as the heat faded, I couldn’t feel anything but the pain in my chest anymore. A sickening ‘*CRACK’* sent a new wave through my body. White spots floated and flitted around the edge of my eyes. Like sick fairies drawn to the scent of blood. This thing was taking it's time.

It enjoyed watching me suffer. Frozen in fear and pain.

The next thought that crossed my mind was so horribly clear,’I’m going to die here.’ I wish I could say I had some awakening and I snapped out of it. Or that in that moment my life flashed before my eyes and I saw the error of some choice in my life. But no. In that moment, alone with that thing, it’s claws reaching for my frozen heart, I just wished for one more moment. The image that did come to my mind just as the white began to take my sight wasn’t something deep, or wise, or heroic. It was a smile. A smile I knew would never look the same if I died. From that day on it would be tinged with sadness. Of not knowing what happened. Maybe she would think I just left. I prayed, for the first time in so many years, a silent thought,’Please, let her hate me. Don’t let her linger. Don’t let her search. Forget me and be happy.’ And that was it.

Everything went white.

I woke up two days later in a hospital bed. The nurse beside me was changing an IV bag. His eyes caught mine as they fluttered open, with a professional manner he told me I was in the hospital and to not move. After calling the doctor and running a few tests. Things like asking me for information, grip strength tests, stuff like that. They told me what happened. Just as I passed out, before I was gored by a shadow thing, Ryan had found me. He said I was just collapsed on the sidewalk cold, with a ring of stab wounds on my chest. He called 911 and they rushed me to the hospital. I had a few cracked ribs, and they said it was nearly impossible that all of the stabs had missed major arteries. But it wasn’t. That thing wanted me alive to the last second. Ryan found me two hours after I left the shop.

It had frozen me there for two hours.

I was in the hospital for recovery for a few days. Iian and Ryan checked in on me every day. Arthur and Luther came by a few times too. They even paid for my bills. I really love them so much. I don’t know where I’d be without them all. Once I was released, Iian stayed with me till he believed I wouldn’t keel over. Within two months I was healed up, a perfect ring of five exactly matching scars, centered right over my heart. As soon as the doc cleared me, which took a bit, she’s a thorough woman. I was in the tattoo parlor the next day getting a new piece to accent my new scars. That thing tried to kill me. But, I’m no coward. I was scared shitless, I’d only felt fear like that once before that day. Despite that, I lived. Somehow. So I’m owning it. Just like the one on my back. My shoulder. The bullet scar in my thigh. And the bands around my wrists.

Each scar is a memory. Each tattoo, a way to take back control in a small way. Every horror story leaves a scar of some kind. Mine were physical this time. Next time maybe we’ll look into the ones on my mind. But for now Iian is bugging me to check in, I didn't realize how long I've been typing. I’m Amber Haze, and I’ll be back soon with more from the tiny town of Merin Falls.

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Horror master post

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Part 2

[merinate]

who thought that putting a loud ad right after an asmr video is a great idea

[sorchasolas]

Same person different font

[minhosbitterriver]

────* ˚ ✦ BONDS OF PASSION ( stray kids )

❛ In a night of profound emotional connection and intimacy, you and Minho explore your bond through the intricate art of shibari, culminating in a tender embrace that deepens your love and gratitude.

𝐥𝐞𝐞 𝐦𝐢��𝐡𝐨 + female reader ೯ ( 𝐨𝐧𝐞-𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐭 )

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 7.2k 𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞: 28 mins

꒰ 💌 ꒱ ミ I'm always saying this, but I really love shibari; it's quite literally one of my favorite kinks. So, thank you to my wonderful mootie, Merin, for making the request! I hope you guys enjoy, reblogs and feedback are much appreciated! Requests are currently open! ── ( 𝐥𝐢𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐫𝐲 )

𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: MDNI, this is Y/N's first time participating in shibari, Minho has experience in shibari, intensely emotional sex, fingering, oral (f. receiving), penetration, unprotected sex (please don't do this), let me know if I missed anything!

( 𝐠𝐮𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐬 ) ( 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 & 𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬 ) ( 𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 ) ( 𝐭𝐢𝐩 𝐣𝐚𝐫 )

The world outside seemed to fade away as if his bedroom had slipped into a realm of its own, where time slowed and the only reality was the two of you, kneeling on the floor. Every breath shared in the confined space felt amplified, the air thick with anticipation. The weight of your bare bodies pressed against the cool wooden floor, facing each other in a vulnerable dance of gazes that held unspoken promises. His eyes, deep pools of dark intensity, locked onto yours with a fervor you had never witnessed before. Minho's gaze bore into you, filled with a passion so palpable it sent shivers down your spine, yet there was something more—a quiet confidence, an ease born of experience, that radiated from him like a quiet storm. It was a look that only someone who had navigated these waters before could possess.

In contrast, you could feel the uncertainty swirling within your own eyes, a reflection of the storm raging inside you. You imagined how pale your face must appear under the soft light, as your heart pounded relentlessly against your chest, each beat echoing in the stillness of the room. The silence between you both was almost deafening, broken only by the rhythmic rise and fall of your breaths. You were acutely aware that this was uncharted territory for you, a space where Minho had already traveled with ease. 

This would be the first time you would surrender so completely, relinquishing not just the control of your body but also the reins of your heart and soul. The thought of it made your pulse race even faster, a flutter of nerves and excitement tangling within you. The rope you had both chosen together, a symbol of trust and shared desire, lay between you on the floor, a silent witness to the intimacy about to unfold. As you knelt before him, you knew that tonight, you would willingly empty your mind, allowing Minho to guide you into a world where he alone dictated the pace, where his touch would define your every movement and sensation. And as the rope waited patiently, you found yourself ready to embark on this journey with him, prepared to lose yourself in the intensity of the moment.

Time seemed to stretch endlessly before Minho’s lips finally curled into a gentle, reassuring smile, a subtle yet powerful gesture that sent a cascade of tingles racing across your skin. The moment felt suspended in a delicate balance between anticipation and reality, where the space between you two was charged with an unspoken understanding. The warmth of his gaze enveloped you, pulling you into the depths of his emotions, where you could glimpse the full spectrum of his intentions, his unyielding desire, and the raw intensity of his feelings. In that gaze, you found solace, a calming balm to the storm of thoughts that had been churning within you.

The world outside seemed to melt away, leaving only the two of you cocooned in this intimate bubble. Minho’s eyes spoke volumes, revealing the depth of his commitment to you, and in that moment, all remnants of doubt and anxiety began to dissipate. The air around you, thick with silent anticipation, was finally pierced by the soft melody of his voice, tender and careful as if coaxing your soul to dance with his. “Do you remember our safe word?” he asked, the question a gentle reminder of the trust that formed the foundation of what was about to unfold.

His eyes left yours momentarily, tracing the contours of your expression as if seeking any lingering traces of hesitation. You met his gaze with a timid nod, the ghost of a smile beginning to tug at your lips. “Mercy,” you whispered, the word carrying with it a promise of trust, a signal that you were still willing to journey into this new, uncharted territory with him. 

Minho’s smile widened, a reflection of the satisfaction and joy that your willingness brought him. It was a smile that held a thousand promises, a smile that reassured you of the care he would take as he led you further into this passionate exploration. In that smile, you saw not just a lover, but a guide, someone who would hold you through the most intense moments and bring you safely to the other side. And as you both prepared to step into this new chapter together, the connection between you deepened, wrapped in the shared understanding that, no matter what, you were in this together.

Minho rose to his feet, and your eyes couldn’t help but follow the fluid motion of his form, tracing the contours of his body as he moved with a quiet, unspoken elegance. Every inch of him was a masterpiece, a living testament to the beauty that lies in the harmony of strength and grace. As he made his way behind you, you allowed yourself to drink in the sight of him, this man who stood before you like a vision of divine perfection. His naked form, something you had always admired, seemed almost otherworldly in its beauty, a reflection of the statues of ancient gods that once graced the grand temples of old.

Minho’s physique was a study in contrasts, lean yet muscular, with each muscle defined in a way that spoke of both power and restraint. His body was a work of art, chiseled with the same care and precision that an ancient sculptor might have applied to marble, capturing the very essence of masculine beauty. Every movement he made was deliberate, infused with a quiet confidence that spoke of his inner strength. There was a grace in the way he carried himself, an elegance that made your knees tremble with admiration, as if you were in the presence of a god who needed no words to command the space around him.

The sharp lines of his jaw were a testament to the precision with which nature had crafted him, a strong and unwavering feature that brought to mind the angular perfection of the statues that had survived the ages. It was a defining trait, one that spoke of the strength and resolve that lay beneath the surface, and you couldn’t help but marvel at how perfectly it seemed to fit him, as if he had been carved by the hands of an ancient artisan intent on embodying the ideal of masculine beauty.

And then there were his hands, the part of him you cherished most. Those hands, both graceful and strong, were like those of a Greek statue, crafted with a care that reflected both power and delicacy. Whether they were guiding him through the fluid movements of a dance or exploring every inch of your body with a precision that drove you to the edge of insanity, his hands conveyed an artistry that was unparalleled. They spoke of his physical prowess, of his ability to channel his strength into the most delicate of touches, and in those moments, you could feel the depth of his connection to you, as if his very soul was intertwined with yours.

Lee Minho, the man who held your heart in his hands, was a raw beauty to behold, a living embodiment of the divine made flesh. His presence, his very essence, was something that captivated you, drawing you in like a moth to a flame, and as you gazed upon him, you couldn’t help but feel a profound sense of awe at the man who stood before you, a man whose soul you firmly believed was tied to yours in a bond that was as unbreakable as it was beautiful.

Your bare skin ignited with a fiery sensation the very moment Minho's warm, naked torso pressed firmly against your back. His presence was a comforting weight, his legs resting on either side of your crossed limbs, encasing you in a protective embrace. You could feel his breath, warm and gentle, fanning over the sensitive skin of your neck, sending shivers racing down your spine. As he reached around you, his hands moved with a deliberate tenderness, uncrossing your legs with a fluid grace that left you breathless. The moment his strong legs pinned yours beneath him, you felt an exhilarating surge of vulnerability and trust. His touch was a soothing balm, and as your skin prickled with tiny bumps in response, you surrendered yourself to his guidance, allowing him to mold your body however he wished.

A featherlight kiss brushed the nape of your neck, his plump lips barely grazing your skin, yet the sensation was enough to draw a muted gasp from your parted lips. Minho gently pulled you back, easing you into his embrace until your full weight rested against him, your back flush with his chest. The intimacy of the moment was overwhelming, and you found yourself biting back a moan as his warmth seeped into your very being. 

Minho had only just begun to touch you, yet already the worries that had once plagued your mind — whether large or small, old or new — began to dissolve, fading into the background as your thoughts grew quieter. With each passing second, you felt your mind and body gradually submit to the serene headspace Minho had so patiently explained to you before. He had been right; there truly was nothing that compared to the bliss of surrendering every burden, every lingering doubt, to the gentle pleasure that was slowly consuming your senses. 

Time seemed to blur as he held you close, his strong arms wrapped securely around your chest, anchoring you in the moment. The steady rhythm of his heartbeat and the soft rise and fall of his breathing became your world, a lullaby that lulled you deeper into tranquility. You reached up, fingers trembling slightly as you interlaced them with his, feeling the warmth and strength in his grasp. In his embrace, you found a sanctuary, a place where you could lose yourself completely, letting go of everything except the profound connection you shared with him. 

It took a moment for you to realize that Minho had begun gently rocking your bodies from side to side, his embrace warm and secure, as though he was cradling your very soul. His breath, warm against your ear, sent waves of desire coursing through you, a passion so intense it bordered on painful. His voice, soft and tender, murmured words that sent shivers down your spine. "Your pretty head is already so empty, baby," he whispered, each word laced with adoration. "You're doing so good for me already." As his lips trailed tender kisses along every inch of your exposed skin, you instinctively squeezed his fingers, your silent way of letting him know you were still present, still with him. 

Minho’s fingers tightened around yours in response, a comforting reassurance that melted any lingering doubts. "I can't thank you enough for trusting me like this," he murmured, his voice filled with genuine reverence. "It’s such an honor to share this moment with you." The delicacy of his words sent a soft whine escaping from your lips, quickly turning into a moan that echoed the vulnerability you felt in his presence. With a final, lingering kiss pressed onto your shoulder, Minho slowly unwrapped his arms from around your torso, his touch lingering like the ghost of a warm embrace. 

He shifted his position with a graceful ease, one knee sinking to the floor while the other foot remained firmly planted, his body hovering over yours like a guardian angel. His eyes, filled with a quiet intensity, never left yours as he reached for the rope that had been momentarily forgotten between you. With practiced care, he began working the rope free from its tight spiral, each loop unfurling in a fluid motion until it lay in a long, taut line behind you. 

With a few measured tugs, Minho folded the length in half, aligning the two ends with meticulous precision before letting the rope rest lazily over one of your shoulders. The looped end of the rope was held between his teeth, a playful glint in his eyes as he let the rough texture brush against your overly sensitive skin. The sensation sent your breath hitching, your heartbeat quickening in anticipation of what was to come. Every fiber of your being was attuned to him, to the way his touch promised both restraint and release, as you surrender yourself completely to the moment, to Minho.

Once the rope was positioned just right, Minho wasted no time in pressing his firm chest against your back once more. The warmth of his skin sent a comforting shiver through you, and as his body began to sway, it felt as though you were both caught in an entrancing dance. Slowly, he guided you into a series of circular motions, the gentle rhythm lulling you deeper into a shared trance. The way he moved with you was like a carefully choreographed ballet, each step measured and intentional, designed to draw out the pleasure simmering just beneath the surface.

As Minho pinned your arms beneath his own, a surge of instinct had you clutching the back of his thighs, seeking an anchor in the storm of sensations that were building between you. The heat of the moment intensified, and you closed your eyes, surrendering to the waves of pleasure that washed over you with each of Minho’s expert touches. His hands, strong yet tender, guided your movements, and the synergy between your bodies grew with every slow, deliberate motion. The connection was so deep, so visceral, that you lost track of time, completely immersed in the dance of your shared intimacy.

At some point, you became aware that your legs had returned to their original x-patterned position. The realization came just as Minho’s hands, heavy with intent yet comforting in their touch, pressed against your feet. He let them linger there for a moment before slowly, sensually, dragging them up the length of your legs. His fingers caressed your inner thighs, ghosting over your aching arousal, teasing you with the promise of more. Finally, his hands found their home on your waist, and the sensation was so overwhelming that a guttural moan escaped your lips, raw and unbidden. 

Your head fell back against Minho’s shoulder, your eyes fluttering open for a brief second. Through the haze of desire, you caught sight of his gaze — an all-consuming love that pierced through the fog of your mind, grounding you in the moment. The way his eyes locked onto yours, filled with an intensity that spoke of both passion and devotion, sent a shiver down your spine. You reached out with a trembling hand to squeeze his bicep, offering a blissed-out grin in return, a silent acknowledgment of the profound connection you shared. Then, with a soft sigh, you let your eyes drift closed once more, allowing yourself to sink back into the warmth of his embrace, the intimacy of this moment enveloping you completely.

A few moments passed in this heavenly embrace, each second stretching into eternity as you basked in the warmth of Minho’s touch. The world outside seemed to melt away, leaving only the two of you entwined in this intimate dance. But then, the gentle hold on your waist faded, replaced by the firm yet careful grip of Minho's hands as they moved to capture your wrists. With a tender precision, he brought them together in front of your body, the motion so fluid it felt almost like an extension of the dance you were sharing.

He held your wrists together with one hand, a possessive yet loving grasp that sent a fresh wave of desire coursing through your veins. His free hand trailed up the length of your arm, a ghostly touch that left your skin tingling in its wake, before finding its place in your hair. His fingers wove through the strands, gripping just firmly enough to draw a moan from your lips. It wasn't painful — far from it — but the pressure was just enough to remind you of the power he held, the control he wielded over your body and senses.

The rhythmic, circular motions he had so carefully orchestrated came to an abrupt stop, leaving you breathless with anticipation. Then, with a controlled force, Minho pushed both of your bodies forward, guiding you down until your chest and stomach were pressed firmly against the ground. Your knees spread to the sides, a position that left you utterly vulnerable and exposed, and the raw, guttural moan that tore from your throat was a testament to the overwhelming arousal that flooded your senses.

As your mind struggled to catch up with this new, intoxicating position, Minho's warm body followed yours, his presence a constant, grounding force. The sensation of his naked flesh draping over your folded form sent shivers of pleasure coursing down your spine, each touch amplifying the closeness you shared. The weight of him pressed against your overly sensitive skin was both a comfort and a thrill, intensifying the already electric connection between you. It was as though every inch of your body was attuned to his, every nerve ending alive with the sensation of Minho, his touch, his breath, his very essence surrounding you, holding you captive in this moment of pure, unbridled intimacy.

Despite the rope held between his teeth, Minho managed to press a tender kiss onto your flushed cheek, a fleeting touch that sent a shiver down your spine. As his lips lingered, you felt the first tentative grind of his hardened arousal against your lower back, the intimate friction igniting a new wave of sensation that rippled through your body. The slow, deliberate movement caused both of you to rock back and forth in a rhythm that was as mesmerizing as it was intoxicating, a silent dance that spoke of unspoken desires and deepening connection.

Your mouth fell open in a wordless gasp, your senses immediately drowning in the overwhelming pleasure that blossomed from this newfound contact. Each subtle shift of his hips against you sent shockwaves of arousal spiraling through your core, leaving you painfully wet and clenching around the emptiness inside, desperate for more. The need within you grew with every passing second, a relentless ache that only intensified as your body responded to his touch with soft whines and gasps, spilling from your lips without restraint.

Your eyelids crinkled in pleasure, brows knitting together as your mind struggled to keep up with the storm of sensations crashing over you. But any semblance of control was quickly lost as you felt Minho's hardened length begin to leak onto your lower back, the warmth of his arousal mingling with your own fevered skin. The combination was electrifying, a heady mix of intimacy and desire that left you trembling. 

Minho’s breathing grew strained, the steady rhythm faltering as he momentarily lost himself in his own pleasure, the sound of it like a raw, primal symphony that echoed in your ears. The very air between you crackled with the intensity of the moment, each breath, each touch, each whisper of fabric against skin drawing you deeper into the vortex of sensation that consumed you both. And as the two of you rocked together, moving in perfect unison, it felt as though nothing else existed beyond the boundaries of this shared moment, this exquisite blend of passion and connection.

However, the fleeting pleasure of Minho's grinding against your lower back was soon replaced by a new sensation as he shifted positions once again. His movements were deliberate, yet unhurried, as he slowly pulled away, the grinding coming to a hesitant halt. The rope that had been held between his teeth now trailed gently across the expanse of your back, leaving a tingling path in its wake. The sensation was enough to elicit a soft moan from your lips, a sound that only deepened when Minho's fingers tangled in your hair, pulling you back into the solid warmth of his chest. His grip was firm yet tender, sending ripples of electricity across your skin, each pulse intensifying the connection between you.

The way your body instinctively melted into each of Minho's silent commands was intoxicating, a surrender that felt both empowering and liberating. In his hands, you felt safe, cherished, and utterly consumed by the depth of your shared intimacy. There was no need to worry or overthink, as your soul-tied lover had taken control of every aspect of your pleasure, guiding you with a deftness that only heightened your arousal with every passing second. The trust between you was palpable, a silent understanding that allowed you to let go completely, to revel in the sensations that Minho was expertly crafting.

Your awareness of his actions dimmed as you lost yourself in the familiar rhythm of your bodies moving in perfect unison. The steady rocking was a dance of pure sensation, each movement a testament to the deep connection you shared. It wasn't long before you felt Minho's hand release its hold on your hair, and your dazed eyes fluttered open, curiosity piqued by the change in his touch. His free hand joined the other, which had been holding both of your wrists, and you watched through half-lidded eyes as the rope glided smoothly over your skin, its texture a reminder of the gentle power Minho wielded over you.

With slow, deliberate movements, Minho began to wrap the rope around your wrists, his expert hands tying the first knot with a precision that was both arousing and reassuring. The pressure of the rope was firm, enough to make you feel bound, yet not tight enough to cause discomfort. It was a tender introduction, a prelude to what was to come, and the anticipation of it sent a thrill through your body. The way Minho's hands moved with such care and intention made it clear that this was only the beginning, and the thought of what lay ahead left you breathless, your heart pounding in sync with the rhythm of your shared desire.

Your breath catches as Minho's teeth graze your earlobe, a playful nip that sends a shiver down your spine. He'd just secured the first knot around your wrists, tugging lightly to ensure it held firm. The binding was precise, a testament to his careful attention. "How are we feeling, my love?" he murmured, his voice softer than a whisper, as though the very air around you would break if he spoke too loudly. Even through the fog of your bliss, you managed a silent nod, your senses dulled yet heightened by the intimacy of the moment. Minho's quiet chuckle warmed your heart, its gentle timbre resonating deep within you.

Releasing his grip on your wrists, Minho didn't pause in the rhythmic sway of your bodies. His hands moved with purpose, trailing up and down your arms in a tender effort to ground you in the here and now. The sensation was electric, a soothing contrast to the growing intensity between you. "Use your words for me," he coaxed, his tone a mix of gentle insistence and deep affection. "I need to know you're here with me." The sheer tenderness in his voice drew a whimper from your lips, the weight of your love for him pressing heavily on your chest.

As his chin came to rest softly on your shoulder, you tilted your head just enough to meet his gaze. His expression was one of pure serenity, a soft smile playing at the corners of his lips as he watched you. The sight of him, so calm and full of love, made your heart swell, your cheeks flushing a deeper shade of crimson. With a small, almost shy smile, you whispered, "I'm here. I'm with you." The words were meant for him alone, a quiet reassurance that you were still present, still grounded in this moment with him.

Minho's smile widened at your response, his lips finding yours in a kiss that was as sweet as it was brief. "Are you comfortable?" he asked, his eyes searching yours for any sign of discomfort, any hint that you were anything less than utterly content. But all he found was the evidence of your mind blissfully clouded, your expression soft and open. You managed another nod, followed by a whispered "yes," the word barely more than a breath. He hummed in satisfaction, pressing a kiss to your temple before his hand moved to rest against your throat.

The shift in his touch brought a new intensity to the moment, his wrist firm against your throat as he quickened the pace of your shared rhythm. The atmosphere in the room thickened, the air heavy with the weight of your connection. "My love," he murmured into your ear, his breath warm against your sensitive skin, sending another shiver through you. "From this point forward, I will be picking up the pace. Just keep in mind that I adore you completely, so if you need me to stop, all you have to do is use the safe word, and I will do as asked. Please nod your head if you understand this, baby. I need you to stay here with me."

The gentle pleading in his voice tugged at your heart, and you felt an overwhelming surge of emotion. His concern, his care, it all spoke to the depth of his feelings for you. With a soft yet firm resolve, you met his gaze, your eyes locking onto his with an intensity that mirrored his own. Slowly, you nodded, the movement small but full of assurance.

Minho's eyes softened further, the relief evident as he leaned in to capture your lips once more in a kiss that was both tender and full of promise. This moment, this connection between you, was more than just physical—it was a profound expression of the love and trust you shared. As the kiss deepened, the rhythm of your bodies followed suit, each movement syncing perfectly with the other, a dance of intimacy that enveloped you both.

Minho presses another gentle kiss to your temple, a soft, unspoken acknowledgment of your consent. The delicate touch of his lips sends a soothing warmth through you, a silent promise of care and affection. Using the wrist he had previously rested against your neck, he gently guides your head back to rest on his shoulder, his touch both tender and commanding. At the same time, he lifts your wrists slightly by the ropes binding them, a subtle shift that draws you closer to him.

As your eyes flutter closed, surrendering to the intensity of the moment, you feel yourself being enveloped by the sensations surrounding you. Minho's movements become a rhythm you can't help but follow, his hips coaxing you to roll your own in an erotic dance reminiscent of the way you move when seated on his lap. The heat of his skin meets the tender, restrained touch of your tied hands, and you instinctively let your fingers brush against his cheek, a soft caress that makes his breath hitch—a delightful response to your affectionate gesture amidst the consuming passion.

You begin to roll your hips in sync with Minho’s guiding movements, the rhythm now an unspoken dance between you. Shifting your head, you nestle your face into the curve of his neck, the closeness a balm to your senses. With swift, practiced motions, Minho directs your bound hands to move in a semi-circle in front of you, a motion that feels like a step in a choreographed routine. The pace of your bodies swaying together grows more urgent and intense, your breaths becoming sharp, matching Minho's as the anticipation of the moment electrifies every nerve in your body. 

As soon as your tied hands completed their arc from one side to the other, Minho eased back, allowing your pliant body to drape across his strong thigh. The soft, powerful support of his leg cradled you, and you surrendered completely to the enveloping tranquility that your mind floated upon. With your eyes still closed, you surrendered to the all-encompassing serenity that seemed to cocoon you.

Once you were settled on his thigh, Minho used his other leg to gently spread your knees further apart. A soft moan, which quickly morphed into a whine, escaped your lips as his firm hand pressed against your chest and traveled slowly down to cup your drenched arousal. But just as quickly, he withdrew, leaving you in a state of aching anticipation.

Minho shifted his body slightly, pulling you closer with the rope that bound your wrists. A hand guided your head forward, and you reluctantly opened your eyes to meet his intense gaze. His eyes, soft yet laden with a dark anticipation, locked onto yours as he resumed the sensual, circular rocking of your bodies. The tender yet unyielding rhythm of his movements sent shivers down your spine, and you felt a thrill at the shift in his gaze, a potent blend of tenderness and longing.

Leaning forward, Minho pushed you backward until your head nearly touched the ground, his lips parting in a teasing promise. Instinctively, you parted your own lips, expecting a kiss, but instead, he breathed into your mouth, the warm, intoxicating air a seductive caress as his eyes remained locked on yours. Just as abruptly, he pulled away, pressing you back firmly against his chest, leaving both of you breathless. 

Your cheeks pressed together, and a thrilling shiver raced up your spine as you watched Minho pull the rope tighter, binding your wrists securely against your chest. The sensation of the rope against your skin, combined with the proximity of his body and the intensity of his gaze, created a heady, intoxicating blend of pleasure and anticipation that left you utterly enraptured.

As the session deepens, Minho maintains a steady rhythm, swaying your bodies together in perfect harmony. His skilled hands move with deliberate grace, meticulously tying the rope to ensure your hands remain securely pressed against your chest. The rope's embrace is both encompassing and protective, each knot and loop placed with exquisite care. Minho pauses occasionally, his eyes soft yet attentive, as if silently checking in on you.

The rope winds its way around your shoulders, torso, and then descends to your thighs, hips, and legs. Each pass of the rope feels grounding and intense, its firm grip holding your legs apart to reveal your glistening core. The tightening sensation of the rope, combined with Minho’s unwavering presence, envelops you in a profound sense of vulnerability and trust. As Minho finishes the intricate tying, the final knot meticulously placed, you become aware of the intensity of the emotions coursing through you. A few tears have traced paths down your cheeks, each one tenderly kissed away by Minho.

With a gentle sigh, Minho allows you to rest on the ground, still bound but comforted. He kneels beside you, his eyes sparkling with admiration as he interlocks his fingers with one of yours. His gaze is filled with a tender appreciation for the intricate work he has completed. Leaning in, he presses a soft, loving kiss to your lips, his free hand caressing your hair with affectionate strokes. Despite the bonds that encircle you, there’s an astonishing sense of relaxation that washes over your body, a profound feeling of safety you’ve never experienced before.

The realization of how deeply safe and cherished you feel brings fresh tears to your eyes. Minho coos softly, his voice a gentle balm to your soul, as he kisses away each tear with a tenderness that rekindles your love for him. This renewed affection is even more intense and consuming than before. In a moment of pure connection, you turn your head to capture his lips in a kiss filled with tender passion, a testament to the profound bond you share.

What began as a tender kiss soon transformed into an urgent expression of unrestrained desire. Each touch of your lips against Minho’s was imbued with growing desperation, your moans escaping into the intoxicating dance of your shared kiss. His breath, once controlled, now came in ragged gasps, a stark testament to the fervor that had taken hold. As your previously clouded thoughts cleared, all that remained was an all-consuming craving for his body.

Though your hands were bound tightly against your chest, your fingertips clawed into his chiseled torso, digging in as though to silently convey your deep-seated needs. Minho’s groans were a symphony of pleasure, his brows knitting together as he relished the sting of your touch. The closeness between you was so profound that it blurred the lines of where one of you began and the other ended. This intoxicating proximity had you pressing your hips fervently against his, the ropes he had so meticulously wrapped around your hips digging into both of your heated skins, enhancing the fervor of the moment.

You luxuriated in the way his hands roamed over your bound body, pausing to explore the ropes before continuing their journey. Minho’s movements were deliberate, a testament to his careful attention to your every reaction. He eventually positioned himself between your tied knees, his eyes gleaming with a hunger that made you shiver with anticipation. His gaze lingered, taking in the sight of your flushed, sweat-drenched skin and the rhythm of your chest rising and falling as you panted.

A moan, almost drunken in its intensity, escaped Minho’s lips as his eyes fell upon your achingly drenched arousal. “God, you’re already so deliciously wet for me,” he murmured softly, his voice thick with admiration. You responded with a desperate whine, arching your hips upwards in a silent plea for him to meet your needs. His eyes softened at your response, and he leaned in to place a brief, affectionate kiss on your lips before trailing his mouth downward. His kisses, messy and fervent, left a heated trail along your skin, heightening the intensity of the moment as he continued to explore.

You writhed beneath his touch, your mouth parting as a continuous stream of moans and gasps spilled forth. Every sensation was magnified by the ropes binding your body, which restricted your movements and made it challenging to maintain eye contact with him. When his breath, warm and tantalizing, brushed against your throbbing core, a cry of delight escaped your lips. 

"Min, please," you whispered, your first unprompted plea since this passionate encounter began. The sound of your desperate request drew Minho's gaze upward, his eyes now burning with an even more insatiable hunger. "Please, baby," you continued to beg, your voice faltering as you struggled to articulate the depth of your need. "I need you, please, I really need—"

Your words were abruptly cut off by a loud, guttural moan that tore from your throat as Minho's exquisite lips finally made contact with your sensitive clit. The sensation of his lips enveloping and gently sucking, exactly as you had longed for, was electrifying. His touch was slow and deliberate, his movements methodical, each caress sending waves of unparalleled pleasure crashing over you. 

Minho's tongue danced along the edges of your core, and you bucked your hips into his face, seeking more of the intoxicating sensation. Your knuckles turned white as you gripped your tied hands, a desperate attempt to ground yourself amidst the overwhelming pleasure. When his fingers finally entered the warmth of your aching arousal, your eyes fluttered back, a primal moan escaping you as another wave of ecstasy surged through your body.

In the past, you might have confidently declared that Minho was an exceptional lover, but the present moment redefined your understanding of his skill. His fingers moved with a slow, deliberate rhythm, a pace that was both torturous and exquisite, plunging in and out of you with an intensity that left you breathless. The sensation was so overwhelmingly blissful that it eclipsed any previous experience, tightening your lower abdomen with a fervor you had never known.

Minho’s gaze was a palpable force, watching you intently as you arched your back in response to his relentless exploration of that sensitive, perfect spot inside you. His free hand pressed firmly against your abdomen, enhancing the pressure and making each thrust of his fingers feel even more profound. Meanwhile, his mouth returned to your pulsing clit, lavishing it with tender, expert attention.

The building pressure in your abdomen reached a crescendo, and you were overwhelmed by a powerful wave of pleasure that swept through your convulsing body. Minho's voice reached you as though from a great distance, his words muffled and indistinct amidst the roaring storm of your climax. Your focus remained solely on the rhythmic motion of his fingers, which continued to move deliberately in and out of you, guiding you through the final throes of your release.

As the waves of pleasure began to recede, Minho withdrew his fingers, and you watched with a mixture of awe and lingering desire as he brought them to his mouth. He cleaned your arousal with a slow, savoring sweep of his tongue, his eyes never leaving you as he did so. The sight of him tasting you, coupled with the remnants of your own pleasure on his lips, left you breathless and yearning for more.

As your breathing gradually evened out, Minho’s form loomed over you, his presence both commanding and tender. He crawled with a deliberate slowness, the heat of his hardened length brushing against your stomach with each movement. Supporting himself on his forearms, which framed either side of your head, and balancing on his knees that bracketed your hips, he created an intimate cocoon of sensation and anticipation.

Minho’s eyes sparkled with a gleeful satisfaction as he gazed down at you, a radiant smile lighting up his face. The sight of him made your cheeks flush with a warm, bashful hue, and you responded to his smile with one of your own, unable to resist the magnetic pull of his gaze. Yet, each time his aching, hardened core brushed against your skin, a hitch in his breath made it clear that the night’s pleasures were far from over. The renewed flutter of arousal in your own still-sensitive core sent a thrilling shiver through you.

“You were mesmerizing just now,” Minho murmured, his voice a soft whisper meant solely for your ears. The intimacy of his words deepened the blush on your cheeks, and rather than voicing a response, you pressed your lips to his in a fervent kiss. It was a silent plea for more, a desperate declaration of your lingering need for him. The intensity of your kiss drove Minho to groan deeply, his hips settling onto your pelvis. You felt the undeniable heat of his hardness and the telltale slickness that marked his need.

The contact elicited a shared moan from both of you, and you instinctively arched your hips upwards, meeting his body with an eager urgency. Minho shifted his weight to one arm, his free hand gently cradling your jaw as he pulled away just enough to meet your eyes. His gaze held a silent question, one that was answered by your breathless plea. “Please, Min, I’ve never felt so good,” you panted, “I want to have all of you, please.”

His eyes softened with understanding, and he leaned in to capture your lips once more. The hand that had held your jaw now descended, wrapping around his aching arousal. He groaned deeply at the touch, momentarily pausing to steady himself before he began to pump his length, spreading his own wetness and heightening his anticipation. When he finally pressed the tip of his length against your core, the breath between you both became a held moment of shared expectation.

With a careful, measured thrust, Minho sheathed himself fully inside you. Your eyes rolled back in your head as his tip found that sensitive spot with a precise, overwhelming pressure. Your back arched instinctively, seeking deeper connection. Minho’s forehead pressed against yours, his face contorted in a mixture of pleasure and intensity. His groans vibrated through you as he surrendered to the enveloping warmth of your pulsing tightness, the sensation of being within you driving him to the edge of his control.

Though Minho was often the type to drive you to the edge with relentless, vigorous thrusts that had you chanting his name like a sacred mantra, tonight was a different kind of exploration—one that delved deeply into the emotional connection you shared. This evening was about savoring the intimacy and connection between you.

The ropes that Minho had meticulously bound around your body pressed gently against your skin, creating a delicious tension that made your blood hum with heightened sensation. Each touch of the rope intensified the bliss that flowed through you, amplifying the pleasure you felt with every slow, deliberate motion of Minho’s hips. He would draw back just enough to tease, then push back into you with a depth that elicited soft, breathy moans from your lips.

Minho, too, was caught in the throes of this more tender passion. His eyes struggled to remain open as the pleasure overtook him, pulling him deeper into the shared experience. When you felt the telltale twitch of his length inside you, it was clear that he was nearing his peak. Determined to enhance the moment, you began to move your hips in time with his, each motion guided by the need to match his rhythm. Your moans grew louder as your sensitive clit grazed against his pelvis, driving both of you toward the precipice.

As Minho’s thrusts became more erratic and fevered, his control slipping as he chased his climax, the intensity between you both surged. Finally, with a thrust that struck your sensitive spot with a forceful precision, you both were pulled into an intimate, breathless crescendo. In that climactic moment, you pressed together, bodies entwined, as you both reached the peak of your pleasure simultaneously.

As the intensity of your shared passion began to wane, minutes slipped by in a languid haze. Your breath gradually settled, finding its rhythm once more, while Minho tenderly withdrew his softened length from your still-throbbing core. The room was infused with a soft glow, and you admired the way Minho’s skin gleamed with a sheen of sweat, a testament to the fervor of your union. You scarcely registered the sweet, murmured praises he offered as he meticulously began to untie the ropes that had bound you so intimately.

Your mind was still enveloped in the intoxicating fog of your shared ecstasy, yet every fiber of your being was alight with a blazing warmth that spoke of deep affection. “I love you, Min,” you breathed out, gently interrupting his gentle murmurings. His head snapped up at the sound of your voice, and his eyes softened with a tenderness that made your heart skip a beat. The unspoken emotion between you was palpable, and you continued, “Thank you for taking care of me. You have no idea how much I love you.”

As Minho unfastened the final knot securing your wrists, you did not hesitate. You drew him closer, enveloping him in a wordless embrace that conveyed a depth of emotion words could not capture. The silence of the moment spoke volumes, a shared connection that transcended language, as you both held each other tightly, savoring the quiet after the storm of your passion.

꒰ 🏷️ ꒱ ミ Permanent taglist: @agi-ppangx @jisunglyricist @nxtt2-u @nebugalaxy

🍉 FROM THE RIVER TO THE SEA, PALESTINE WILL BE FREE! DAILY CLICKS!

[blueraineshadows]

Brothers Part Five

Garreth Weasley x F!MC x Oscar Weasley (OC)

A love rivalry between two Weasley brothers.

Oscar Weasley is an OC created by @eternalremorse and used with her permission

Master List of chapters

Chapter Five - Quidditch and Feels

The Great Hall was abuzz with energy and anticipation Saturday morning, the students chatting excitedly about the Quidditch game, the first in over a year. Taunts were called across between the Slytherin and Gryffindor tables, mostly in good humour, and even the other two houses were getting in on the fun.

MC entered the hall with Poppy, her tummy a little bundle of nervous excitement, as she adjusted the Gryffindor scarf that was draped around her neck that still carried the scent of Oscar's cologne. It was still hard to believe that she was now Oscar's girl. The memory of his kisses lingered long on her skin after he gave them, and she found that she was already eager for their next meeting as soon as they parted company. Today, she would get to see him in a proper Quidditch game, and she would be there to cheer him on as his girl.

"Are you going to sit in the Gryffindor stands?" Poppy asked.

MC nodded. "Garreth invited me to sit with him. You're welcome to join us if you like."

Sebastian appeared beside them dressed in his Quidditch kit, his face falling into a scowl when he saw her scarf. He picked up the end of it between thumb and forefinger, wrinkling his nose in disgust.

"Why are you wearing this disgraceful thing?" He asked. He shook his head in disapproval as he held up the end of his own scarf. "And here was me hoping you would wear mine, but it seems that my best friend has decided to abandon me in favour of a lion. How disappointing."

MC blushed, reaching to clasp his hand in hers. "Oh, don't be mad at me, not today," she said. "Of course I support you."

He pouted out his bottom lip and gave her big, sad eyes. MC giggled and pulled him forward for a hug, his arms immediately responding. "You still have your fan club to cheer for you," she reminded him. "Duellist and Quidditch player, you're hardly starved of attention."

He hummed, unconvinced, and then playfully pushed her back. "Urgh, don't hug me with that thing round your neck."

He dodged quickly, chuckling, as MC went to smack his arm. Then he swung his own scarf up and draped it around Poppy's neck, pulling it tight so that she lurched forward a step, and he did not let the scarf go. He leant down to her. "Perhaps Miss Sweeting would like to wear my scarf and cheer me on? What do you say, Poppy? Would you do me the honour of wearing my scarf?"

Poppy flushed bright pink, her mouth moving but no words coming out as she stared up at Sebastian. "I...I..."

MC quirked an eyebrow at the pair. Interesting. She grinned and nudged Poppy. "She would love to, wouldn't you, Poppy?"

"Erm, yes, alright," Poppy said shyly.

Sebastian's eyes brightened, and he wrapped the scarf more snugly around Poppy's neck. "There you go," he said. He even gave her a cheeky wink. "I shall look out for you and give you a wave during the match."

As Sebastian headed off towards the Slytherin table, a little pep in his step, MC grinned and looked at Poppy. "So, does this put Sebastian into your Top Five Boys, Pops?"

Poppy's blush darkened and she bit her lip, she gave MC a nervous look. "Would you be mad if he was?"

"Of course not! Why in Merin's name would I be mad?"

Poppy shrugged, her hands gently touching the green and silver scarf wrapped around her neck. "You two are so close..."

MC put her arm around Poppy. "Listen to me, of all the girls that Sebastian could kiss, I would rather he kissed you. He deserves to be happy after everything that he's been through, and the way his face lit up when you agreed to wear his scarf, that was just so lovely to see."

Poppy's face softened and she gazed across towards the Slytherin table. Then, she smirked. "He didn't exactly give me much choice."

MC chuckled. "Yes, well, that's just Sebastian doing Sebastian things."

A rousing cheer went up, and the girls turned to see the Gryffindor table greeting Isaac and Oscar as they arrived, decked out in their Quidditch gear and high-fiving their fellow housemates. MC watched as Oscar was surrounded, being patted on the back and laughing with his friends and admirers. Was this a glimpse of his future? He had received an offer to play for a Quidditch team once he had left Hogwarts after all.

She watched as girls offered up shy smiles to him. Even a few from other houses had drifted across to speak to the two popular Gryffindor boys, one of whom MC recognised. Trixie McNair. MC tensed as Trixie put her hand on Oscar's arm and looked up at him, her smile so self-assured and very beautiful.

"Are you going to go over and see Oscar before we eat?" Poppy asked.

MC watched as Oscar spoke to Trixie and observed the easy way they seemed to be with each other, the old rumours about them whispering in the back of her mind. Ominis had told her plenty of gossip about the beautiful Slytherin girl, and MC felt herself inwardly retreating, her own self-confidence wilting under the other girl's shadow. She had thought to greet Oscar and wish him good luck for the game, but now she did not want to stand in a line of girls waiting to shower him with attention, no matter if she had every right to.

MC shook her head and took Poppy's arm. "No, it's alright. He looks busy. Let's go and eat."

....*....

Clear skies and barely any breeze made for excellent flying conditions in the chilly October air. The viewing stands were filling up with students and staff as the players gathered at the centre of the pitch, ready for the start. Oscar shifted his grip on his broom as he stepped onto the pitch, bending to touch the grass with his fingers in his little pre-match ritual. There is no harm in asking for a blessing to not be knocked off his broom. As he straightened, he caught the eye of Trixie, who was loitering nearby with a friend. She smiled and blew him a kiss, which he chose to ignore. His eyes had been hoping to land on MC, but she hadn't come to see him this morning. His only glimpse of her had been when she had left the Great Hall with Poppy and Garreth. He bit back his disappointment.

He glanced to the side as Sebastian came up beside him. The Slytherin's face one of hard disapproval as he flicked his dark eyes across to Trixie. "I hope you're keeping it in your pants, Weasley," he muttered.

Oscar shifted and avoided looking back over towards Trixie. "That's long since over," he said. "You've got no worries there."

Sebastian glared at him. "Oh, I still worry," he said tightly. "MC is family to me, Weasley. You mess with her, you mess with me. Understood?"

Oscar sighed and rolled his eyes. First Garreth gave him a little warning, and now Sebastian. Surely, MC was more than capable of making her own mind up and taking care of herself. Merlin, the girl could bring down bloody trolls on her own.

"Fuck off, Sallow."

Sebastian grabbed the front of Oscar's Quidditch jersey and jerked him forward, his eyes glittered with something dangerous, a darkness hovering in the back of that gaze that made ice slide down Oscar's spine. There was something very slippery and cold about Sallow underneath all that charm and banter. Oscar was a fair duellist. He could hold his own and had done in Crossed Wands many times, but he knew Sallow was also good. Combined with that dark streak that flashed in his eyes, Oscar wasn't sure he wanted to come up against Sallow with intent.

"I meant what I said," Sebastian said coldly.

"And I meant what I said, too," Oscar said firmly.

"Alright lads, save it for the match," Imelda called. She slapped Sebastian on the shoulder. "Come on, it's almost time."

Sebastian gave Oscar one last stare through narrowed eyes before letting him go. "I'm watching you, Weasley."

As they all kicked up off the ground to fly around the pitch, waving to all the spectators before the start of the match, Oscar tried not to let Sebastian get under his skin. His eyes scanned the Hufflepuff stands in the hopes of catching a glimpse of MC, wanting to see her and that lovely smile of hers, hopefully with his scarf wrapped around her neck. There was no sign of her, and he frowned a little, moving along towards the Gryffindor stands where he received a rousing cheer of encouragement. He smiled and waved, slowing down to hover before them all, his team mates around him on their own brooms. This was what it was about, sharing the love for the game, and it made the anticipation thrum in his veins.

In the back of his mind, he knew he had to do something about Trixie and her flirting, but it wouldn't be easy. She was a difficult one to deal with at the best of times. Oscar had a past, and there was nothing he could do to change it. He didn't want to change it, but he also didn't want it to ruin his chances with MC. She had agreed to be his girl, and he wanted to keep it that way. The disappointment at her not being there to see him this morning was only magnified by Sebastian's chilling threat.

As his eyes scanned across the Gryffindor crowd, he spotted Garreth and there beside him sat MC. Biting back the jealousy of seeing her sitting there with his brother, Oscar moved his broom a little closer as they both waved up at him. MC was indeed wearing his scarf, and her smile was just for him as she waved. It made him feel a little better until he saw Poppy jump up beside her, waving a Slytherin scarf amongst a sea of red as Sebastian flew up beside him. The Slytherin Beater waved and blew two kisses towards the stands, calling out that they were for his two favourite girls. The smirk he gave Oscar was unbearably smug as he sped away to join his team.

Oscar gritted his teeth, his fingers flexing around his broom and bat as the urge to smash some Bludgers towards Slytherins made his blood pound thick and hot through his veins.

....*....

The cracking sound of the Bludger hitting Oscar's bat split the air through the cheers of the crowd. Garreth watched as the Bludger sailed towards a Slytherin Chaser speeding towards the goal, Quaffle under their arm. It got close, really close, but Sebastian swooped down, arm raised as he swung viciously to smack the Bludger back, a feral sounding growl bursting from his mouth as he did so.

The crowd gasped as the Bludger careened back across the pitch towards Oscar. MC winced beside Garreth, and her hands grabbed his arm, which he did not mind in the slightest. When he had heard that her and Oscar were now officially courting, his disappointment had been bitter, and he had expected her to withdraw from him. It seemed that wasn't the case, and it was a relief because he couldn't bear it if she drifted away from him.

"Oh no, he's done it again," she groaned. "What are they doing?"

They watched as Oscar adjusted his position on his broom, gripping with his legs as he used both arms to swing his bat this time. The ear splitting whack resounded as he sent the Bludger right back towards Sebastian. Garreth shook his head and rubbed his face with his hand. "Idiots," he muttered.

The match was fast paced and the players were being unforgiving, with a whole year out of matches, the need to get stuck in was evident and there were already sweaty faces, some even sporting bloody wounds for their efforts. But, there would be no giving up. There was a game to win, and being Gryffindor vs Slytherin, it was getting personal.

Sebastian had already hinted to Garreth that he was going to wind Oscar up, and at the time Garreth had chuckled, urging his new Slytherin friend on, still pissed at Oscar for making it official with MC. But now he was regretting firing up Sebastian because the boy was brutal. He had been deliberately sending Bludgers Oscar's way, his face fixed in a mask of determination, and Oscar was giving as good as he was getting.

Imelda and Isaac, the team captains, were already starting to lose their voices from screaming at the pair to pack it up and focus on the match. Slytherin were currently up 90 - 60, and Gryffindor needed to up their game.

"Why are they doing this?" MC grumbled. "Will they not get into trouble for it?"

"Unlikely, maybe with their captains for messing up the game," Garreth said. "There are not a load of rules to Quidditch. It only encourages players to break them, or so the experts claim anyway. But there are such things as gentleman's agreements, and it's not usual for the Beaters to play back and forward like this. It frees up the Chasers to score goals."

MC gave him a curious look. "For someone who didn't seem all that bothered about Quidditch, you seem to know a fair bit about it."

Garreth smiled, enjoying the fact that she hadn't yet let go of his arm. "I'm not that fussed about playing it, but I do love a good game. If you want to know more, I would be happy to tell you. I have a book you can borrow, Quidditch Through the Ages, you can brush up on your knowledge to impress your new boyfriend."

Her face fell a little, and she nodded. "Is that what all the other little groupies do? Do they use Quidditch facts to get in with the star players as well? I'm not sure that's my style."

Garreth noted the slight bitter tone to her words and frowned. He knew girls hung around the Quidditch boys. He had seen them hanging off his brother often enough. He attempted another smile, wanting to cheer her up. "Not to worry, you can impress me with your facts instead, although you don't need to do that to get in with me. I'm already won over."

Her eyes met his, widening with surprise. Garreth felt a pulse of panic and bit his tongue, colour flooding his cheeks. He cleared his throat and turned his attention back to the game. Him and his big mouth.

Gryffindor scored a goal, and the students around them erupted into an ear blasting amount of cheering, Garreth clapped, and so did MC, although she kept her arm linked through his and that made his chest warm. It seemed she did not mind his cheeky comment, and it made his smile return.

Imelda Reyes was not smiling, however, and she flew towards Sebastian, her face twisted with rage as she bawled him out. Garreth and MC cringed, and Poppy looked like she was about to burst into tears.

"Remind me never to get on the wrong side of Imelda," Poppy said. She grimaced. "Poor Sebastian!"

Garreth raised his eyebrows at Poppy's words and gave MC a curious look. She smirked before leaning in close to his ear. "I think she has taken a particular fancy to a certain snake," she whispered.

Garreth almost shivered at the feel of MC's lips so close to his ear, and he had to take a breath before meeting her amused eyes. This close, he could see every fleck of colour in her irises, and he marvelled at just how lovely they were. "And does this snake return these sentiments?"

"Have you not seen the scarf she is wearing? He put it there himself," she whispered back.

"What are you two whispering about?" Poppy asked, a crease on her brow.

"Nothing," MC said quickly. She moved back away from Garreth and shrugged. "Garreth was just explaining some Quidditch game play to me, that's all."

Poppy shrugged and turned back to the game, MC sharing a little glance with Garreth. He grinned. "If we win, I am so smuggling Sebastian into our party so Poppy can pet her snake after a few cheeky Butterbeers."

MC smothered her giggles, and he chuckled along with her, his heart squeezing as he wished that it could always be like this with her.

....*....

MC was on her feet, screaming and clapping as the announcement echoed across the pitch. "Gryffindor win!"

The Gryffindor Seeker was hovering in the centre of the pitch, face flushed and triumphant as they held up the shining Golden Snitch. The students around MC were stomping their feet and yelling in delight, the wooden seating stand shuddering under their boots. MC threw her arms around Garreth, and he laughed, lifting her clean off the wooden step in a hug of celebration, his arms squeezing her with surprising strength.

She looked down at his smiling face. "Let's get down to the pitch and find Leander and Oscar," she said excitedly.

Garreth nodded and put her carefully down onto her feet. "You go on and find Oscar," he said. "He will be wanting to see you, I'm sure. I will escort Poppy down."

MC squealed happily and began to push her way through the mad crowd and hurried down towards the pitch, hitting the grass at a run as she sped across towards the huddle of players. She was not the only one. Other students were beginning to invade the pitch, too, in their excitement. MC spotted Oscar celebrating with his teammates, a Gryffindor 7th year launching herself at him in a hug that nearly knocked him off his feet. MC slowed her steps, hesitating as she watched him give the girl a quick squeeze before releasing her. He was laughing, cheeks flushed, and so very handsome. MC wondered if she really fit in here with his group of Quidditch friends, her eyes darting around at the crowd gathering as she walked towards Oscar.

The Slytherin team looked dejected and angry as they began to walk off. Sebastian looked positively furious, and MC winced, giving him a wide berth as he stormed towards the edge of the pitch, launching his bat across the ground as he did so. Imelda was scowling after him, her face livid with their defeat. The Slytherin common room would not be a happy place this evening, but the Gryffindor one would most definitely be a riot of celebration.

MC slowed to a complete stop when she saw Trixie McNair and her friends loitering around the players, her sultry eyes on Oscar, her smile full of seduction as she waved at him. Oscar seemed to be looking Trixie's way, but then he spotted MC, and his face split into a huge smile. He ran, hurrying towards her, and MC felt her heart lift a little.

"There's my girl," he cried. He grabbed her under the arms, lifting her up high into the air and MC had to grab his shoulders, a yelp leaving her lips at the sudden lift, before he spun around in a circle making her robes flare outwards.

"Oscar, put me down," she giggled. "People are staring!"

MC almost gulped when she saw the look of poison on Trixie McNair's face. She looked away quickly, immediately uncomfortable at the Slytherin girl's glare, concentrating only on Oscar as he put her back down onto the grass. He laughed and cupped her face.

"I don't care," he said, shaking his head. "We won! We actually won, and you are finally here. I missed you this morning."

MC's tummy fluttered at his words. "I didn't want to intrude, you looked busy, and I didn't want to distract you before the game."

His thumbs brushed against her cheeks, and his eyes blazed as he looked down at her. "Rule number one, you may distract me whenever you like."

MC felt her cheeks flush, and then he kissed her, in front of the whole crowded Quidditch pitch, a long, slow kiss on the lips. Her heart was pounding the whole time. Concerns about what people might say, or a Professor coming along to scold them, swirled about at the back of her mind, but she couldn't deny the little thought that this would be the perfect slap in the face for girls like Trixie McNair.

Oscar was kissing her, Oscar had missed her, and it did wonders for her earlier self-doubt. She gripped the front of his jersey, breathing a little harder as he pulled back, smiling down at her.

"Come on," he said, taking her hand. "We've got a party to organise."

....*....

Gryffindor students knew how to throw a party. Streamers hung from every available point, bottomless punch bowls and a keg of Butterbeer were set up, a few students had brought instruments and were playing a lively tune.

With it being the first win of the new season, students from other houses had snuck in to celebrate with Gryffindor. There were a few Slytherins, but not many, most licking their wounds elsewhere. Oscar was soaking up the atmosphere, revelling in their win, riding quite high right now after already downing a few laced drinks. With his arm wrapped tight around MC, Oscar tapped his mug of Butterbeer against Isaac's, their grins wide as they nodded, lifting their drinks up in a toast.

"To Gryffindor!" Isaac yelled.

"To Gryffindor!" The room called back, followed by cheers and whistles.

Oscar took a long drink before looking down at MC. With a small laugh she reached up and wiped the froth from his lips with her thumb, the touch waking up the spark inside of him and he pulled her even closer, pressing a kiss to her forehead.

He saw her blush, her shy glances around the room to see who was watching, and he wished he could get her somewhere alone. Despite promising to go at her pace, he ached to touch her and kiss her in ways that would make her come apart in his hands. He was always horny after a match, and she was so soft pressed up against him that it was driving him crazy.

He felt eyes burning into the back of his head. He didn't need to turn and look to know who from, the tension between them getting thicker since the match. This was another reason to sneak off with MC, away from disapproving eyes.

"Sebastian really doesn't like me, does he?" He murmured into MC's ear. "Why is he even here? Clearly he didn't take enough of a beating in the match today."

MC gave him a pained look. "Please don't fight," she said.

Oscar frowned. "He started it."

The flasks of fire whiskey were being passed around, and Oscar poured a generous shot into his beer before holding the flask out to MC. She shook her head, and Oscar shrugged, taking an extra sip from the flask before passing it on to Isaac. They were celebrating after all.

"You two were obviously in some kind of battle on the pitch today," she said. "I wish you could at least try to get along."

"Yeah, well, he shouldn't be so bloody possessive of you. It's weird," Oscar grumbled.

MC frowned. "He has his reasons."

Oscar studied her. There were secrets between them two, big ones, he could tell. "What kind of reasons?"

Her mouth tightened and she shook her head. "It doesn't matter."

He narrowed his eyes, jealousy stirring in his gut as he wondered what really had gone on last year between her and Sebastian. She always insisted they were friends, and Sebastian implied she was like family to him. Whenever he tried to talk to MC about last year, she would close up, change the subject, and leave him with questions unanswered. It was frustrating.

He bent to kiss her, claiming her in a way he knew how. She was so soft, so tempting, and he craved more, parting her lips with his tongue and deepening the kiss. Her fingers clutched at his shirt as she returned the kiss, but then she jumped when a loud cheer sounded beside them from his team mates.

Oscar felt a hearty slap on his shoulder. "Fucking hell, Weasley. Get a room!"

Oscar chuckled and gave Isaac a playful shove as MC blushed, burying her face against his chest. He would love to get her alone in a room. He wouldn't lie. Her shyness was actually a turn-on. He wanted to make her blush, have her a whimpering mess underneath him. His hand slid from her waist to her hip, teasingly caressing towards her peachy backside. Drinking had made him bold.

He couldn't wait to get a hold of that arse and she was wearing those tight trousers that made it look so tempting. As his hand cupped the soft curve of a cheek, he felt her tense up a little, her shyness kicking in once again. He slid his hand back up towards her waist, realising he was pushing his luck a bit, but Merlin did she feel good.

"Shall we go somewhere more private?" He murmured in her ear. He couldn't resist one more gentle squeeze at her waist.

"But, this party is for you, we can't just disappear," she said.

He sighed, pushing down his rampant desire, and grabbed her hand. "Fine, but at least get a drink," he said. "Come on, it's not a party unless you've got a drink in your hand."

She looked at him anxiously. "I'm not sure."

He poured a Butterbeer from the keg and pushed it into her hand. "It's only Butterbeer, you'll be fine," he said. He winked. "Don't worry, I'll look after you."

As she smiled and took a sip of the beer, Garreth appeared beside them, a battered paper party crown sat lop sided on his fluffy hair, his face beaming with a wide grin. He held up a glass bottle and wiggled it, the amber liquid inside sloshing. "Fancy a little tipple, brother?"

Oscar eyed the bottle suspiciously. "Did you make that?"

Garreth nodded proudly. "I'm calling it Victory Tipple in honour of our win."

MC giggled and took the bottle, pulling the stopper to sniff it. She pulled a face. "Gods, what did you put in this?"

Garreth tapped the side of his nose. "I'm not in the habit of divulging my secrets," he said. He nodded towards the bottle. "Have a taste. It's not bad, and nobody has floated away or died yet, so we're all good."

Oscar bit back a groan and shook his head. "You mean people are actually drinking this?"

Garreth looked surprised. "Of course!" He grinned at MC, nudging her with his shoulder. "You will taste it, won't you, my dear. You liked my Fizzing Whizzbeer, after all."

MC eyed the bottle then shrugged and lifted it to her lips. Oscar gasped and grabbed her wrist to stop her.

"What are you doing? You hesitated over a Butterbeer but you're going to drink this? Are you mad?"

MC stared at him. "Don't you trust your brother?"

Oscar laughed. "No!"

Garreth pouted and folded his arms. "I take offence to that, brother," he said. "I say you should drink the whole bottle to prove your affection for me."

MC giggled and took a sip of the creation. She savoured the liquid before swallowing, smacking her lips before coughing and spluttering, her eyes watering a little. "Wow... that's got an after kick."

Oscar took the bottle from her, curious, and took a swig. He winced and shoved the bottle back to Garreth. "Fuck...no," he coughed. "You're trying to kill us I swear."

Garreth shook his head at them both and downed the whole bottle. "Such light weights."

....*....

The party was at its loudest, the alcohol and late hour bringing out the rowdiness in people, and MC pushed her way back through the throng coming back from the girl's bathroom. Poppy was clinging on to her hand, wobbling on her feet a bit after one too many drinks, and MC craned her neck looking for Sebastian, but there was no sign of him.

Loud cheering and clapping came from one corner of the common room, and as MC moved closer to investigate, she realised that some kind of drinking game was taking place. She stumbled to a stop, mouth dropping open at the sight of Sebastian kissing a girl from Ravenclaw in the middle of a circle, everyone cheering them on. MC began to back up, pushing Poppy around so that she wouldn't see.

"What's going on?" Poppy asked. She tried to peer around MC, but MC tried to tug her away.

"Some kind of game, it's nothing," MC said.

"Ooh, I like games," Poppy said. Her hand slipped free of MCs, and she made a grab for her, but Poppy was gone, ducking through the crowd to go and see.

MC winced as Poppy stopped, her shoulders slumping a little at the scene. Sebastian and the girl separated, both of them grinning and wiping their mouths as they returned to the circle. MC gently took Poppy's arm. "I'm sorry, Pops," she said.

Poppy shrugged. "It doesn't matter," she said. "He doesn't owe me anything after all. But it would have been nice to have a kiss, I suppose."

"Do you want to leave?" MC asked.

Poppy shook her head. "No, I'm good."

The next person leant in and spun their wand on the floor in the centre of the circle. It was Trixie McNair, her black hair like a sheet of silk as she bent down to spin her wand, her eyes glittering with expectation as it spun round and around before coming to stop in front of Garreth. MC's eyes widened, her heart twisting oddly as Trixie giggled and crooked her finger at Garreth's blushing face.

"Well, would you look at that?" Trixie said playfully. She giggled and reached out to grab Garreth's jumper as he stood. "Looks like I get to kiss another Weasley!"

Everyone laughed, and MC felt her stomach churn as she scanned the gathered crowd for Oscar. He was in the far corner with Isaac, who slapped Oscar on the back, laughing.

"Ha, we all know you did a lot more than snog the big brother, Trixie!" Isaac called. "You'd best go gentle on little brother now!"

MC stared as Oscar laughed with him. Clearly, the rumours were true, and MC felt her own self-consciousness twist through her. Trixie was a blatant flirt, and she had made no secret of her attempts to catch Oscar's eye all night. And now, she was getting her claws into Garreth.

Trixie was giggling and flicking her hair over her shoulder as she pulled Garreth closer, pressing her mouth to his in a kiss. Garreth kissed her back enthusiastically, his hands moving to hold her waist as she deepened the kiss, pressing herself shamelessly against him as the crowd cheered and wolf whistled loudly.

"Bloody hell," Poppy said. "She looks like she is going to devour him whole!"

MC took a shaky breath, hating every minute of this horrid game. She understood that it was just a bit of fun, but so far she had seen Poppy's hopes dashed about kissing Sebastian, and now Garreth was dancing tongues with a girl who clearly had a thing for Oscar. People could get hurt with this kind of thing. "This is stupid."

MC spun away from the game, unable to watch Trixie violate Garreth's mouth like that and him enjoy it, because clearly, he was. She pushed herself blindly through the crowd and found herself near the drinks table. Without really thinking, she grabbed a cup and poured some Butterbeer out of the keg and drank it back all in one go.

She didn't like Trixie. Trixie was everything that MC wasn't - confident, beautiful, assured of her place in the Wizarding World with a pure blood family behind her. The boys all wanted Trixie, and she always seemed to get what she wanted. Isaac had shouted out the rumour about Trixie and Oscar in front of everyone, and Oscar had laughed. It had to be true. It made MC question what Oscar saw in her because she was nothing like Trixie.

Another loud cheer erupted from the game, which meant someone else was kissing now. Despite herself, MC turned and caught a glimpse of two students she didn't know very well. She turned back and poured herself another drink.

"Hello, my darling."

MC looked up to see Garreth, cheeks flushed and eyes glazed, swaying slightly as he tried to pour himself a drink. MC put a hand to her mouth, hiding her amusement as he missed the tap for the keg twice. Pushing aside her worries about herself, she put her hand on his.

"Maybe this is a sign that you've had enough, Garreth," she said gently.

He looked at her with a lop sided grin. "Maybe you're right," he said, his words slurring softly. "I did drink another one of my Victory Tipples."

"Well, at least you're still standing I suppose," she chuckled. She took his arm. "Come on, let's find somewhere to sit."

They ended up at the bottom of a staircase, side by side. There was a couple sitting in the corner, kissing and so wrapped up in themselves they hadn't even noticed MC and Garreth sit down.

"Enjoy your snog with Trixie?" She asked, giving Garreth a sideways look.

Garreth grinned. "She was definitely keen."

MC wrinkled her nose. "Yes, she does seem to have a thing for Weasleys."

He chuckled and winked at her. "We are irresistible, as you well know. Oscar seems to have won you over."

"Your brother is very charming," she agreed. "Although, I'm not entirely sure what he sees in me. He could have any girl that he wanted."

Garreth nudged his shoulder against her. "Oscar chose you, though," he said. He sighed, head dipping. "And you said yes. He's lucky."

MC twirled her drink in her hand. "Maybe."

Garreth looked up, his green eyes focusing dreamily on her face, his smile soft.

"There's no maybe about it. If it were me, I would pick you over Trixie any day of the week," he slurred. He held his finger up to emphasise his point. "Facts."

MC shifted on the step and she avoided his gaze, waving off his words with a giggle of embarrassment. "Wow, you are definitely drunk," she said. "No more booze for you."

His lopsided smile returned as he leant towards her, his thumb brushing across her cheek. "You are the prettiest girl in Hogwarts. It is no surprise my brother wants you."

MC gasped, the touch of his thumb a surprise, especially with how it had instantly made warmth bloom across her cheeks. Feeling confused and flustered, she caught hold of his hand and moved it away from her face, placing it on his lap instead.

Drunk Garreth was a flirty Garreth, it seemed, and MC was rather caught off guard by it. She had been crushing over him last summer, but it had seemed to be no more than friendship between them, much like Sebastian. His obvious flirting was entirely new, and it made her cheeks hot.

"You flatter me," she said softly. "Although, I do believe it is the drink talking."

He shook his head, his green eyes darkening, and he opened his mouth to speak again, and MC panicked. What if he said something he would regret? What if he spoke out of turn and Oscar found out? She put her hand over his mouth, silencing him. "Don't..."

Her heart was pounding in her chest. She couldn't let him say anything more, scared of what might spill from his lips. He was drunk, make no mistake, but that dark, blazing look in his eyes right now was so eerily like the way Oscar looked at her that she felt her skin prickle with awareness and shock.

He spoke, his words muffled against the palm of her hand, the brush of his lips causing a tingling sensation and she yanked her hand back quickly.

"Sorry," he said, sheepishly. He pushed his hand through his hair and flashed a cheeky smile, swaying a bit and holding his fingers up in a pinching gesture. "I think I'm a teeny bit drunk."

MC huffed a laugh and nodded. "I would say so, yes. Come on, up you get. You should go and sleep it off."

As Garreth staggered across to the boy's dormitory stairs, MC watched him go, biting her lower lip as she pondered his words. Surely, it was the booze talking. Of course it was. They were friends, weren't they? And perhaps he wouldn't even remember any of this come tomorrow.

But she would remember, and the heat still hadn't left her flushed cheeks, her fingers gently touching where he had caressed her with his thumb.

....*....

Snuggled up under her blankets, her lips still a little swollen from Oscar's goodnight kiss, MC felt her insecurities rushing in now that she was in the quiet darkness. Was she enough for Oscar? Did she really fit into his life, and did he fit into hers?

Those worries were pressing up against the way Oscar made her feel, the quickening of her heartbeat, the tingles from his kisses. She blushed as she remembered the gentle caress of his hand over her bottom tonight. It was the first time anyone had touched her in such a way. It had left her breathless, excitement swirling with the ever-present nervous self-awareness of what her body was capable of.

Her gaze lifted over towards Poppy who was curled up under her own blankets. "Are you awake, Pops?" She whispered.

"Yeah, I'm awake, my head is buzzing," Poppy giggled.

"I told you not to drink Garreth's creation," MC sighed.

"Oh, where is that sense of adventure of yours?"

MC pondered that. Adventures usually led her into trouble, and she'd had enough of that to last her a while.

"Do you think Oscar and I are suited?"

Poppy shifted and looked over at her. "Are you having second thoughts?"

MC shrugged. "I'm not sure I am his type."

"Is this because of Trixie? Sebastian was moaning about her earlier, I think that's why him and Oscar aren't getting along."

MC frowned, her stomach twisting at the thought of Trixie McNair, especially when she couldn't get the image of her devouring Garreth out of her mind. The whole thing just made her uncomfortable.

"I guess I'm just too inexperienced. I have no clue what I'm doing," MC said with a sigh.

"Isn't that half the fun? We can explore what it is we actually like, what we want?" Poppy said. "Oscar likes you, MC, I can tell. And I think you like him too. Okay, so he has a past, but he can't change that. Just give him a chance. It's only natural to be nervous. I mean, I wanted to kiss Sebastian so much that it made me feel sick, but if he actually does it, I'm worried I will panic and run away from him."

MC bit her lip, fighting a grin. "You know he would chase after you if you did that, right? He can be very determined when he wants something."

Poppy put her fingers to her lips as she thought about that. "Hmm, that does sound rather thrilling and adventurous, doesn't it? Having a boy chase after you for a kiss."

MC chuckled and adjusted her pillows. "You read far too many romance novels, Poppy Sweeting."

"And you don't read enough," Poppy promptly said. "Just enjoy being with Oscar. He is handsome, charming, and I bet he could teach you a thing or two."

They both giggled as they settled back down for sleep, MC closing her eyes and holding her fingers against her lips, hoping for sweet dreams.

To be continued...

[tansyuduri]

You all get an extra chapter since Merlin was Trending: Chapter 14 is up!

It's a good thing I drank it. He thought giddily as his magic awareness tried to rip itself in five directions at once in time and space. He had to corral it with his own power so as not to go insane. I don’t think the others could handle this.

There! A griffin near a stream. Oh! A woman in medieval clothing curing her neighbor. Magical creatures in some sort of pen. A woman in modern clothing in the Camelot's halls setting up a stereo as an oddly dressed man with red eyes watched. Then magical creatures in a basement or cave. His awareness jumped to his younger self trying to save a unicorn. Then to an ancient sorcerer raising up some sort of monster. An elderly version of Kei teaching a child magic… Merlin was losing more and more control as the potion wore on. He had to do something. 

ENOUGH! He grabbed most of his magical awareness, muttered some words, and tucked his awareness in a cocoon. Sheltering it from the visions that tried to assault the place of safety. 

Merlin huddled there, assaulted as hours passed and slowly the visions began to fade. 

When he came to, he was laying partly on the sofa of their suite and partly in someone's arms. He was wrapped in blankets and panting. For a moment everything was blurry.. and then there were voices. He blinked and tried to clear his vision and his mind.

“You’re our healer Elaine! There has to be something!” Arthur’s voice. “It's been hours!”

“He's done something with his magic to protect himself. If I try anything it might mess that up!”

“Then we just have to wait here while he’s twitching like that, experiencing who knows what!? It almost looks like before…

He heard an apologetic cooing squawk from the dragon and then its weight landed on him. Euthymos breathed on him and Merin's mind and vision cleared.

“Remind me…” He croaked. “Remind me never to do that again.” His hand went up to stroke and reassure Euthymos now that he could see straight. He realized Arthur was holding him. Arthur looked down, his face filled with relief and Elaine’s head moved into his vision.

“Please tell me you had no idea this would happen.” Arthur’s voice was rough as he tried to control his tone. One hand stroked Merlin's hair. “And that there will be no more of this kind of thing for a while. Because I swear Merlin if you knew this was coming and didn’t tell me…”

“I didn’t..!” Merlin insisted. “Potion was wrong!”

“And that makes It better!? Honestly Merlin! Do an extra check.. Or or something!” Despite Arthur’s angry tone his hand kept running gently through the sorcerer's hair.

“Gonna close my eyes and pretend to fall asleep if you keep yelling at me.” Merlin huffed.

“Oh, well then.” Arthur started. “you-”

Elaine cut them off. “Enough! You both can argue after we know what happened!”

Read it here

[shouldprobablybereading]

Finished the way of kings prime in full, overall it's actually really good. It's much darker than actual stormlight, and especially the last big section is just really tragic. I joke about the kholins dropping like flies and they really do, this is the version of the story where instead of being rescued by skar and drehy gavinor would have been killed in kholinar.

Overall I'd say real twok is better. But there are some things that I think this one did better. It definetly feels like a more cohesive book despite having so many characters in different directions. It really helps that the shallan equivalent has been jasnahs ward for years and lived with the kholins for years as they fought the prime equivalent of the war at the shattered plains. So most of the main important characters know each other some way or another. Compared to real twok which is basically 2-3 separate books in a trenchcoat pretending to be one story.

The political focus is also nice and having jasnah as a main character was delightful, tho he made some improvements in the later version. I really look forward to having her as a main pov in the back 5, should I ever get to read them. "Evil" elhokar was also surprisingly fun to read, really tragic and interesting.

The midsection is imo what really drags it down as you realize pretty quickly that the main sanderlanche event is going to be the battle between the invading forces from jah keved and dalenars forces. Which when you have both jasnah and merin in separate plotlines of trying to warn dalenar and elhokar about the invasion, makes it very annoying every time they take a detour. Jasnah and taln did not need that many chapters to walk across the country and fall in love. I've read the way of kings I already know kaladin is gonna run in with and army and save the day.

Also merin, who is supposedly "kaladin if he had diffrent life experiences". Is just so incredibly boring, I haven't posted about him because I have nothing to say. He and aredor, I was falling asleep during the chapters of them hanging out. Renarin was the saving part of that entire plotline.

The last 10 chapters where easily the best of the entire book, as hopeless and drawn out as that battle was it got so emotional. You know a situation is bad when both jasnah and dalenar have cried out of greif and hopelessness. Very entertaining.

[nerdynachodaze]

I got a headcannon. Merlin and Morganna secretly wed in like season 2, but at the end of the season 3 when Morganna left with that evil Blonde lady that was their unofficial "divorce" and Merin was left heartbroken but flashforward a year later in season 4 during Arthur and the knights quest to seal the veil, he (finally) seduces Merlin and their relationship starts out purely sexual but then they (obviously) fall in love.

Also, Morganna ain't completely over Merlin so her fury over her brother fucking her (kinda) ex-husband fuels her vendetta against him oooh

🤭 i love bisexual mess

[miserywizard]

who would win in a fight, merin or malachiasz

i'm curious because as far as i remember they are both virtually immortal (kind of? maybe??)

Oh, Merin. Merin can open and close black holes.

Malachiasz is, like Indestructible but not necessarily immortal. Everything got a little wonky with him when he got resurrected by….. whatever that gods name was….

Merin’s just built different*

*wrong

Counterpoint of course Malachiasz could suicide bait Merin and they would fall for it. So. Who can say, really, who wins here.

[mcleodhandcraftgifts]

[arkhos048]

The Bloodsworn

“We work in the shadows cast by the burning flames of creation. To serve our god, conscience, and to ensure that a far, far darker future shall never come to pass.”

1st inquisitor Mattheis, Codex of Inquisition’s foundation

Clad in armor crafted from the steel of the abyss, forged in the fires of creation, and blessed with the ashes of a phoenix which had finally met an end to its eternal life, the inquisitor approached the cathedral of silver light within the temple grounds of the eastern protectorate. Under the command of Lord Commander Arkhos – one of Thurbard’s acclaimed children, if, the least impressive of either.

In the dark of the night, the blackened steel twisted and morphed with every step through the shadows of the street. The stars were concealed by a thin layer of clouds which hung over the cavern riddled desert, and, as the church’s name had suggested, a silvery, waning moon hung high in the sky, casting its gaze over the beauty which was creation. Soon, it would vanish, much like the stars. And to be expected, the cursed creatures and aberrations of  Aarklash would find their way from their twisted realms once again.

            Yet, as the inquisitor approached the cathedral’s steps of white marble – his attention and thoughts drifted towards another purpose other than hunting abomination and heretic on this night. An apocalypse had been averted – barely, by the hands of the temple, and supposedly, under the reign of the new empress upon the throne, Lady Mira – Thurbard’s other child and the chosen of Merin, a new age had set upon the griffon of Akkylannia. An age of light and purifying fire. Free of suspicion, darkness and the lies told and upheld by her predecessors since the days just after the prophet Arcavius. No, today his thoughts and fears were somewhere far, far distant. In the ashen ruins of another kingdom consumed by death, plague, and purged by holy fire. Icquor, once a thriving barony within Alahan.

He ascended the steps of white marble and the burning braziers exploded with the life of blue fire as he approached. A welcome to normal weary travelers. Looking for protection from the elements, from persecution, or, in most cases, from the suspicion of the inquisition. As even they had not the authority to apprehend a criminal or heretic within these sacred walls.

A fact, he would lament as he approached the towering oak doors at the cathedral’s apex, which Arkhos has well abused when sheltering representatives of the arachnid in the closing days at the tail end of the most recent war of fate.  Right before Mira’s ascension, and the official end of his vigilant watch.

            The doors swung open, and only the dimmest of candles on the inside of the pews down the main aisle of this sacred place were lit. Every 4th candle on either side, each spaced 4 feet apart from the next. It cast just enough flickering light that he could walk without needing to worry of tripping over his own two feet, or running into one of the colossal white pillars which upheld the arches and domed roof of the cathedral. Distant, somewhere far off, the main bell of the church’s tallest spire sounded four times to mark the hour. Faint, soft, and its echoes reverberating from the halls which were only interrupted by the sound of metal clicking against stone – the grinding of joints, and the solemnity in which the inquisitor had walked.

His watch, however. Against the darkness, against the heretic, against the abomination despite demand, had gone on. Just like so many of Merin’s most faithful. Never had there been the need to seek the utmost glory. Unlike many. Unlike the likes of those who abandoned their purpose the moment suspicion fell upon their ranks – he had truly believed in their cause. A deeper purpose than that of their empire. But of all of creation.

By now, he approached the altar. Stripping his sword off its belt and letting it fall to the floor. Its clattering, like the bell filling the hall shattering the peace with an unprecedented violence, and he would kneel at the foot of the altar, where the light of the moon fell through a small glass window high above to illuminate its entirety in beloved white purity.

And he would pray, if for nothing more, than courage.

-

            Deacon Tiberius was not one to take kindly to the rumors and suspicions which hounded the imperial faith since the testimonies of the prophet Arcavius himself. Seeking lies to preach, or to find flawed logic to explain miracles and blessing bestowed upon their chosen people in ways that a common many may one day be able to achieve. Such lines of thought – to achieve perfection, godhood even, was what had left so many to fall to the temptations of the dark alchemy of the twisted, vile demon Arleth-tolth an untold millennium ago. Even before the exploits, and corruption of  Dirz and his heresy only few centuries prior to the modern era. Caused, potentially by the shadowy hands of the inquisition some would have claimed. Most notably the more…fanatical of the templar order. But, in the case of the deacon’s own logical reasoning, it was merely an uncovering which led to the first, and most disastrous crusade against the darkness which gathered within the reaches of their northern borders. They had done their job diligently. Had served the very purpose their creation had set them to. And as such, had been allowed to continue their reasoning, their purging of heresy as a result. Even if, over decades and centuries, that oath to protect creation had warped and twisted and become malformed just as terribly as the heretics which they claimed to despise with such justified fervor.

            The list, he had read. The list of the executed, the purged, the accused which the deacon had finally accessed in the closing days after the battle of the braziers, as the inquisition and its many agents lay in tattered ruin at the feet of the temple’s most faithful of Merin. Thousands of names, struck from honor, from remembrance, from acknowledgement on the merest hint of dissatisfaction which life, with the empire, with their daily struggles had broken something within the man who had let it go on for so long. Unchecked because there had been no need.

            The executions, carried out by the monks of the order effectus. Silent, deadly assassins and those who carried out swift justice were plenty in the coming weeks. And the trials were ongoing for years as the empire of the Griffin had sought to rebuild itself closer to what it could have been. What it SHOULD have been all along. That shining, brilliant light which bored through the eternal darkness. The exemplar of what should have been.

            The last one had been months ago now, and the order effectus had been sent on to their normal duties in each protectorate and hold and monastery which they had called home. And since that time the lady Mira had kept her oaths and words. And reconstruction after the war of conscience had begun in earnest. Where even old enemies, the arachnid most notably, had become an ally in a way which the deacon would have never thought possible. Although it was yet a strained relationship with the elves aligned with the dark…their purpose was…acceptable, as it lined up with Merin’s grand design. And, surprisingly, had little conflict with faith.

            It also helped that they hated the heretics and undead just as fervently as the temple which now ruled from the throne. And honestly, had the deacon not known better, he would have accused Thurbard of some amazing play for power. But the elder soldier, commander of commanders, and consort to our lady of light had no hand to be played in politics.

            A true templar, despite how much the deacon had hated his guts.

            It was yesterday morning as a particular sheet of paper slid across the deacon’s desk. Just after his morning’s sermon. When a messenger, a fusilier in this case of the 23rd corps had come to his office and presented a sealed envelope bearing the seal of the inquisition. Upon dismissal – he pondered just throwing it into the fire. It would have been the wise thing to do. To not fall into the folly of whatever depths of disgust would come from any further involvement of this ruinous organization. When a whisper came to his ear. An ethereal, quite demand that he should open it.

            A whisper, likely, of his own delusional pride. But he broke the seal, and only a single line was scratched in blood mimicking ink on parchment.

“The remains of icquor stir once more”

-

“Through acts we shall be saved. Through experiment we shall find perfection. Through perfection – ascension.” – Testament of the great prophet Dirz, 3rd Era, year 43

-

            Tiberius knew the second that someone entered the premises of the cathedral the moment that the braziers burned to life upon its steps. Their blue fire as much a guide to the weary as it was an early alarm system for those within. This holy site was placed on the border of Akkylannia’s eastern protectorate, and when it was first constructed – likely out of spite to the elements and a testament to their hubris in the days after the first crusade – the invasion by abomination and clone was extremely likely. From above, below, or by simple siege.

            While Many of the more fortress like elements had given way to the typical gothic architecture of the empire’s more ornate structures – the alert had always remained in place as such magic, despite its simplicity, had always been awe inspiring. Giving this place an aura of mysticism that inspired faith by most pilgrims. Surprisingly, however, the braziers used to burn golden-red prior to the appearance of the lady of light. An effect which only inspired even more faith and was a self-fulfilling prophecy of rampant fervor. A necessity, perhaps, but rarely would it lead to anything but disgusting amounts of eventual hatred which would lead to war again, and thus the cycle of this would repeat itself forever en eternum.

            Reflection, now, would be ironic as Deacon Tiberius stepped into the church’s grand hall proper. Shutting the door in his stead to allow it to close without a sound breaking the hallowed silence. Even from so far away, the black armor stood out starkly in the flickering candlelight. A fiery phantasm lost in prayer to a god, which he knew stood at great odds with how reality truly presented itself. It knelt before the altar, unmoving. And even its breaths seemed still.

            It, it. Because Tiberius refused to admit that anything wearing that armor was human. That it had red blood flowing through its veins. That any conscience could possibly be present within the evil that radiated from such an adherent.

            But, this was a place blessed by Merin, and as such, no blood of the light shall be spilled by his hand. Even if it hardly qualified as such anymore.

            His approach was quiet, and he could swear that phantom choirs sung through the darkness. The faintest of sounds ringing chants provided a cold comfort by the time he decided to stop several meters away yet from the inquisitor, still unsure that this wasn’t a trap set up to get vengeance from some perceived slight against them. His sword lay out of immediate arms reach, although it didn’t mean that something wasn’t nefarious. While they had claimed to serve the same god, clearly, the interpretation was…different.

            So, the inquisitor prayed on. The blackened armor wicked in the shadows as the deacon watched. What did it pray for? Forgiveness? Absolution? It wouldn’t find it here of all places. Far, far beyond any forgiveness that could be granted by the hands of the church. And the pope was far, far past offering such to the tattered remnants of darkness which still plagued their beloved empire.

            “Thank you for coming”. It said as it looked up to the ceiling one last time. To the thin glass pane that allowed the moonlight to sweep through the cathedral. Its prayer had finally come to an end as it stood from where it knelt. Drops of blood – a black, darkened ichor staining the stone upon which it had knelt.

            “Against my better judgement” Grumbled the deacon as he made sure to let the disgust emanate in each word uttered. As fire burned away the darkness on the marble, and as the choirs of the ancients fell silent in witness. “But you’ve made a point that intrigued me. Tell me. What comes of icquor?”

            For but a moment, the inquisitor remained silent in recollection of the events which led him to send such a desperate letter to the very man who had sent the command which led to the execution of his order. What he saw, and more importantly, just why he had seen it that dark day. Tilting his head up so that the deacon was staring directly into the abyss which was his helmet – the inquisitor would break the silence once more.

            “I was tracking the templar Acadia” he announced before the deacon cut in sharply.

            “The healer? Why?”

            “The warrior” He corrected with contempt. “You and I both know that she’s been a long way from a healer for the longest time now.” He would pause – having to recollect his line of thought whilst the cold memory filled him with ire. “But I was tracking her because a divine wind told me to follow, to witness.”

            The deacon looked unimpressed – having forgotten just how zealous the inquisition had been – quite the mirror image of the temple if somehow even far more extreme in their dogma. But hadn’t found the need to interject again. Not yet at least.

            “So I followed her as she made preparations for a long journey. To the land of Icquor where of course there were remains of the dead still wandering. Cursed to that infinitude of suffering. Disorganized, empty.” He didn’t want to embellish on the facts which likely were already known to the deacon. The reports were distributed throughout the entire empire. To the church to study, to the military to figure out how best to plan incase the plaguelands began expanding, wandering through the realm rather than its little corner of nowhere. “And then she went to the old church of Merin – our little church of pilgrimage for wandering visitors to the kingdom of Alahan.”

            By now, the deacon was nodding along by now – he knew of the events which took place there just after the Salvation of Arcavia and the appearance of the lady of light had occurred. It had been, for some time, consumed by the wasting plague of Archeron. Designed to wither and consume and twist the form until it bent the knee to their dark masters. Acadia, as one of her newly anointed honor guard had been present. And had been responsible for its…utter destruction for lack of a better term to apply to the situation. Utter, complete annihilation of  an entire barony and its population.

            The result, as reported by any who stood after the act, was a barren hellscape where even insects would never willingly tread again.

            “But why were you following her? She’s one of the lady’ s honor guard”. It was a question which irked him, but the inquisitor would gladly answer.

            “I was seeking to understand Arethenia more. Such as we understand Merin. Hopefully it would have led to a new understanding of the divine.” As the inquisitor spoke – Tiberius had no doubt there was more to it than simply a genuine need to understand how divinity worked. While the lady of light had been a boon – created as Merin’s holy light. There were secrets that she had refused to reveal to the church of her father.

            “Nonetheless, you said that icquor stirred. What did you find there?”

“I found a creature of Shyhaar. An omnimancer of one of their great labs. It stood ten feet in height, and it stalked through the dark ruins in search of something. Through the silent streets and ruin strewn carcass of the city proper. It had the black armor of an inner circle, and a sword-axe that morphed in its hand.”

This didn’t surprise the elder deacon. Though his brows furrowed and at the mention of the inner circle of heretics – the few flickering candles dimmed – and a cloud had passed over the moon high above. Clouding the altar in a thin veneer of darkness. “This doesn’t sound unusual, what –“

            “It bore the searing blessing of both Arle-tolth.”

            “That’s –“

            “And the light of Merin. Though faint, was present”

A breeze shuddered through the church, and those few candles found their light extinguished as the deacon closed that short distance between them now. Such blasphemous claims filled him with the righteous rage of a thousand fallen souls. “You lying – “

“On the oath of what the inquisition should have been, and what is left of my tattered soul, I swear that what I say is true” The inquisitor said, unflinching in his resolve as he brought this dire warning with an unmatched urgency. “I came to warn, because one of their dark laboratories have found out how to artificially build his blessings into their abominations…and..and” He stuttered finally. Though fear had never gripped the inquisition, this was as close to it as it could come. “Acadia left, willingly, with it”

The deacon stopped. Blinked first. And once again. The holy warrior, chosen of the child of their god had consorted with such an enemy. It would require…consultation with their lady of light. Merin’s avenging star. She’d find this news. Troubling at least. And though not the first time consorting with the heretic had occurred. Thus, is how Sered convinced the eclipse laboratory to aid them against their former, tormenting masters. Something here shook him deeply. A creation so loyal to the scorpion’s claw that it bore such precedence to be that easily identifiable with confidence and stride so far outside of its boarders .and charismatic enough to twist the thinking of one of the holy incarnations -!

It was almost the worst news that the inquisitor could have brought. But it was not quite the horrible truth which he had expected. Afterall, the warrior was experienced, faithful to a fault. What she did always had a purpose. And yet, an example of such a hero had yet to come forth and offer betrayal to the empire. After all she had seen, sacrificed, and lost – Tiberius doubted that she would be the first.

Did she need therapy? Oh, by no doubt the woman was. Not even thirty and a veteran of more than four wars which included the razing, and salvation of Arcavia. Thus was the life of a templar, however. IF not saved through fate, then damnation of eternity, in life, and death it would then be.

He let the thought process. And debated his next line very carefully.

“I’ll offer you an order. One more and a chance of redemption” The deacon said with suspicion. “Under oath that never shall it be revealed what it is.”

As the inquisitor stood in the shadow of the still obstructed moon, the faithful could have sworn a wicked red hellfire rose behind the mask which obstructed the bastard’s features. It searched for a purpose. And suddenly the deacon understood just how far their own heresy had gone in those final days.

“Leave. Leave akkylannia and never return. Under the damnation of the abyss shall you ever cross into our boarder again. But continue your hunt. Track Acadia and find, root out this darkness and put an end to it. If you succeed, I’ll see to it that your soul enters the land of heaven, despite all you have done.”

It was his death sentence. The inquisitor recounted. He’d never see this land again and would likely be hunted regardless of what the deacon would or could even try to promise. Despite his misgivings – it would nod, accepting this one, small piece of absolution.

“I Shall leave in the morning then.” He answered, turning away from the deacon, as footsteps, armored. Heavy. Horses had come with them – and the deacon’s praetorian guard had finally found him.

The deacon turned to leave, without another word. Only looking back to the figure of twisted night made steel and flesh. Its eternally bleeding armor must have been a torment unbecoming. It was torment unbecoming. Designed as an ancient, arcane, disgusting penance for the sinner long ago before even Alahan had set its roots in the world. The inquisitor only returned, kneeling at the altar to resume its prayer, as the night drifted on and into dawn.

-

            “Your duty is to ensure I get to Belial as fast as I can. Come, show the darkness what it means to be the avenging arm of Merin.” – Saint Arethenia, 4th era, year 83 – the reclamation of Arcavia

[kats-chaotic-wonderland]

Hey I went ahead and put together the character blog for Merin Falls, I'll be direct posting as Amber from here on, but the links will be on all associated master posts and navigation.

Amber Haze

Follow that blog if you want the in character interaction part of Merin Falls. It's kinda a low energy arg/nosleep/creepypasta thing. I'll be adding art and other media for it as things progress.

Merin Falls Navigation Post

Horror Master Post

Master Post

[merinate]

do i look like a fucking taxi driver or smth🧍🏽🧍🏽🧍🏽

[allthingsdarkanddirty]

IT'S COVER REVEAL TIME!Check out the stunning covers of the #TNTNC25 exclusive paperback anthologies, Scorned & Desired!!

Photographs: Golden Czermak / Furiousfotog Cover Design: Golden Czermak / Furiousfotog 

The Tempted and Tantalizing Authors are back with a vengeance and they're bringing heartache and heat with two new anthologies that prove sometimes letting go is all it takes to find the love of your life...

SCORNED:  

What if your soulmate was waiting on the other side of heartbreak?

If you believe in happily ever after, don't miss your chance to join the TNTNC Authors for a brand new collection of rebound romances that will have you cheering for new beginnings as each of their courageous heroines heals from her own dating disaster.

This steamy signed paperback omnibus is a #TNTNC25 exclusive and is guaranteed to make you a believer in blessings in disguise as you swoon and sigh for the ultimate comeback: falling in love after moving to splitsville.  

Each spicy story in this angsty anthology is the companion to a sexy tale featured in DESIRED, so to experience how life-altering true closure can be, grab both volumes and a box of tissues for a truly tempting treat. 

Featuring stories from:

Rae B. Lake

Sunny Mawson

Darlene Tallman

Jordan Marie

Ciara St. James 

Amy Stephens

J.C. Layne

Miranda Lynn

ER Whyte

DESIRED: It's better to be set free than to settle for less than true love.

If you love all the feels, take the ultimate journey to healing in this emotional romance collection full of tenacious heroes reeling from rocky relationships, battling their inner demons, and summoning the strength to start over. 

There's nothing sexier than a leading man who can see the past clearly and only has eyes for his future, and this delicious compilation is sure to have you cheering for fresh starts and falling head over heels for the kind of love you didn't even know you needed. 

This #TNTNC25 exclusive anthology is the other half to SCORNED, so don't break them up. Order both volumes and settle in for a very tantalizing ride. 

Featuring stories from:

Janine Infante Bosco

C.D. Gorri

E.C. Land

M. Merin

Nikki Landis

Michelle Iannarelli

C.J. Pinard

Natalie Arthur

C. Hallman Preorder your copies here today: 

[minhosbitterriver]

for the wip game ^-^

❌📄

Thank you for participating, Merin! I have so many WIPs it’s not even funny so I thought this would be fun and also give me the excuse to go through them again. Doing this also reminded me of the fact that I only just started writing in second person after preferring third person my entire life a couple of months ago and I thought this was an interesting little fact to share about myself.

( ❌ ) What WIP do you find the most challenging? Why?

So I have a WIP that I started at the beginning of 2023 but have been struggling a lot with. You Burn Me ‘Till The End is a project I both love and hate. It’s with Lee Know and it’s basically about an extremely troubled author of children’s books. The reason why I think it’s so challenging is because it’s very heavy on parental abuse (past tense) and how it affected my OC in the present. As a victim of severe abuse myself, it can be very difficult to write about it at times, but it’s also a way for me to express myself and sort through my trauma so I think that’s why I don’t want to give up on it.

This was all inspired by the k-drama It’s Okay to Not Be Okay, which I highly recommend.

( 📄 ) What’s a WIP you never finished that you would like to go back and revisit?

One of the very firsts WIPs in the SKZ fandom I have is one that I hold very dear to my heart, a project I started but never finished in 2022 — a year-ish after I joined the fandom. It makes me so sad to think about sometimes because it was something that brought me a lot of comfort to daydream and write about, but I hope one day I can find the right ending for it.

‘Till Forever Falls Apart was inspired by Ashe and FINNEAS’ song with the same title. It was about a blind date between Han Jisung and a female OC, which was arranged by their families since they were desperate for their kids to have someone in their lives. They’re both idols, too, which I feel made it all very interesting especially since they had to keep their relationship a secret in the beginning. What I loved the most about it, however, was the actual dynamic between them because my OC suffered from fibromyalgia (a type of chronic pain condition) and we all know that Han suffers from very intense anxiety. Having these conditions would sometimes bring out the worst in themselves, but at the end of the day it was the patience and compassion that kept them together. Han would take care of OC when the physical pain became unbearable and she would return the favor in soothing him while having an attack or generally anxious.

If I were to get back to it and post it, though, I think the title would be changed to something related to Han’s Volcano song since I feel it would suit best.

Wanna join? Here’s the WIP Game!

[cocktailsfairytales]

💚☠️ NEW RELEASE ☠️💚

Royce by M. Merin

Northern Grizzlies MC (Book 8)

💚☠️ Order Today ☠️💚

Available on Amazon & in #KindleUnlimited

Link: https://books2read.com/RoyceNGMC

🔥Blurb

Molly is new in Rowansville and trying to fulfill her dreams as she tries to find out more about her mother's past. She was told early on that 'the Northern Grizzlies own the town' - which she quickly learns when she crosses them.

Royce's troubles have long been of his own making, but when he falls, he falls hard. Hold on tight as Molly and Royce learn to make peace with their pasts and figure out what a perfect love would look like.

☠️ Check out the other books in the Northern Grizzlies MC Series ☠️

NGMC Series - https://books2read.com/rl/NorthernGrizzliesMC

. • ✰ 𝙎𝙏𝘼𝙔 𝘾𝙊𝙉𝙉𝙀𝘾𝙏𝙀𝘿 ✰ • .

✔️ M. Merin - https://bit.ly/3OC0kUX

✔️ Merin’s Website - https://www.mmerin.com/

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