#or perhaps a creature that is trying so hard to be human but just missing the mark. and everyone can tell but they're trying to be nice

[dr-gaytorius]

being personable and pleasant by nature must be so amazing. imagine not leaving every interaction like "not my finest work and i definitely went wrong but i'm not sure where." that would be crazy

[zorosdimples]

MORE, PLEASE, ALWAYS, FOREVER

pairing ༄ simeon x gn!reader

warnings ༄ minors: please do not interact! i will block you. suggestive content, religious/sacrilegious imagery, corruption, manipulation, dubious consent, drugging. simeon calls reader “little one” and “darling.” please let me know if i’m missing anything!

word count ༄ 771

notes ༄ this is my first time posting my writing, so please be kind! this drabble is darker than what i usually write; i’ve just been thinking about simeon and corruption for months… i have fluffier pieces in the works, i promise! <3

“but s-simeon,” you whispered, afraid to raise your voice lest desire drip from each syllable—as if the angel couldn’t see your trembling thighs or the glint of hunger in your gaze. your skin glowed, he observed, all dewy with want; he had never seen anything so beautiful, so vulnerable. your chest heaved as though you couldn’t catch your breath. “you’re an angel.”

“yes?” he hummed, trying not to sound too eager—all while his blood sang for you.

your tongue wetly floundered for a response, brain unable to comprehend anything other than the fierce fire that licked at your very core. oh, if he did not relish your sputtering, dumb state. you hung onto his every word as if he would lead you to salvation.

that’s what angels were created for, right?

“angels, humans, demons—we all have more in common than you think. we all have similar urges, similar needs,” simeon stated, lithe fingers traveling down your sides to dig into the soft flesh of your hips, forcing a breathy sigh from your lips. shame would have eaten you alive had it not been for your desperation.

“but you humans are rather self-centered, no?” he asked with an experimental squeeze that had your eyes fluttering dreamily. “you assume that your corrupted moral compass applies to the other two realms.”

you shivered as simeon leaned so close that you could smell the sweetness—caramel?—that clung to his skin. his lips brushed your ear as he whispered, “angels, as god’s chosen creatures, are encouraged to love deeply.” his fingertips grazed your belly as you swallowed thickly. his hot breath melted your resolve while his thinly-veiled words had your nerves thrumming in anticipation.

patience was a virtue that simeon usually embodied, but the thrill you inspired within him was cracking his restraint. he couldn’t help but push: push himself, push you. he needed to hear you to say it.

he gently cradled your chin between his thumb and forefinger, angling your face to meet his expectant gaze. if you had been in the right state of mind, perhaps you would have noticed how his azure irises were unusually dark, pools of midnight you could drown in.

the smile that tugged at his lips was almost wicked as he probed, “what do you need, little one? tell me.”

the endearment fell on deaf ears as you leaned into simeon’s grasp like a simpering pet. your eyes flickered down to his lips instead of answering his question, biting down on your own almost hard enough to draw blood.

“ah ah,” he chided, pinching your chin, still a hair’s breadth from your face.

you looked like a wounded animal for a moment, eyes wide and shimmering, staring down the barrel of a hunter’s gun. you tried to wriggle from his grasp in embarrassment.

the angel’s grip was unyielding, though. he was certain there would be bruises on your tender flesh come morning—the thought only heightened his arousal. his honeyed chuckle, like a potent sedative, lulled your movements.

“as much as i appreciate your enthusiasm,” simeon said with featherlight strokes to your burning cheek, “i need you to use your words, darling.”

you whimpered in response. your brain was fried, incapable of intelligent thought. all you could do was feel and act—instinct usurping rationale—more animal than human. all you could muster was a breathy and pathetic “please,” punctuated by the unshed tears that sparkled in your eyes.

“please what?” he cooed with faux sympathy. his free hand skimmed down the slope of your shoulder and the curve of your arm to ultimately settle on the fat of your thigh. the movement caused a tremor to ricochet through your body.

he looked at you like he wanted to devour you, to pick your bones clean, to consume you so wholly that not even your soul remained. and maybe it should have frightened you. but all you wanted was to lay yourself bare and let the angel feast on you until there was nothing left.

“i need you, simeon,” you finally breathed, soft as a prayer.

as soon as the words left your bruised lips, he lifted you onto his lap, wrapping your legs around his waist. you exhaled a warbled moan when he dipped down to scrape his teeth against the column of your throat. “that wasn’t so difficult, was it?” he murmured into your skin.

you were too far gone to answer—not that simeon cared. he finally had you where he wanted you, writhing and whining prettily. he made a mental note to thank solomon for the spell that had his little human begging for more, please, always, forever.

[help-me-im-in-the-fandom]

When you stare into the Abyss: The Beginning of Robin

Bruce never thought he’d have a child, perhaps after his Mission was done, after Gotham was cleaned of the worst of crime and the worst of the worst were behind bars and receiving treatment.

It was a laughable thought, that Bruce would ever manage to clean the corruption out of Gotham, that he would ever be able to pull out the black tar of insanity and crime within his lifetime.

Then Bruce sees a boy watch as his parents die, he sees this small child at the exact same age as he was going through the exact same thing, and it hurts.

Brucie Wayne leaves the circus, but Batman arrives at the crime scene, he wants justice, wants to make sure it was an accident and nothing more, even if for his own heart.

Little Richard Grayson is missing, that’s the first thing he hears, and it scares him. So he joins the search and finds the young boy hidden in one of the Elephant tents. His red, yellow and green Leotard is stained with blood, and it makes Bruce heart ache.

He isn’t scared to see the hulking creature that is Batman, no, this tiny boys is full of rage, of hurt and pain and the need to fight. He screams into Batman’s suit and then collapses into a crying mess on his clawed arms.

He brings the small boy back to the police, even when they watch his non-human form with fear and disgust. He hands the young boy off to be placed with his new guardians and tries to focus on the case.

It isn’t until the next day that he learns the eight year old wasn’t sent to a foster family or even a shelter, but to a juvenile detention center.

There is no family, no will or any instructions on where to place the boy, and the circus doesn’t have the means to fight for the right to keep him, they leave town within the next day.

It’s spur of the moment, born of anger and depression and knowing exactly what that poor boy was going through. Except he didn’t have and Alfred, have the Wayne fortune to keep him safe and cozy inside a huge mansion to cry himself to sleep in.

A few bribes and a lot of money later, and Richard ‘call me Dick’ Grayson is now the Ward of Gotham’s richest bachelor.

The boy is full of energy and the need to play, and Bruce finds himself expanding the gym just to place practice trapeze equipment so he’s got somewhere to let out his energy, beside being a Trapaze artist was in his blood, and Bruce would never try to take it away from him.

But there is rage there too, and after Alfred finds him with a dislocated thumb and bloody knuckles Bruce ends up teaching him how to throw a punch, then how to kick box, then on and on he teaches this boy who soaks up the lessons like a sponge.

It’s not the healthiest coping mechanism, but it works. It turns this grieving and depressed child into a happy and cheerful one, it helps in the best way Bruce knows how.

Then, whoops, Dick follows Alfred into the Batcave and realizes just exactly what’s going on, because Bruce is only halfway into the Batman ensemble and it’s very obvious.

Bruce still hasn’t been able to find Tony Zucco, the man who rigged the Grayson’s to fall. He has tried, so hard, but the lowlife had bunkered down as soon as Batman took to the scene.

Dick yells and screams at Bruce for hiding the secret, then for not being able to catch his parents murderer. He fights Bruce, with the intent to hurt. Bruce regrets teaching how to fight just a little bit, and is very thankful he has a cup on already.

Eventually, after a very long and painful conversation, Dick understands why Bruce hid as he did.

It takes two days before he decides if Bruce can be a crime-fighting Vigelante so can he. Bruce refuses and tells him maybe when he’s older, more trained it might be possible but he is not allowing him to fight crime as a child.

It takes him smuggling into the Batmobile for the fifth time, and almost getting himself caught by a criminal that Bruce realizes that he can’t stop him no matter how hard he tries. Because along with all the tricks the circus and Bruce have taught him, he is a little devil of a child.

So Bruce decides, fine, he can join him on patrol, but only after he goes through this very specific and absolutely grueling training program, keeps his grades above a B+ and after he designs and perfects his own cryptid suit to Bruce’s liking.

Bruce was hoping his endless hoops and almost impossible expectations would make Dick back down, nope, if anything it made him even worse.

He goes through the training with a smile on his face and a continued need to learn, even when Bruce makes him learn how to do college level chemistry, how to code and make back doors and viruses, even when he makes him sit through three hour long lectures on how to tell blood splatters apart.

He excels at school as well, going above and beyond with A+ across the board except for in English, which is understandable since it’s not Dicks first language.

He decides on his mother’s nickname for his new name, Robin, but he also chooses the Grayson colors for his suit, red yellow and green.

Robin looks more like a hummingbird, especially since Dick wanted both stilts and wings on his costume. Bruce actually welcomes the bonding activity of making the prosthetic bird feet that are fully functional, and would never stop Divk from his dream of flying, even if it’s more like paragliding.

Dick even creates his own style of fighting in the suit, flashy and playful but also deadly brutal. Sometimes Bruce forgets how quickly his ward can go from cheery and playful to downright brutal, but honestly he’s proud of his kid, even if this is probably the most concerning father-son bonding excercise ever

And thus, Robin was born and Gotham gained a new cryptid.

[huntermoris]

the new thing to try

SylusxArgenxYou

˙⋆✮˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗✮⋆˙

synopsis: what if, maybe pretty woman and pretty man found you pretty?

character/s: Argen, Sylus and YOU🫵🏻.

wc: 1009

warnings: nothing really but like a pretend rejection and the prospect of not being able to talk to hot women.(this is a call out specifically for bi women)

other than that? this one is for the argen cult :))

˙⋆✮˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗✮⋆˙

It was bustling party; the new year tends to bring out the chaos in people after all. so maybe with this logic you could argue that it was reasonable to be quite a few drinks in this early in the night. what wasn’t reasonable was you sitting here at the bar alone. with no one to kiss when the time eventually came. so, with your third(?) drink of the night in hand you start looking for anyone to catch your eye. 

Just as you’re about to give up and sing the whole drink down. HE shows up, a fine man in a fine suit polished and truly sparkling. He really shone with something. Just alluring in all the right ways. not only that he’s also walking towards you, possibly looking your way as well. Eyes gleaming bright red as they catch yours. is he real?

Then just as you’re about to greet him and lay down your best seductive opening he passes you and leans over the bar. a sobering moment honestly. Just as quickly as he had passed you, he tries to get the bartender’s attention. You felt a bit cheated; he was clearly making eyes at you when he was walking over here. smirked knowingly as all the movie love interests do even.

now some drunken vengeance leads you to do the following: Leaning against the bar you tap his shoulder letting your hand slide down his chest a bit for extra flare. Shockingly he looks at you a bit annoyed, “yes? ah-Don’t touch me so easily darling it’s not for you”. 

No longer leaning over the bar you can truly feel just much he’s towering over you, and a slight fear settles in your bones, but a nice kind, the kind where you need to swallow down extra hard to keep your breath steady and your thighs squeeze together. Perhaps it’s the alcohol talking or maybe even some adrenaline, but this man is so fine you won’t let him reject you after all the eyeing up he was doing before. so instead of letting it go, a dumb drunk part of your body spurts out “I think I can make you like the way I touch you, if you checking me out on your way here has a say in it” a brow is lifted in… what was it? Annoyance? Interest? Arousal? Your drunk mind really enjoyed the last option, so you lean towards him slipping a hand over to “fix” his tie. He looks down at your hand and actually sighs, “miss. As I said it’s not for you, I’m a very married man, now please-” he gently peels your hands away from himself and puts them on your chest. 

“I didn’t come towards the bar for yo-” a presence behind you stops him mid-sentence “now now my darling, you won’t get anywhere with him” a sultry voice whispered beside your left ear. A shiver runs up your back as a delicate hand is tracing up your spine quickly, it then ends its delicate glide on your right shoulder resting right at the base of your neck, a second hand sliding around your waist. you audibly gulped. and you could feel her smile. 

The man before you seems locked on the woman behind, his transfixed eyes filled now with mirth. curious of this creature you turn around, and there she is. Draped in scarlet flowing silk and gems. Silvery white hair styled in such delicate curls running down her back, yet nothing she could ever wear would stand against that face of hers. perfect. Somehow this beauty was beyond your human eyes to comprehend because there is no way she actually just looks like this. 

She made the rest of the party look bleak and bland in comparison; she was otherworldly. You gulped once again as your eyes met hers, they seemed impossible green and were eyes always this shiny? She placed a delicate hand under your chin to force you to look at her again as you’d quickly cast your eyes down the second her eyes had been in view. as she did this you truly mourned the loss of her hand in your waist. 

“He is very drab my love, only has eyes for me” you nod and blurt out a quick “oh god I see why” she laughs and your knees buckle “now now, I think you’re quite the specimen yourself there darling-“ she leans into your ear again this time a shiver fully runs down your spine as her lips almost touches your ear “so maybe if you try those doe eyes at me you’ll get something” nervously you choke a little, as her limbs(and face) remove themselves from your proximity. had this encounter sobered you up less you fear you would whine at the loss of her. Her eyes twinkle with satisfaction as you couldn’t help but chase after her body with your own. wins some and you lose some. thrillingly she allows you closer again. “Oh, please you said it yourself puppy, she’s just our type” she takes a piece of your hair and twirls it between perfectly manicured fingers. “Enough play pretend, she wanted you so dearly baby” you know she speaks to the tall, beautiful man behind you, but her eyes never leave your face, and you never want them too either… what’s happening to you right now? you’d never thought someone could win you over this easily. “I was simply following orders doll, testing the waters”. he reached for her hand over your shoulder clearly intentionally brushing his hand over your neck while doing so. 

you look over your shoulder expecting a fuming man behind you, at the very least a little jealousy in his eyes. Instead, you see him fondly shaking his head, now smiling at you and with a raised brow now definitely in interest. still enclosed by him holding his wife’s hand you somehow relax a little, and just like that you could see yourself so clearly fitting so nicely in between them. 

˙⋆✮ ☆ ✮⋆˙

treat: last year’s birthday dress:))

[humongouspeachinternet]

Little siren part 3!

Tw: a little blood! Maybe some mild violence?

With news of her existence swarming the city you live in after your harrowing rescue from the water, the little siren lays at the bottom of the pond, unmoving even as playful fish tried to nudge her to get her up. It had been days and days of endless voices overlapping each other on the shore of her pond, chattering away about some ‘monster’ lurking in the depths of the water.

Was she really a monster? Words hurt, you know!

Knowing that she was more than likely never going to see you again, she didn’t really feel that there was a point to doing much nowadays. Sure, shiny things were being dropped into her pond on a daily basis now, wriggling worms typically hooked to the end of them, but what was the point of collecting them if she had no one to give them to?

Wiping at her eyes, golden tears dissipate into the water around her, wondering what she’d do with herself now. It took a while, but eventually, the shiny objects began to disappear as the sun began to set, fishermen hoping to catch the creature packing up for the day. The reporters had left hours ago and also had most of the nosy locals if the lack of voices was anything to go by. Looking up toward the surface, a quiet whine slips from her, unsure if anything would ever feel the same again now that your glowing presence was missing from her pond.

It would take you weeks to regain the courage to go anywhere near the pond after nearly meeting your maker in a freak accident. The creature from before was most definitely real, having been given an incredibly dramatic retelling by your friend who helped get you home afterwards.

It was a blue creature covered in luminous scales with eyes that resembled huge black marbles and sharp teeth that looked as if they could rip a small canoe in half if the thing wanted to. It had a long bifurcated tail, so it obviously wasn’t human, but it was nearly as long as you were tall. Not a fish, not a human, but a strange transition between the two.

As scary as the description may have sounded… why would such a nightmarish-sounding creature save you instead of pulling you to your watery demise? It had to be the same creature that you’d startled away before, right? And to think the poor thing was threatened with a rock for pulling you from the water?

After lightly scolding your friend for her threats against your savior a few weeks later and sending her home, you couldn’t get your mind off of the little siren. Sure, she’d been a little bit frightening, but she surely didn’t mean to scare you.

Should you perhaps go and try to apologize to it? Bring it something as a token of your appreciation? You halfway remembered it crying in relief as it brought you ashore and saw you breathing, surely you could spare something as a gift for it caring so much.

By the time you made up your mind, the sun was already beginning to set, but your pace was leisurely, trying not to draw any extra attention to the little pond. It had been plastered all over the news as of late, rewards being put up for catching the blue, blurry creature that someone had hastily snapped a picture of during your rescue. It seemed cruel to hunt something that was just trying to help.

Clutching a little paper box in your hands, you hoped that the creature liked sourdough and turkey, figuring that bringing it a bit of food may ease its mind a little. With all the attention and fishing going on, it must have been hard for it to catch anything for itself the last few weeks. Guilt churned your stomach at the thought. This poor thing, could you-

You wouldn’t get to finish your thought, however, as a shrill shriek filled the shadows of the little park surrounding the pond. It was incredibly high-pitched and squeaky, sounding nothing like a human cry, but then again… there could be an awful explanation for that.

Unfortunately, while she was trying her best to ignore the lonely life she led, the little siren had somehow gotten hooked by the last fisherman of the day. His hook had been trawling the waters and just so happened to catch onto her gills. She thought nothing of the feeling at first, figuring that it was just another fish trying to unearth her from the sand on the bottom of the pond, having not moved in about a week or so. As the tugging grew harder, however, and began pulling her up towards the surface rather quickly, she knew that something was wrong.

With how the past couple of weeks had been going, she almost decided to let herself get dragged up to the surface, but found that she’d rather not become someone’s meal, pulling back against the line. However, the week or so of little to no food had done quite a number on her strength, the siren cursing herself for letting it get this bad as the strong fisherman continued the fight. With the hook lodged firmly in her gills, the pain wasn’t helping her to fight at all either, fighting a losing battle it seemed.

Eventually, the fisherman won, reeling her up to the surface just for her to hang painfully by her gills over the water for a few moments, causing the pained shriek that you’d heard. Gravity really wasn’t her friend in this moment, her body wriggling one way but her gills being pulled the opposite way, blue blood seeping out from around the hook as the man began to pull her to the shore.

You had broken into a sprint towards the pond upon hearing the cry, the sandwich being tossed around quite viciously in its box as you ran to find the creature. Had someone else found it before you? Was it hurt? A cold rush overtook you at the thought of your savior in pain, chopped up for some measly reward money. Was the cash really worth killing an innocent creature?

You’d soon stumble upon the dock where this whole mess started, but find that the pained whimpers were coming from a little further in the brush to your right. It definitely sounded like the creature, but a man’s triumphant laugh echoed out after the noises.

You quietly made your way closer to the sources of the noise, soon finding a tall man with a weighed down fishing pole. On the end of it was the creature from before, now much skinnier and weaker than you remember. You were very much right to bring food it seemed. The man had tugged it… or rather, her, onto the sand, ignoring the way she panted for breath, her gills straining from the lack of water. Pulling out his phone instead, he stood over her, nudging her a little with his boot as he spoke to someone excitedly, very much wanting the prize money he was promised for such a catch. You watched the man kneel down beside the creature, your blood boiling as he tugged on the hook in her neck just to make her cry out again as if she wasn’t already suffering enough.

The man’s mistake, however, came as he stood laughing and turned to go pack up, leaving the backs of his ankles just in reach of a certain fanged creature who wasn’t done quite yet. Within a moment, the man was on the ground, confused for a second before a searing pain shot up both of his legs. You gasp as you watch it all unfold, his Achilles’ tendons easily taken out by the scrawny little creature before she digs her talons into the sand to crawl up and remove a more vital part of him. You turn away and cover your ears as best you can to avoid seeing and hearing what violence she was capable of, but when the muffled noises die down, you find yourself peeking back to see if she was alright.

Covered in her blood and the blood of another, the little siren collapses on the sand a few feet away from the unmoving fisherman, safe but unable to breathe and too weak to pull herself back into the water. What a horrible way to go, she thought, whimpering with her head against the sand. Gold tears pooled in the sand beneath her head, wishing that she’d gotten to see you at least one more time.

Oh.

Wait.

What was that noise?

Sand crunched under quiet feet, trying your best to avoid getting any of the bloody mess on your clothes. The sound alerted her to a presence beside her, but she could hardly pick her head up to see who it was, instead giving a weak warning hiss to try and ward away any more hunters. Surely the blood would deter anyone else from messing with her, right? But as worn out sneakers and faded jeans filled her vision, gentle hands moving to remove the hook from her gills as carefully as possible, she couldn’t find it in her to hiss again, too tired to fight off anyone else. It wasn’t until you began whispering quiet reassurances to her that she recognized just who had come to her aid, quickly pushing herself up in a daze to look at you before falling back into the sand with a whimper.

You came back? For her? Why? You can’t swim, you shouldn’t be anywhere around here, she thought, her hazy brain focusing more on your well-being than her own as she began to close her eyes. The lack of water and the exertion of taking down the man had done her in, her limbs heavy and her head heavier, almost too heavy to feel that she was being pulled back into the water. It wasn’t easy, she was still rather heavy, but with how much weight she’d lost from her weeks of not eating, you were able to slowly get her into the water. You waded in with her until you were about thigh deep, holding her just under the water and waiting on bated breath for her to start coming back to you.

Were you too late? You chewed nervously on your bottom lip as you waited for what felt like an eternity for her gills to start moving again, letting out a relieved sigh when a little bit of her color began to return to her face. Was she still bleeding? Yes, but was she at least able to breathe again? Also yes!

The little siren would wake with a start moments later, gasping under the water and immediately meeting your worried eyes, confusion setting in rather quickly. You shouldn’t be in the water, you’ll drown! However… your hands cradling her head were almost enough to distract her from her concern, still as dizzy as can be from the drama of it all. All that would meet your ears was a muffled whimper of worry, black eyes looking up to you and pleading with you to get out of the water. If you didn’t drown, you’d certainly catch a cold… or get that vile man’s blood on you.

Looking down at her, you carefully smoothed a hand over her face, hoping to relax her a bit in the wake of such a scary encounter. The poor thing, what if this happened again and you weren’t around to help the next time? Smoothing her floating hair from her face, you can’t help but worry for her safety in this little pond. People would find out what she’d done and it would be a witch-hunt until they found her, a thought you could hardly bear.

And that, my friends, is how you ended up with a siren living in your bathtub. A guest needs to use the bathroom in your apartment? Sorry! It’s broken (a.k.a occupied by your darling little siren girlfriend)! Landlords were such an easy scapegoat sometimes. It took some getting used to, sleeping on the cold tile beside the tub to be near her, but you found a way to make it comfortable after a while! Now, she was safe and sound, well-fed and taken care of with no worries of hunters coming near her ever again, and you gained a loving companion for life!

[giorno-plays-piano]

Thorns In His Mouth

Part VII

Pairing: fae!Steve Rogers x reader

Warnings: obsession, dubious consent, minor character death, drugs (neither reader nor Steve are involved), slight eating disorder, mentions of tumor, high tech elves.

Words: 1.2k

Summary: Maybe it was a good idea to chat with a waitress a bit more once she brought you your order. Perhaps she could at least tell you with whom you should speak because you simply couldn’t force yourself to look at others, most of them already high, shouting something loudly or laughing or weeping. You could constantly hear the flapping of someone’s wings, weird whispers and noises, and the sound of boots and hooves that made your hair stand on end.

Part I | Part II | Part III | Part IV | Part V | Part VI

_______

"But where are we going?" You hurried after the elf who was walking way too fast on his goddamn perfectly long legs.

"My friend is a phooka who doesn't like sunlight much," Steve said, turning his face to you but not slowing down. "Since magic costs us too much in your world, not many fae can afford constant glamour. And phookas don't exactly look like humans, so he has to hide where not many people can see him."

Oh. You hadn't thought of that. Phookas were black-haired cat-like - or goat-like? - creatures, as far as you remembered from a book about Celtic fairies you've had as a child. It would be incredibly hard not to freak out if you suddenly saw one in the middle of the city.

Poor creature. Where was it living? How hard it would be to not only be unable to use magic, but also communicate with pretty much anyone at all with an exception of fellow faes? Steve, on the other hand, looked perfectly human even with his strange face and piercing blue eyes, his ears perfectly normal. Was he using glamour?

He seemed to be amused with your expression as he laughed, extending his hand to you so you could walk close instead of dragging behind him.

"Do you use glamour to change the shape of your ears?" You blurted out, unable to keep silent to satisfy your curiosity, and then shame bubbled up inside you as you realized it was a too personal question to ask a literal stranger. Nevertheless, you took his hand when his fingers brushed against yours.

His gaze warmed up. "I do. What, do you want me to oblige you and show you their true form?"

"No, no pleasure, I'm sorry! I don't know why I asked that."

"It's a shame," the elf winked at you. "I'd ask you for a wish in exchange."

Warmth crept into your cheeks: was Steve flirting with you just now? Or was it his fae nature showing itself? The fair folk were supposed to be overly playing - or utterly horrifying. Steve, you thought, was likely both.

Turning to the left, away from the bus station with a long queue of tired students nervously clutching their Ipads and Iphones, you followed the Watcher with your eyes on the road instead of looking at him. It never came to your mind that he considerably slowed down his pace so you could keep up with it, his palm warming yours as he held it gently. You missed his intent stare as he stopped smiling, and his eyes flashed oddly.

"Your first lesson," he finally said after a couple of minutes, breaking the awkward silence. "Don't ever bargain with a fae if it demands a wish in return. Always try to propose something first. Give it something valuable, but what you're ready to part with."

"Like my earrings?"

There's a faint smile on his full lips, "Like your earrings."

"But what if I really need to bargain with a fae, and it wants nothing else but a wish?"

Steve abruptly stopped, and you nearly fell down the ground if he didn't catch you, steading you with his unbearably hot palms on your shoulders, towering over you, his expression somber.

"You NEVER bargain with that fae," he said, and your knees started to tremble out of nowhere when he squeezed your shoulders tight. "Never. Come find me, and I will trade something else with you to help."

There's something dangerous in the way his lips crooked, but you continued staring at his face, anyway, like a snake charmer at a cobra - except it was you being controlled, his voice a low command.

"There has always been plenty of malicious fae even in Sacred lands, but many turned worse in exile. You will never guess which one is which, and you don't want to know what they'll do to you if you give them a chance."

"But... but weren't fair folk forbidden from harming us?" Your voice trembled a little, and Steve blew out a little breath, his thumbs drawing circles through the fabric of your blouse to comfort you, probably, after he stopped painfully squeezing your shoulders.

"When you give them a wish, you hand them the power over you. Do that, and the law will no longer work in your favor."

It was a rule #1, perhaps the most important one among the long list of other rules you were given when dealing with the little folk. Never have you ever allowed a fae to ask you for a wish since then, promising yourself you wouldn't waste your own life even for your mother. There was always a different way, Steve said, glancing down at you as he towered far above you. Sacrifices, whatever their nature, rarely led to anything good in the end.

By the time he walked down the stairs to enter the nearest metro station, you realized you had a very vague picture of a place you were going to, immediately asking the elf where he was planning to take you. Why were you leaving fae's part of the city? Did some creatures live outside it? Was it far? Was it a dangerous place, too?

The man was chuckling again at a limitless number of questions you could ask without drawing a second breath. "You were a worrier, weren't you?" He asked, and your cheeks grew hot with embarrassment.

"He lives close," he finally said, motioning to the metro tration. "And no place is dangerous as long as you're with me. You might get nervous, though. It's dark and dirty there."

Dark and dirty? Was it, like, some sort of a cave.

Looking at the growing smile of the elf, you suddenly realized why he was taking you down the metro station. Dear God, that's where that hairy phooka lived, right? Somewhere on an abandoned metro line or between the stations where no one but rats would see him, and so he wouldn't need glamor.

It all felt like some sort of urban legend.

You didn't have it in you to stop, knowing your mysterious friend was expecting results in return for his earnest work, but when Steve was helping you jump over the protective fence right on the tracks, you squeezed his hand, breathing heavier.

"Can I hold your hand, please? This place gives me the creeps," you smiled nervously at him, and Steve let out a loud laugh in his typical fashion, grasping your shoulder.

"You weren't scared of coming to a place full of drug addicts and all sorts of scum, but the metro scares you?" He helped you up when you had finally jumped down, barely believing you were really doing it, your anxity amping up. "Don't fret, you lovely little thing. I know this place better than anyone. I've lived here for many long years myself."

________

Tags: @heavenly1927 @yazzzmints @devils-blackrose @lost-and-founds @kennafild @toodlesxcuddles @shygardengalaxy @heimtathurs @moonlightazriel @tsujifreya @lilithmoon92 @greenowlfactif @minshookie29 @nina2697 @youngdreamer3214 @jsrblue

[suzukiblu]

Yaaasssssss feral kon gets a bath

Moar gentle princely caretaking please!

The boy keeps still for his scrubbing, fortunately, though Tuftan really can’t figure out why. Though after a bit more thought, it does occur to him that Sacker probably didn’t pet his slaves any more than he gave them warm water for their baths, so perhaps that’s what has the boy so agreeable right now. Tuftan knows a human’s violent nature isn’t that easily quelled, of course, but the unfamiliar nature of the experience seems to be buying him some time to work with, if nothing else.

He assumes the boy hasn’t been touched at all since his escape, aside from his struggles with himself and his men today, and he wonders if humans actually do touch each other. If they’re solitary creatures, perhaps not, but the boy doesn’t seem to mind the process of being bathed now that he’s actually in the bath, so perhaps he’s been missing physical contact? 

Then the brat decides to lunge for his forearm and bite him, of course, and then starts chewing on his arm. But his teeth are blunt and he isn’t biting hard enough to do more than bruise a bit, so Tuftan decides to just put up with it while he sets aside the rag and starts picking at the bindings around the boy’s wrists. They’re a mess, of course, on account of being made of wet rope, but if he just uses his claws a bit, then maybe . . . 

The boy growls and chews Tuftan’s arm harder. 

“Hush, boy,” Tuftan orders, still picking at the ropes. “And stay still, I’m trying to get these off you.” 

The boy . . . pauses. He doesn’t let Tuftan’s arm go, but he stops actively chewing, at least. Tuftan doesn’t humor the thought that he might’ve actually understood the reason behind the command, but supposes that’s at least a start.

[eldritchqueerture]

For the @malevolent-monthly May prompt "First Dream: John has his first dream or nightmare"!! First time posting in this, hope I did it correctly on ao3 <3

Summary:

For a moment he didn't know what was happening. His whole world shrunk to this one moment in time, this one-track minded fear of unclear origin, and he thought he was dying. He had never been dying before. --- Or, John has a nightmare, followed by an existential crisis over the inevitability of death.

To say John was familiar with death would be a grave understatement. As the King in Yellow he remembered watching lives end, sometimes having a hand in it as well, for time untold; the Dark World in itself was a clear picture in his mind when thinking of the topic. He knew death too intimately for comfort - even Arthur in his frail form had teetered on the edge of it far too many times for John's liking.

But he was never afraid of death. Of the Dark World – absolutely; there had been nothing more frightening to him than that wretched place of shadow and suffering. And perhaps in his previous form, he would not have been able to tell the difference.

It was the second night after they had performed the ritual that granted John his own human body, that he woke up startled and in cold sweat. His heart beat too fast in his chest, his breath shallow, coming in small gasps and never providing enough oxygen. Shakily, he sat up, pulling himself up to lean his back against the headboard, trying to gain back control of his limbs. For a moment he didn't know what was happening. His whole world shrunk to this one moment in time, this one-track minded fear of unclear origin, and he thought he was dying.

He had never been dying before.

Arthur stirred beside him, and John froze, unwilling to wake him up when his body was performing something so inane and out of his control. He had seen Arthur wake up from his nightmares enough times to recognize the similarities to what was happening; he wasn't actually dying for some mysterious, unknown reason - he would be fine if he could just calm the fuck down—

"John?" Arthur's bleary voice made it to his ears from between the pillows, and the man turned to him with a sleepy grunt.

John wanted to say something like 'Go back to sleep', or 'Everything is fine', but he found his voice trapped in the tightness of his throat. His muscles only tensed against the trembling, and the fear surged in his chest.

"John," Arthur whispered more insistently, not having received a response, and grabbed John's arm. "What's wrong?"

His eyebrows drew inward in worry and his voice had that slight tremble of freshly sprouting fear.

"It's fine," John growled, much harsher than he'd intended. He did not move though, and Arthur's hand only gripped him tighter.

“Are we alone? Is everything—”

"Yes, we're alone," John replied in much the same tone. "Why wouldn't we be?"

"I don't know, John," Arthur hissed, now fully awake. "It wouldn't be the first time you woke me up to something wanting to kill us."

John unwittingly drew a breath, that fear surging again despite the somewhat calming familiarity of arguing with Arthur. If something were to kill them...

"What's going on?" Arthur sat up next to him, not taking his hand away. "You're shaking."

But it was stupid, wasn't it? That unknown fear without a cause, without anything that would allow him to control it. He could handle fearing the Dark World, he could handle fearing creatures, and monsters, and people acting like them. This, though? This vague shadow that clung to his every thought, permeating skin, and bone, electrifying every nerve in his body…?

"John, I'm getting worried," Arthur said. "We thought the ritual went well, but if there's something we missed—"

"N-No, it's..." John swallowed tightly. "It's not that."

"Then what is it?"

"I..." He took a breath. "I dreamed."

"Oh..." Arthur blinked in realization, rubbing the skin of John's arm with the thumb. "Not pleasant, I take it?"

John gritted his teeth. Flashes of images that passed through his mind in the night appeared before him; not enough to fully distinguish their content, just vague impressions of dread and pain, leaving him trembling anew with thoughts that all but forced their way into his head. What if Arthur died? What if he died? How would it feel to die? He'd never died before – not really. Even the memory of the split from the King in Yellow that landed him in the Dark World and trapped him in the book had been tainted by this human anatomy and how it processed the world. Even though he knew that the Dark World was what probably awaited them (him and Arthur) after death – and even if not, he knew of other worlds that could potentially be a destination as well – that perspective was clouded, veiled by this massive, roiling fog of fear.

"John, it's alright," Arthur repeated quietly, and John realized he had been talking for some time. "It's alright. Just breathe, okay?"

The sensations came in gradually – first the heaving breath, gasping like a man drowning, then the racing heart that threatened to rip his chest open right there. His muscles trembling, his legs pulled up, body curling in on itself as if that would protect him from the looming prospect. And Arthur's warm arm around his shoulders, his body close, whispering gentle assurances of their safety.

But they were never safe, were they? Humans were so fragile, dying everyday of so many feeble causes. Even now, he could have a heart attack and die. Arthur could trip on his way out of bed and hit his head. How many undetected illnesses had he seen take humans' lives? And that is not even to say what could be after them specifically – Yellow, Kayne, Lilith, whoever else found the idea of killing them amusing.

"John. John, look at me."

Arthur's hands were on his face, gently guiding his head in his direction. He wiped the tears that John couldn’t remember appearing from his cheeks.

"I—I..."

"Talk to me, John," Arthur whispered. "I want to help."

"I don't... I'm... Afraid," John said almost soundlessly, the words somehow sprouting bitter shame in his gut. As if fear wasn't enough.

"You had a nightmare," Arthur said. "Yes?"

John nodded slightly, enough for Arthur to feel it under his hands. His thumb travelled upward, and he tucked John's hair behind his ear – possibly more as a comforting gesture rather than from the need to get the hair out of his face.

"But I don't really... remember it," he spoke. "Not exactly. Just... feelings."

Arthur hummed sympathetically with a nod.

"Do you want to talk about them?" He asked.

"I..." He faltered. "I've never..."

He let out a breath and hang his head forward, closing his eyes. Arthur took that as a cue to wrap his arms around him again.

"It's okay."

"Humans are... afraid of death," John stated in a hushed tone. Arthur blinked in confusion for a second, then he smiled slightly.

"Yes, very much so," he said. "It's probably the one most primal fear, of all animals I think."

"Are you?"

Arthur raised his eyebrows in thought. "Of course. I mean, I probably have some more... deadly experiences on my account than most people would have in a lifetime, but... Yes, John." He tilted his head slightly. "And you?"

"As the King in Yellow I was... immortal," he said. "The concept of dying was something mortals did, something... low. Below me."

Arthur let out a small chuckle.

"Even when I was trapped in your head, I didn't fully comprehend it. I feared returning to the Dark World, I feared... I knew that you could die. But I was never scared for myself. Of—Of my own death."

"Oh, John..."

"And it's... frustrating," John continued, the words unstoppable once allowed to flow freely. "Because I've witnessed countless deaths throughout millennia, I know it's unstoppable and uncontrollable, and—and I had no reason to fear it before. Not like this."

"I can imagine why that would be frustrating," Arthur nodded. "But that fear... I'd say it's one of the most human experiences you can have. Knowing your demise is inevitable and that there is nothing you can do about it."

John looked down at him in slight bewilderment. "How do you... deal with it?"

Arthur let out a laugh. "Everyone has their own ways, I suppose. Religion for one – some people find... solace in the idea of a god waiting for them on the other side. Some people just look for distractions, you know, things that keep their attention in the material world – wealth, power."

"A sense of control."

"I suppose so, yes. Then, you have art."

"Art?"

"Poetry, music, paintings, all sorts of creative endeavours," Arthur said.

"How does that help?" John frowned.

"Well, you don't push those feelings away," Arthur explained intently. "Instead you engage them, you analyse them, and make them... beautiful. But at the same time, familiar."

"And it goes away?"

Arthur laughed again, not unkindly. "I wish, my friend. But no. It never fully goes away. But it can fade."

John grumbled under his breath. He still felt jittery, the cold feeling still cloying at the insides of his chest, but he felt himself relax ever so slightly. Arthur's presence was familiar, and his voice was a gentle music to his ears.

"I am not resigned to the shutting away of loving hearts in the hard ground," Arthur begun reciting. "So it is, and so it will be, for so it has been, time out of mind. Into the darkness they go, the wise and the lovely. Crowned with lilies and with laurel they go; but I am not resigned."

John laid his head on Arthur's shoulder, taking a deep, calming breath. He closed his eyes and listened to Arthur's heart beating in time with his words.

"Lovers and thinkers, into the earth with you. Be one with the dull, the indiscriminate dust. A fragment of what you felt, of what you knew, a formula, a phrase remains, —but the best is lost."

His own heart slowed, the trembling subsiding under Arthur's touch. He felt the tendrils of sleep seeking entrance into his mind - the exhaustion of the panic catching up to him - and he relished the haziness that came with it, following Arthur's steady voice.

"The answers quick and keen, the honest look, the laughter, the love, —They are gone. They are gone to feed the roses. Elegant and curled is the blossom. Fragrant is the blossom. I know. But I do not approve."

Arthur's voice gained a more intent edge at the last sentence, spoken with a warm breath into John's hair.

"More precious was the light in your eyes than all the roses in the world. Down, down, down into the darkness of the grave gently they go, the beautiful, the tender, the kind; quietly they go, the intelligent, the witty, the brave."

Arthur sniffled. "I know. But I do not approve. And I am not resigned."

---

The poem is called "Dirge Without Music" by Edna St. Vincent Millay for anyone interested 🥰

[feyhunter78]

Can I have Elrond x reader where she just cries as he holds her when the depression hits hard and she just finally lets it all out?

Oof babe I have felt this before, and damn if I don't wish I had an Elrond to help me through it. Hopefully this little fic is what you're looking for!

Take my Hand

You have been trying so hard, putting on a smile going through the motions with grace, but it was never enough. No matter what you did, no matter how hard you tried, nothing could ease the weight, nothing could aid your desperate clawing, your frantic attempts to escape the ever-darkening grief that surrounded you.

It seemed impossible for one to live as long as elves do and not succumb to periods of sorrow, but everywhere you turned it seemed no one was suffering as you were. Was there something wrong with you? Were you simply too sensitive, too weak to handle the trials of life? Was it even worth it to try? It is easier, so much easier to lay in bed or on the floor before the fireplace and stare listlessly, to let your mind wander down every darkened trail, and stumble over every doubt, mistake, and insecurity that lay in its path.

Surely it was better for you to stay here, to let yourself rot into the floor and be consumed by time. Who would miss you? Who would even care? You were not a great hero, not a noteworthy person at all, simply a minor footnote in someone else’s story. It was better here, engulfed by your own thoughts, there was no way you could ruin anything or anyone. Alone was safe, and you wished to feel safe.

You watched the flames dance, the flickering red and orange curling around the wood, the pleasant pops and crackles bringing you a moment of respite. Truly, you just wanted to feel something. It is as if you are trudging through mud, sinking deeper and deeper, while everyone around you is dancing on the wind. And it is not as the humans say, that food has no taste, it still does, but it is muted, dulled, and you find it not even worth the effort.

The embers glow, and you blanked out, reaching your hand towards the flames. Perhaps this will solve it, finally you will feel alive once more. The heat is all consuming, even as your fingertips hovered before it, not yet touching, merely lingering. Are you even still alive, or is this all some terrible dream?

You wanted to move your hand, to plunge it into the flames but cannot, a small voice reminded you that others will ask, they will see, they will pity you. No one can know, they cannot be weighed down by you, so you pulled your hand back, staring at it as if it is a foreign creature.

A knock on your door jolted you out of your daze, and you scrambled to make yourself presentable but found no true energy for it. Perhaps if you gave no answer, whoever it was would leave?

Luck was not on your side, and Elrond appeared before your vision, his brow furrowed in concern. “Y/N why are you sitting on the floor?”

There is no way to describe, no way to explain, so you don’t. You simply shrugged your shoulders. “It is comfortable.”

He smiled at you and sat beside you. “I shall have to join you then.”

You nodded and returned to staring at the flames.

“I have noticed something, my starlight.” Elrond said carefully, prompting you to turn your head towards him.

“Oh?” Of course, he noticed, you were a fool to think everyone could not see straight through you. They all must be so disappointed, yet another one of your failures.

He nodded. “You seem…distracted.”

“My mind is plagued with thoughts, thus is the trial of life.” You jested weakly.

Elrond gave you a sad smile and pulled you into his embrace. “You do not need to hide from me, sweet starlight, I have known you for far too long.”

Suddenly you could no longer hold back your tears and a sob escaped you, tearing through you with the force of a great sword. “I—Elrond I do not know what to do.”

He held you tightly as you sobbed, great rivers of tears soaking the rug below you. “Whatever is the matter, please y/n tell me, and I will do all in my power to rectify it.”

“I am drowning.” You said, fingers gripping his tunic for dear life, sobs wracking your body.

Elrond hummed in understanding and began to rub your back soothingly. “I see, I see you, y/n, you are not alone, I am here, I will not let you drown.”

You buried your face in his chest, taking gasping, unsteady breaths. “You cannot help me; I am beyond saving.”

Elrond shook his head. “No, my starlight, you are never beyond saving, this feeling will pass, and I will remain by your side until it does. I care not if it takes days, weeks, years, or centuries, you hold my heart, and I will never abandon you. Not to the waves upon the ocean or within your mind.”

You looked up at him. “I do not know what to say, I feel as if I have been screaming, but no one is able to hear me.”

Elrond caressed your cheek, his thumb wiping away your tears. “And I am deeply sorry that I have been deaf to your cries for this long, but I am here now, I hear you, I see you, take my hand y/n I will aid you in your quest to free yourself from this crushing weight.”

You nodded, still a bit teary-eyed, but the weight had lessened, speaking the words aloud had freed a small part of your heart and for a split second you felt alive once more. “I will take your hand.”

Tag list: @nyctophilic0vitnir, @elronds-pointy-ears, @elrondscalaquendi, @dilf-superiority, @jesticace

[loveofbots]

Okay so I've gotten really into crochet recently. So, what about a (gn) reader with Rung. Reader makes Rung a crochet plush of the Lost Light to add to his lovely figure collection.

HI SWERVIE (I got ur other ask too btw)

You genius, you incredible human being- I like to knit and your pairing with Rung is so smart fr. I made Reader a human bc it wasn’t specified which

Rung had always encouraged hobbies. They kept the brain busy and honestly kept him sane. It could be anything from a sport to reading to doing a craft. That all being said, Rung assumed you had one. You never told him you did, but humans are creatures of habit. The mech had no idea that you had recently picked up a new hobby. One that you spent hours researching and practicing. And one that was so DAMN hard to do in space. Seriously, not a single craft store in this whole galaxy? You had been lucky to find the yarn needed for the project. 

A smile curled on your lips as you began making the final stitches. You were close to Rung, close enough for him to show you his proud arc model collection. The ships were big compared to you, maybe an arm’s length at the smallest. It made for an excellent activity! And the ships had inspired you to fill in the missing piece. In your own creative little way. There was a massive sense of pride that washed over you as you set your creation down. It was so beautiful.

“Hello Y/N! Good to see you again.” The calming voice of your favorite Cybertronian friend reached your ears as soon as you opened the door to his office. Today was his off day, but he was still milling about with work. You beamed up at him, holding out a big, plain lookin bag. His antenna perked up. “Oh! What’s this?”

“A present for you! It’s kind of a combination of our hobbies.” Rung lifted you very carefully, like he always did, but there was a sense of excitement to it. You set the bag down and he set you on his desk. “Go on, open it.” You urged.

He smiled bashfully. “I really do thank you for the gift, although it’s not necessary I-” You could tell he was just embarrassed, not trying to refuse any more gifts you may send his way. However the mech seemed choked up when he reached into the bag and pulled out...

The Lost Light plush.

It fit neatly in his palm. It was so detailed... and soft. Just like you. His awe was obvious and you blushed a little at Rung’s sheer amazement for your skill. 

“I thought you would like to add it to your collection?” You gently folded your hands while sitting in his arms. Rung snapped out of the little stupor your gift put him in and smiled widely.

“Of course I will!” The mech puts the plush down in favour of holding you. “It’s amazing, I will absolutely add your present to my collection.” Rung gently pats your head his soft gaze warming as his optics meet yours. There was an unspoken connection between you two, an appreciation of the other’s talent. Knowing that despite your differences both human and cybertronian alike were friends. “Now, since you’re here, may I offer you some tea or coffee?”

You return a bright smile and nod. “Perhaps we can work on a new model as well?” Rung chuckles.

“Of course!”

[dathomirdumpsterfire]

Chat writes the plot! Time for more 👑🐲🐟 KotD!

(I realize we might have to retcon a bit if the vote goes certain ways, but I didn't want to limit you guys. Have fun, go nuts, describe to everyone your perfect stewjon head canon, no matter how unique!)

Want to be on the tag list? Have an idea for next chapter? Clicked the wrong option? Reblog or Comment! New? Check the very bottom for the Ao3 link. Latest chapter is down below the cut!🔥

~King of the Dragonfish: Chapter 8~

Not far from the cave system, in the opposite direction of the geothermal vents, is a living grave. Every now and again one of Naboo's massive oceanic beasts meets it's end to natural causes, and sinks into the deep. Here, new life is born.

This particular corpse of a ketho whale has been here longer than Maul has, and with it's slothful rate of decomposition, it may very well be here after he's gone. The deep water chill keeps the body all but frozen, as the mound of it feeds billions of tiny lives. Starfish, squid, shrimp, eels, octopus, crab, manta, and more. No other places in the deep sea have as much variety of life as the grave mounds do.

To Darth Maul, this place is his personal grocery store.

“Hmmm,” the sith hums, floating upside-down and perusing the options.

His favorite are the shrimp. Individual mouthfuls that crunch pleasantly. But can a Kenobi eat a shrimp? He knuckles his forehead, trying hard to remember. So much of Before was lost to him. The jedi was... human? Possibly?

…did humans eat shrimp?

He couldn't recall.

Annoyed, he makes a note to demand answers, later, and gathers a sampling for now. The brown tree fruit… whatever it was called… the inside was not nourishing enough to survive on, he knew that much.

With a sweep of the force the sith lord selects his victims. A few plush crabs, half a colony of little blue shrimp, a few colorful yellow and black fish that he knew tasted buttery and sweet, with a long eel-

He recalls, suddenly, eating barbeque eel on… on… the home place. The red world, with swamps and cliffs.

Maul catches two more eels, wondering if he can make them taste like… before. Perhaps he would cook his food for once? Some of this would need to be heated for the jedi to even stomach it. Probably.

With his catch writhing and confused in an intangible net of force, the dragonfish sith turns back for the warren of caves and tunnels.

He arrives to find the jedi in just his pants and sleeveless vest, busily rinsing his inner tunics with fruit water. His much abused leather boots were clean and shiney nearby, still wet.

Maul sloughs himself up onto land, dragging dinner up with him.

“Will that not simply make your robes sticky?” he questions the other man, skeptical of the tactic.

“They're not ripe, so they're not sweet in the slightest. I'm hoping…” Kenobi shrugs, “it's an experiment. I suppose we shall see.”

“Mnh.”

The jedi stands, turning to him while wringing out the excess fluid. “What have you got there?”

Grinning, Maul tosses the panoply of pissed off sea creatures at him. “Catch.”

The noise Kenobi makes when he takes eel to the face brings such joy to him.

The creatures scrabble for safety as the jedi backflips further away from them. “Wha! Pfss- guh- MAUL!”

Wheezing with mirth, Maul recollects his catch, and presses them all on the surface of the magma rock to boil them dead.

Kenobi looks on in horror, speechless.

After a brief grilling, Maul piles the results together at the base of the slowly deforming orb, and curls up beside it to begin eating. He picks up an eel first, of course, interested to see if the cooking would make it taste like barbeque.

It does not.

It is still good though.

The jedi lays out his clothes to dry and approaches, one hand tucked into an elbow, the other cradling his chin. He mutters, “... at least it was quick,” then clears his throat before speaking up. “Is any of that for me, or was the food throwing just to be for your own entertainment?”

“It is not my fault you cannot follow simple instructions, Kenobi, but yes. Eat what you will," Maul offers, smug.

The man sinks down onto the stone floor, watchful, and starts poking through the options.

Stupid jedi. Doing something now when he is expecting it would be boring and predictable. He will wait until the other man's guard is lowered before tormenting him again. Obviously.

“Tell me, Kenobi, did the tree fruit satisfy your thirst?” he asks, popping a shrimp in his mouth and smashing it with a crunch of his many excellent teeth.

“The coconuts? Yes… thank you. The pile will last me a few days," the man returns.

Coconuts. They are called coconuts. Of course.

Kenobi picks up an eel, handling it's rubbery length with a disgruntled look. “... I don't suppose I could have a small knife? Temporarily? I need to cut this to cook it properly.”

Maul squints at him. “You are lying, jedi.”

The man huffs, holding the limp eel up, “I am not. This is an entire eel, and not a small one either. I need to remove the guts, and filet it, then grill the slices.”

“Why would you remove the guts? The organs are the best part,” he says, even more certain that Kenobi was simply making things up.

The jedi makes a face, “Hardly.”

They glare at each other for a moment before Kenobi looks away, scowling. “Fine, I shall just… eat something else.”

Maul watches him gather up the thin black and yellow fish, and levitate them on top of the rock. He… just leaves them there. For minutes. The cave starts to smell different because of it.

“Your fish is burning, jedi,” he tells the man.

“No it isn't,” Kenobi replies.

Maul rises up on the coil of his tail, looming at something like nine feet tall to peer over top of the rock and look at the crisping bodies. They aren't any more black than before, but they are turning colors.

“They are becoming brown…”

“Good,” the man says, nonsensically.

With the force, Kenobi flips them without getting up to look. The underside is significantly more brown.

The dragonfish sith sloughs back down to the floor, thoughtful. This was cooking… he had cooked, before, many times. This was right, yes… meat turned colors. It… denatured the proteins.

He doesn't know what ‘denatured’ means anymore, but the word itself remains. Maul scowls, trying to poke at the idea.

He looks up at Kenobi, “How… denatured do you need to make… the protein… to make it edible for… humans?”

The other man hums, calling the crispy fish dinner down to himself, but holding it midair for a moment as it dissipates heat. “For humans? Oh, well, I suppose it depends on their immune system. Anakin likes everything mostly raw… but I've known others that wouldn't touch anything uncooked unless it was a plant.”

Ahah. ‘their’. Kenobi was not a human himself then.

“... and your kind?” Maul asks.

“Hmm… I suppose I prefer my own dinner well done, if only for the result of warm, spiced food,” he says, and brings one of the fish closer to himself to begin nibbling. He makes a face at it. “Mng… of which this is not. I'm glad you've brought back scaleless fish, but the flavor does leave something to be desired.”

“You are lucky I feed you at all,” he tells the fool, sneering.

Kenobi sighs, “I suppose anything is better than starving. Though I would really prefer a pan, oil, and some spice to go with it, even just salt…”

Maul gives him a look.

He scoffs. “Yes yes, I know, stop making that face at me. Beggars can't be choosers, I know.”

They eat until both are full, Maul devouring considerably more than Kenobi. He dumps the extras back into the water. The remains might attract future snacks.

“Well, sith,” the jedi says from his spot beside the magma ball, “what now? I'm fed, I'm watered, I'm warm. For the moment, I'm not dying. What are you going to do with me? Torture?”

Maul grins as he returns from throwing the extra away. “Are you excited at the prospect?”

“Certainly not,” Kenobi drawls, crossing his arms.

The dragonfish sith sways closer, passing him by. The other man clearly doesn't want him at his back, so the motion forces him to turn. As Maul circles, Kenobi keeps turning to face him.

Exactly as intended.

With the jedi's attention on his face, all the way turned around from where they began, Maul draws the end of his tail up to whip at the back of Kenobi’s calves.

The jedi makes a little hop, predicting his flanking attack with the force, but he still turns to look behind him. His mistake. Maul takes that opportunity to close the distance, getting a grip on the front of beige vests. Kenobi spins back around, arms shoving outward defensively.

One of his palms slams into Maul’s sensitive gills, painfully, making the sith snarl and take a snap at the offending limb.

Kenobi tries to tumble backwards, to get away from him, but the grip on his clothes is only joined by a tail curling behind his knees, dragging the jedi in.

The prey in his grip fights him, skilled in the force and so much more interesting to subdue than the mindless wildlife outside.

Kenobi works an elbow free, and tries slamming it point first into the tail spiraling about his hips. Maul barely feels it, but he starts trying to capture that free hand all the same. While he's on that, the jedi side steps his tail, and then drops his weight heavily while pushing downward with the force.

Maul loses hold on him entirely.

The jedi folds, rolls, and does half a cartwheel, kicking him in the arm. Then he falls backwards to gain space. The sith gives him none, closing the distance again and snatching at his ankle as the other man spins away. He misses, and has to try two more grabs before he gets a hold of an elbow with a gleeful noise of success.

Kenobi attempts to bite him, with his human-similar jaw and his flat white teeth. How precious. The dragonfish sith giggles, and nips at the air near his fingers. The jedi recoils, desperate to protect the digits of his sword arm, sending a gale of force into Maul so strong it sends him toppling over backwards.

Unfortunately for the other man, he's got a good grip on Kenobi’s arm, so they both go over backwards.

Maul cackles as they fall.

Kenobi bellows.

They tussle on the floor like it's just any old bar brawl for the better part of ten minutes, until -finally- Maul's sheer tonnage and more than a dozen feet of solid muscle wins the fight for him, yet again.

He bears down on his prisoner, grinning with all his many teeth as the man cries out in pain.

“Weak jjjedi,” he croons, so close to Kenobi’s face that the green glow of his eyes illuminates both of their expressions. “I am beginning to think our first battle was a fluke. You cannot seem to best me.”

The jedi struggles under him, trying to get any limb free, fighting for every inch. “It's not my fault you weigh as much as a bantha!”

“Oh? But you like my weight.”

Kenobi shifts left, trying to wriggle his way out of the hold. “What in the blazes makes you think that?”

Maul hisses in amusement. “You roam in your sleep, jedi. You came to me many times last night, seeking my scales and burrowing into me.”

The man underneath him makes a horrified face, his efforts to escape stalling. “I did not!”

Maul lolls to the side, laying beside him instead of on top, pulling those pale hands to his chest and pressing the palms over his hearts. His long black tail curls up and over the man's legs. “Does this position not ring any bells, Kenobi?”

Blue eyes stare down at his hands, at the red and black that peek through his fingers. “...”

Delighted by the other man's emotional upheaval, and the way it made the force around them feel, Maul pushes the gambit a little further.

“How about if I do… this?” he says, sacrificing a hand to bring Kenobi's body closer to his, wrapping an arm around his shoulders, affectionately. “Are you going to nuzzle me again, I wonder? Going to curl up on my chest and drool?”

“No!” the jedi exclaims, shimmying backward.

Maul allows it and watches him with an inviting look, finding that this little facet of Kenobi’s fear was… particularly entertaining.

“Oh? But you slept so well, did you not?” he accuses.

Kenobi covers his eyes with a hand. “It's… it's nothing to do with you. I simply sleep better when…”

“Held?” Maul croons.

The jedi growls, without answering. Delightful.

Maul snickers, playfully snapping his teeth near the other man's neck. Kenobi turtles, glaring at him. “Would you quit that? I know you're not going to actually bite me. I'd be dead in minutes, and that would ruin all your bloody fun wouldn't it?”

The sith draws back humming. The rage in Kenobi’s eyes is… pleasing. Anger is good. He understands.

“Hnnn… I offer you a trade,” he says sweetly.

The jedi's struggles calm, and he stops ducking into such a hilarious and pathetic little ball, but his expression remains pure suspicion. “It's hardly a trade if I'm coerced into it while disarmed and bound,” he complains.

“Do you think I care?” Maul asks him pleasantly.

Kenobi huffs. “Fine. What's your trade, sith?”

“I will promise not to bite your neck, or near it, if you tell me of your species. At length.”

The jedi blinks, slowly, waiting with an expectant air. Maul raises a brow at him.

“You… want to know about… stewjoni?” the man asks, baffled.

“Yessss,” the dragonfish sith assures.

He is missing too many pieces of Before. The jedi will serve him, as prisoner and informant.

🔥🔥 don't forget to reblog tysm! 🔥🔥

-Tag list- (Comment if you want added!)

@obimaulartfire @savageopressbignaturals @icequeen8043 @moonsickvampire @maulish

New? Start from Chapter 1! 👇🏽

[depleti]

Happy Birthday! Been reading TMK for a while and really enjoying it, have you ever shared what inspired the story?

I'm not sure I have, actually, if only because it's not very interesting lol.

A long time ago, I used to play on a lot of rpg forums (where you would post your roleplay responses to each other) and back then there were a lot to pick from. I joined one that had an original fantasy setting and one of the cultures was inspired by the Vikings, which prompted me to do a bit of research. That board folded before I even played my character--which was actually a precursor to Coal--but I guess I found the Vikings in particular to be interesting enough to do more with.

More background and very early drawings below the cut!

This question prompted me to go looking for some of my earliest TMK drawings! Here's perhaps the first Coal drawings with a girl who would eventually become Hedda. For some reason she has a vaguely Asian outfit and I'm not sure why. Perhaps even then I was looking to emphasize the international reach of the Viking period.

Here's a page where Hedda starts to look like Hedda:

Now the very early story for TMK is quite different from how it ended up. Coal was always a kind of undead warrior, but how he died and came back has changed. Initially, Coal died defending a village from two demon-creatures (maybe dragons?), and killed one of the two demons. The surviving demon, who was the killed demon's brother, vowed revenge against Coal and intercepted him on his way to Valhalla/Sessrúmnir (Freyja's hall, looks like I never decided which).

This demon, named Fen, was the one who brought Coal back. He could also turn into a ship and control it and turn into a dragon with it (the oars became legs, the sail became wings, etc.). Coal came back with missing memories and had more of a blank personality.

Here's Fen in his demon form and a human form apparently:

For some reason that I never wrote down, various god items were included on this boat. It wasn't just items belonging to the big three (Odin, Thor, and Freyr) but also Freyja and Frigg and Tyr, etc. The idea was Coal needed to find their human counterpart owners in Midgard to do...something. I originally wanted to do nine items, because nine is a magic number, but after discussing with a friend (hi, Hannah!), I quickly realized that was too much work. Fen was scrapped but the idea of the living figurehead lives on in Rollo.

So the number of items changed to three four and Loki became the main cause of everything. I think I avoided using Loki before because I didn't want my version of him to be compared to Marvel's or whatever, but you can't really do a story involving the Norse gods without Loki in there somewhere. So I just bit the bullet and not only used him, but made him a main character. I think he's different enough to stand apart from most other depictions of him.

Here's me trying to figure out how TMK's Loki should look:

I realized early on he shouldn't look too refined, but also not as scruffy as the bottom drawings lol. I think when I realized he's not just "The Trickster" but also a father a lot of things fell into place. Also the feather cloak!

One of the hard things about working on webcomics is how long they take to make, but that can also be a kind of benefit. When I first started TMK I just wanted to make a fun fantasy adventure comic with a bold art style (it's probably no surprise to say Cartoon Saloon's Secret of Kells and subsequent films have been a huge inspiration to me), but as time has gone on and the world has shifted, it's turned into an exploration of toxic masculinity and its effects on the self and the world.

Anyway here's some other older drawings!

One of the first Ibrahims. His design was settled almost immediately.

Arne's design also came together pretty easily. I dunno what that old man at the top is for...

Anyway I hope you've enjoyed this lil jaunt down memory lane. Thank you for your question and birthday wishes and, of course, for reading the comic. <3

[adoribullpavus]

well now that it's been a couple days since i watched the teen wolf movie and i've sufficiently forgotten 90% of it, i think it's time i told you all what i liked/disliked about it

1. jackson whittemore

he was just so fucking funny, like why was he even there?? did they give colton a script or did they just give him a recap of everything he missed in the show before simply throwing him on set and going "good luck."

i loved him though. it really feels like he's more comfortable in himself now. when he came back in s6, he wasn't as bitter but he still felt quite stiff. now he's comfortable in his sexuality and his place in the world, and he's no longer trying too hard. love that for him. his friendship with lydia also means a lot to me. i originally thought they were gonna put them back together, but i adore them as snarky besties.

also i'm glad they didn't break him and ethan up. we got our lgbtq+ scraps, guys!!

2. peter hale

hasn't changed a bit and i love it. his entrance was iconic and so fitting for his character. the tension between him and chris was obvious (perhaps because of melissa?) and i love how they still have an air of mystery when it comes to him. no one truly knows if he's on the good side or the bad.

also i can confidently say that peter crawling on the floor in human form, sniffing, was the absolute highlight of the movie.

3. eli hale

he was a great addition to the cast. i loved his relationship with derek, but him as a character really refreshed the film and gave us some wholesome but funny moments.

also we all know he's basically a stiles mini-me, so it was nice to have someone there to fill what the film would've been missing because of stiles' absense without full-out replacing him.

4. jr borne

his acting in the movie was absolutely outstanding. i was in shock. he was already amazing in the show but he's outdone himself. i really felt his emotions through the screen. literal chills. what a powerful performance!

5. the hellhound

i'm so glad they gave parrish an important role in the film. the hellhound was one of my favourite supernatural creatures from the show, so it was great to see ryan kelley shine once more.

6. coach finstock

he also has not changed a single bit and it's really refreshing to see. they didn't try to shoehorn him into the story too much. he simply played the part he always has, and made us laugh doing it.

7. the jeep

when they said the jeep would be featured in the film, i didn't think they meant they would try and stick it in every scene possible. i love it.

as a sterek shipper, i love the idea of eli nicking the jeep because he knows derek has some complicated feelings towards it. i won't do a sterek section on this list because i don't know whether i'm happy or mad about it, but this was an interesting addition to the film.

8. melissa had a crossbow

she had a crossbow. it's about fucking time.

now what i disliked:

1. the misuse of key characters

why were liam and mason used as side characters?? why did they barely speak, they're best friends?? why did they introduce hikari and not bother actually giving her a personality outside of being a kitsune?? i have too many thoughts on all of this, but it pissed me off.

2. just general confusion

they didn't specify if melissa and chris were still together or not. no explanation on why scott and malia split up. how did parrish and malia get together? who is eli's mum? why did liam have the nogitsune? why did scott and allison adopt eli?

also where has all the chemistry between the cast gone?? shelley especially felt so awkward with everyone. it's like they're not friends anymore, which i know isn't true.

3. the nudity and swearing

i could've gone my whole life without seeing allison, parrish and malia's bare asses. also the swearing was great, but they all felt like year 7's when they did it.

4. the returns

as someone who didn't really care for allison, her return was just annoying. out of all the characters they could've brought back, allison is the one they definitely should've left alone. hers was a major death in the show, and the start of a lot of character development for scott and chris. they should've come up with a different story not involving allison or the nogitsune. you know they only brought her back so that scallison fans can have their endgame.

and adrian harris?? what?? why?? he didn't even do anything of purpose in the film. what was the actual point in bringing him back??

5. derek's death

i'm not even gonna touch this. but i'm fuming.

[whomuses]

Just Let Me Hold You

just shy of 2k words; Caedes entering Gale's tent in the middle of the night for some fun rapidly takes a turn when Gale realises something is wrong. Contains sex (but not massively horny), discussions of weight loss, blindnes and weakness, general unhealthiness and canon typical conversation.

It’s not unusual for Caedes to slide into his tent.

The curtain of a door twitched aside to reveal the dragonborn’s hulking white presence; Gale turned with a faint smile. In this low light, he couldn’t see much – but that wasn’t necessarily a bad thing. The weight shifted, settled besides him; surprisingly soft facial scales nuzzling against his cheek, kissing, nibbling. He wasn’t unaware of the fact that, after these night visit, he would always wake with the other absent. He didn’t know when Caedes was leaving – it was always after the wizard had slipped to slumber. From the day by day increasing clumsiness and short temper, he doubted the other was getting much rest at all. The stresses of what they were undergoing, the missing memories, the headaches that they murmured about. Nothing had helped to clear them, after all.

But in the night, in the dark and sweet air, they were always so sweet to him.

“What have I done to earn the honour of such a visit?” Gale breathed, after a moment, as the mouth drifted down to his neck, peppering soft kisses and hints of nips against the tender flesh of his neck. His hand came up, the less damaged left one, rubbing his fingertips over the scales that covered the long face. Scraping nails against the thicker scales, knowing just where itched the most now and got the best response.

“Missed you.” the dragonborn’s low voice was husky, the heat of air from his nostrils, the deep inhales – he always wondered just how sensitive their smell was. It seemed easily able to pick him out of a crowd, after all…

Clawed hands were sliding over his body now – the shape shifting closer. In the near non-existent light, mostly the last glows of the embers of the camp fire through the walls of his tent – the only thing he could really see was where it glimmered off the stark white patches. There was still the hint of a red glow from the natural fire in their eyes, but it was greatly muted. Unable to help the soft noises that were starting to escape, the scrape of mostly-dulled but still dangerous claws on the tender parts of his own skin, Gale was very much reminded how deadly the basic form of a dragonborn was against his own humanity. He loved it.

It didn’t take long to shed his clothes, hearing Caedes do the same. They shifted to lay between his legs, kissing slowly up his stomach, before moving – taking his wrists in one hand to push them above his head, so that the wizard could do nothing to anticipate nor resist. He gave no fight, of course – trusting implicitly that the most dangerous, unstable creature in their camp would do nothing to hurt him. Despite the nips, nibbles and licks, he was right – there was no sign of danger here. They were taking their time to build him up – before adjusting, straddling his hips, releasing his hands in order to brace on the ground and their body swallowed him.

It was hard to keep quiet. No matter how often they did this – it always felt incredible. Far more solid and real than Mystra had ever been, in her fascination of the astral. Admittedly it had been a fair amount of time since Caedes had sought him out for such pleasures – Gale couldn’t blame the distraction. So close to Baldur’s Gate now, to perhaps finding out what was wrong with him and freeing them all from the tadpoles… but this was nice. It wasn’t frantic or wild, as Caedes often was, no – it was gentle, tender. Just delighting in the feeling of one another. The slightly rough breathing mixing with his own, both of them trying to stay quiet…

The movements were becoming erratic; he tried to shift his hips in time, but concern began to bubble through his chest. This didn’t feel like the usual pattern loss that occurred near completion; he reached a hand up, following the faint hint of white and the sound, stroking a hand along Caedes’ cheek again. The dragonborn leant into the touch; and Gale swallowed. It was – fragile. His other hand lifted, trailing along the chest above him. It had been some time since they’d really seen each other bare, he had to admit; most of the trysts occuring in the soft darkness like this. But now that his concern was spiking, he could feel it more clearly. His other hand slid down over their neck, their shoulder; feeling the lines in the dragonborn’s form. Caedes had always been bulky, of course, his natural build, but…

“We should stop.” Gale murmured, heart ticking up, a surge of worry in his throat. “Caedes?” hands had slid over his sides now, able to feel the edges of ribs. It hadn’t been this bad before. Of course he knew that they were losing weight – it wasn’t surprising. The robes fit a little looser, moved a little easier, even his padded camp clothes – the dragonborn so rarely joined them for dinner, and their lacking cookpot meant that, even with Gale insisting they leave some, he had a feeling there was often nothing left for him to take after they went to bed. Guilt was sinking in now. He had to do better than this, but -

“Caedes?” he repeated. The other’s hips had stilled, but the breathing was still rough, if not getting worse – laboured. Some instinct made his hands shift – perhaps picking up on the way that their arms were shaking either side of him. His own palms braced against their chest as the limbs gave way, just about managing to keep Caedes from slumping languidly onto him. That, in itself, sent a bolt of raw alarm through his chest – there was no way he should’ve been able to hold Caedes up. Admittedly his own limbs were shaking with the effort, but there should have been more than enough bulk that he wouldn’t manage this. “Hey…” he grimaced, then carefully twisted – sliding the white shape sideways. Trying to ignore the disquieting sensation of their coupling coming loose, he turned just enough to murmur an incantation to light the lantern in the corner of his tent.

The warm glow filled the space as he drew back enough to prevent too much shadow falling over them. Caedes’ eyes were open, but they were glazed over. In this light, the deep shadows around his eyes looked nearly black. Gale reached out to gently stroke a hand over his cheek again, feeling it trembling as his eyes drifted downwards. Everything he’d felt was thrown into sharp relief – especially with the lanternlight, deepening shadows to make it look even worse. “Gods…” he murmured, that guilt curdling in his chest. “It’s okay. It’s okay.” leaning in, he caught their scaled lips in a kiss, revealed to feel at least some response to that. “You’re exhausted, love. You must rest. I know – I know you’re afraid.” he added, a little firmer now. “You didn’t want this.” he reached down to grip the blanket from the bedroll, pulling it up and over them both.

“No – no, hey -” he could feel the dragonborn trying to move away, even with trembling limbs and difficulty in his very movement. “I’ll be okay. You can’t hurt anyone in this state, now, can you?” it’s everything he’s got not to sound angry. Food will be harder – but sleep, at least, he can help the other get. When he leant in, trying to meet their eyes, he realised – something else. The pupils far too thin for the lighting in here. The glazed expression; the way they flickered, as if unsure where to look… “Oh, no. Sweetheart…” he swallowed hard, gripping their cheek more firmly, turning his snout so that they were, as best he could manage, meeting each other’s eyes. “When did you vision fade away?”

“It…” Caedes finally spoke again, their own tones now shaking, so quiet, so weak, “Started getting bad a few days ago.” he mumbled. “Getting worse. The urge punishing me…”

“It could be that.” Gale agreed, softly, “Or have you considered your body is giving up? You aren’t sleeping. You aren’t eating. The body – it has a way of warning you before you go to far, do you understand?” despite his fear, the wizard knew he had to be firm here. “You have to take care of yourself. Do you understand me? You have to do this.” he added, with a hint of that frustration. “You need to stay alive.” “No -” “I know that you don’t want to. I’m not blind. But you have to. I do not think we can face the elder brain without you, Caedes. And -” his voice cracked. “I need you to stay alive. For me. For whatever the hell comes after this.” “Gale…” he whispered. “No.” he exhaled sharply, then leant in to kiss Caedes again – tenderly, deeply, before tangling his hand in the other’s. “You’re resting. Then I’m getting you food. I do not care if it makes you feel sick,” he added, “We are getting you through this. Gods, I don’t need to have sex with you to love you.” “I know that.” Caedes murmured. “I wanted to…” “I don’t doubt that.” Gale whispered back. “But you’re allowed to come to me for just… comfort, you understand? You don’t owe me anything.” “If I… have sex,” Caedes murmured, “Then you fall asleep after and I can leave. If I just come to lay here with you… I’ll fall asleep with you. I don’t want to hurt you.” his voice cracked at the end, “I don’t want to wake up in your blood and – and -”

“You won’t.” Gale whispered. “You couldn’t hurt me like this, I promise. I could hold you up, Caedes.” he added, throat bobbing. “Just… close your eyes. Trust me. Please?” he added, and against everything, Caedes did as he was told. Nuzzling closer, face pressing into Gale’s chest. He reached around to stroke over the plated scales on the back of his head, feeling the way the dragonborn near immediately slumped.

Gale would be lying if he said he got much sleep that night. No matter how he closed his eyes, he couldn’t seem to rest, focused on the dragonborn laying against him.

“How did I let you down so badly?” he whispered, eventually, watching as the dawn light began to warm the tent, and the way the blanket draped over the dragonborn revealed what a shell he’d become. “I’ll do better. I promise.”

[limerental]

ficletvember 2023 - day 23

isengrim/dijkstra pwp ft. bottom dijkstra

On a rainy winter day, Isengrim and Dijkstra indulge together in bed.

Winters in Novigrad were a dreary slog, the streets slick with chilled rain and the sky dismal grey. Most days, the sun barely eked through the cover of clouds.

Fortunately, the top floor of the townhouse shared by a former spymaster and wanted fugitive boasted a cozy hearth and truly enormous canopied bed swathed in furs and quilts and pillows. Through the winter, only the most pressing of affairs could coax Sigismund Dijkstra out of bed. Or even into clothing. 

“Makes you miss Zerrikania,” he said, sprawled on his side to watch the rain track down the windows. On clear summer days, one could see across rooftops to the blue shimmer of the sea. Presently, the afternoon sank into fog. “Perhaps we should winter there from now on.”

“If we wintered in Zerrikania,” said Isengrim Faoiltiarna as he returned to bed, “you would complain of the heat and sun. And the sand. And the little creatures that crawled into your bed.” 

Dijkstra grumbled and rolled to him, nearly displacing a silver tray of assorted meats and cheeses which Isengrim managed to steady even as the large man tugged him close and drew him in for a lingering kiss.

“You’re one of the creatures that crawled into my bed,” he mumbled against Isengrim’s throat. “Not complaining there.”

He hissed a curse when the elf pressed cold toes against his shins.

“Was that a complaint I heard?”

"A minor one. If you’d quit slipping out of bed, maybe you’d warm up.”

“Someone has to feed the fire,” said Isengrim. “Otherwise, someone else will moan about a chill.”

“Fire’s high enough.”

The elf’s reflexes once more spared the food tray, safely settled on the bedside table as Dijkstra palmed his narrow hips and rolled them. Beneath the fur-lined coverlet and the press of Dijkstra’s body as his mouth trailed down his throat, Isengrim soon began to warm.

The warmth came at the cost of breathing as the man’s full weight settled. 

It was a pity that Isengrim could not forgo breath for the feeling of being wholly surrounded by him, pinned and held still in a way that would have heightened a flurry of anxiety in any other circumstance. 

He tugged at Dijkstra’s ear.

“If you smother me to death, you’ll have to fetch your own wine,” Isengrim whispered against it, kissing the abused lobe in apology.

Dijkstra mumbled and rolled them once more, the cocoon of the covers falling away as Isengrim sat across his thighs. In the firelight, the shadow of tattoos across his slender torso seemed to stretch and contort as he breathed, and the scar that disfigured his face swallowed every feature but the gleam of his eyes and the twitch of a crooked smirk.

“What’s that look for?” asked Dijkstra, both thumbs trailing back and forth along the muscled dip of Isengrim’s stomach. Hips swallowed by large hands, his fingers nearly brushed. He knew exactly what the elf liked. To be smothered and dwarfed to smallness, to be insignificant for a little while, held and consumed and overpowered. 

An easy feat for a man so large, though any other man would find a dagger in his gut for trying.

Isengrim knew also what the human beneath him liked.

He trailed a hand up Dijkstra’s ticklish flank to cup his ample chest and squeeze. 

“I like looking at you,” said Isengrim, and the man’s gaze darkened.

Not ordinarily one for insecurity or for vanity, there was something different in the sound of praise from the elf’s lips. It was not simple flattery or admiration of his body but a deeper sentiment that evaded words. Something like the ways I feel when I look at you still surprise me. How unlikely all of this is. Sharing a life with someone like you. Of all possible lives.

In return, Dijkstra’s hands smoothed up Isengrim’s ribcage, looking his fill with just as much pleasure. 

Their bodies were a perfect contrast. Isengrim gristle and hard lines, scarred and marked with ink, and Dijkstra soft and fat, belly and chest heavy with silvering hair.

Isengrim trailed his long fingers up through that hair from sternum to throat and hummed in contemplation.

“What’re you planning, Wolf?” Dijkstra asked, voice low with desire. Their hips rocked subtly together, equally aroused.

“I was thinking I’d like to fuck you,” said Isengrim. 

“How d’you want me?” 

The human’s pale eyes were washed brighter by the firelight. Isengrim wanted him to the exclusion of all else.

“Like this,” he said as he coaxed the man’s legs to spread and settled between them. “Lift that thigh. Shift up. There. How’s this?”

“Not bad,” Dijkstra hummed. “Now you can do all the work.”

Isengrim pinched the meat of his thigh and avoided a kick by ducking away for the jar of oil on the side table. He quieted Dijkstra’s griping with the searching press of slender fingers. 

They did not often switch their roles like this. Isengrim had little preference between the receptive or penetrative sexual positions, but Dijkstra had never allowed himself to be in such a vulnerable position before Isengrim asked it of him the first time.

Most of his past bedpartners had not entertained the thought, far too interested in his physical endowment. Not even Philippa had suggested it, who was both uninterested in his sizeable manhood and renowned for her skill with a wooden cock and leather harness.

Mindful of this act’s infrequency, Isengrim kept his preparations slow and measured. Of course, the pace was not to Dijkstra’s liking.

“You think I’ll break or something?” he grunted, though a flush creeping up from his chest betrayed his body’s response to the crook of the elf’s fingers.

“As you know, you dh’oine are quite fragile,” said Isengrim. Truthfully, the human’s muscles had already gone suitably lax enough to proceed, but he liked this feeling, to see the little signs of Dijkstra’s interest, to fully possess this powerful man in ways he would never allow any other.

A similar feeling could be achieved with Isengrim’s legs stretched across the human’s lap, muscles quivering as he bore down on the girth of Dijkstra’s cock to ride him with an unerring rhythm.

Maybe later tonight.

For now, Isengrim withdrew his fingers and hitched a heavy thigh in the crook of his arm, shuffling close enough to tease with the firm nudge of his erection. 

“Might be overestimating my flexibility,” huffed Dijkstra as he drew his leg further up to accommodate the elf. “Definitely overestimating my patience.”

“The fire’s looking awfully low,” Isengrim drawled, feigning as though to slip from bed.

“Don’t you dare.” 

The curl of Dijkstra’s leg around his body drew him closer, as though he could not easily wriggle free if he truly wanted to. A heel nudged insistently at the small of the elf’s back, and relenting, Isengrim adjusted the grip of his hand behind Dijkstra’s knee and shifted his hips to sink deep into the warmth of the man’s body.

Dijkstra clenched instinctively for half a moment and then breathed out a shuddering exhale. The laxness returned. Isengrim nudged their hips flush together. He was nowhere near so well-endowed as the human and bottomed out easily. His slick fingers felt where they joined, teasing there as he held still.

“You tired already, Grim?”

“Yes, Sigi, you exhaust me.”

Isengrim tipped his cheek against Dijkstra's raised knee and held a kiss there. He shifted, drew back, and began to drive down with steady thrusts, not sparing any measure of his strength. 

Urged on by fervent curses and taunts, their bodies rocked together. Sweat slicked Isengrim's grasp, settling to brace his shoulder under the raised knee. Dijkstra grunted at the change in angle, and Isengrim rested a sharp grin against his calf.

“Good?” he asked, smug, and the human swore more colorfully.

“Better if you kept at it, you lazy fuckin–”

Isengrim quieted him with an athletic show of muscle honed by years of desperate combat, now devoted wholly to this, the blunt-edged softness of this unlikely retirement. 

The position prevented them from leaning together to kiss deeply the way they wished to. The rain lashed the windows, and the fire burnt high.

When Isengrim's release crested over him in a sudden wave, he searched with a clumsy fumble for Dijkstra's cock pressed between their bellies. He knew exactly the pressure and speed needed in the curl of his fingers to swiftly draw out his climax in a messy spill between them.

Both groaned as Dijkstra's stiff leg dropped off Isengrim's equally stiff shoulder. The elf sat back on his heels a moment, both hands petting up and down the human's soft thighs.

“C'mere,” grunted Dijkstra, gesturing, and despite the mess and sweat of their bodies, Isengrim lay down atop him. Resting their foreheads together, they breathed into a slow kiss.

After a long moment with no sound but their steadying breath and the patter of the rain, Isengrim said, “you stink, Sigi.”

A laugh rumbled up through Dijkstra's chest. 

“I'll draw a bath if you get the wine from the cellar.”

“You go,” said Isengrim, rolling to pull the cover of a quilt around him, blinking coyly from beneath it. “Fetch me when the water's warm.”

Dijkstra's grumbles and groans as he tugged on a silk robe to rise from bed were all for show.

He could never deny Isengrim a thing.

[jiliansky-blog]

The cat of dreams. Chapter 7

Pairing: Morpheus x FemaleReader  

Rating: PG

Words: 1600

It past already a few more days, when I tried to write and waited for Melody to check me by. And when I sounded knocking on the door, I thought it was her. “You are right about the time”, I started, but words died when I saw with fear that it was Corinthian. He was standing so casually as if he just paid me a visit. “I found you”, he smirked.

“What are you doing here?” I asked, trying to figure out what should I do. Melody won’t help me. It only endangered her. Should I call somehow Morpheus? Or trying to talk this guy not to murder me? “I was looking for you obviously”, he said. “I didn’t expect that, so it took some time”.

  “Why did you look for me?” I asked. “And how did you find me?” “Are not you going to invite me into the cup of coffee?” he smirked again. “No”, I said. “I don’t invite suspected people, who follow me”, it was bold. “What do you want really”. “I am looking for your black cat”, he said. “I gave it away to my friend”, I replied. “I don’t have it anymore. So you can stop following me. Goodbye”. “Yes, I could figure it out”, he said. “But perhaps, you can…arrange our meeting”.

“Meeting?” I asked. “With a cat?” “Yes”, he smiled. “Perhaps, he got quite attached to you”. “I don’t think so”, I said. “It’s impossible. And you are breaking my vocation”. I tried to close the door in front of him. But he stopped me and tried to get in. I didn’t know how he find out where I am. I hoped Melody is alright. And I was afraid of what he can do to me. “I just want to talk he said and broke in”, he said. “You know that he wasn’t the cat actually. I need you to call him”. “I can’t do it”, I replied. “I didn’t see him since he left me”. “Oh, I am sure, he will come to your rescue”, he said.

I thought a glimpse of the light, and it turned out to be a knife. I felt like I can’t breathe. I need to go away from it. And I tried to run in desperation. But he quickly caught me. “Get away from here!” I heard a voice. It wasn’t Morpheus. And it wasn’t Melody. It was a young woman with dark hair.

She began to read something in Latin and it stopped Corinthian. I couldn’t lose a chance and run away. He was surprised but not for long. “I’m not a demon, you can’t hurt me”, he smirked. “We are going to find out it”, said the woman. “I just need to stop you for some time. I am sure I can do this”. “No human will stop me”, Corinthian said. “And I’m not just a human”, she said. “Run”. She said to me and began to recite some spells in Latin again. The nightmare tried to fight it, but it was hard for him. “Maybe, some seal will stop him”, I suggested.

  But it would take time, and he will try to catch me. Then I quickly took a log, that was lying near the cabin, quickly moved to him, and strike his head. He fell on the floor. Good, the nightmare can be hit unconscious. “Smart girl”, said the woman. “He won’t be unconscious for long, so we need to seal him or tie him up”. We found the rope somewhere in the cabin and she tied him up. Then she stood up and looked at me. She was young and pretty. “You came just in time”, I said. “Thank you! But…who are you?” “Johanna Constantine”, she smiled. “Dream of the Endless sent me to help you. I was following this bastard, but he was clever and quick”.

Morpheus didn’t forget about me. This thought made me happy somehow. It means that he should come back. “You know him?” I asked. “Did you see him?” “Yes, he found me, because I have something of his stuff”, she replied. “And then he asked me to watch out for you”. “Is he going to come?” I asked. She looked at me with understanding just like Lucienne. “You are in love”, she said. “With him”. “What?”I blushed, but I realized that she was right. I did fall in love with him. That is why I missed him so much.

  “I saw that look before”, Johanna smiled. “And I can’t blame you. He is so hot, handsome, and mysterious. Just be careful. Relationships with some supernatural creatures often don’t end up well. Though he cares for you”. “Oh”, I said. “I…didn’t think about a relationship yet”. “He should come”, she answered my question. “At least to take this guy”. “Can I offer you tea?” I asked. “Or coffee. While we are waiting”. “There is no need for waiting”, suddenly Morpheus appeared just near the cabin. “Thank you, Constantine, for keeping her safe”. “You owned me, Dream of the Endless”, she smiled and prepared to walk away, but I stopped her. I need to do something else.

“Johanna, can you please check if my friends are okay?” I asked. “Corinthian have to get this knowledge from someone”. “Of course, but you will own me too”, she smiled. “Then you need to leave me a number”, I smiled back. “I will find you”, she smirked and walked away. And then I can look at Morpheus, who was watching me. He was as handsome as before. And he was mysterious in his dark coat. “Do you want to court her?” he asked. “What?” I laughed. “No, I just thought she can be a good ally or a friend”. “Oh”, he said. Is that a relief? “I’d rather be courted by you”, I smiled. “I thought I won’t see you again”.

“It can be a dangerous idea”,  he admitted.

“What? Not seeing you again?” I asked. “No”, he replied. “Me courting you”. “Why?” I asked. “Because of some stupid rules?” “They are not stupid”, Morpheus said. “Look, we are not even in a relationship yet, and you are already in danger because of me”. “And you saved me”, I smiled. “Or sent Johanna to save me”.

He touched my cheek and the skin was electrified where he touched me. I was yearning to kiss him. He was even more ethereal and handsome now. “It’s still a risk”, he whispered, still touching my skin. “It’s a risk I’m willing to take”, I replied. And then he kissed me. His lips were so soft, warm, and gentle. He cupped my head with his hands and I melt into his touch. And if someone asked me, I would say it was worth the danger and the risk.

I could kiss him all night, but then Corinthian coughed. He soon will wake up. And Morpheus made a step back. “I should take care of him first”, he said. “Before he hurts someone else”. “Are you going to come back?” I asked. “As soon as possible”, he smiled softly. “My kingdom needs the repair after my absence. But I will try to find time”. “I will wait for you then”, I smiled back and kissed his cheek.

  He smiled again, then turned to Corinthian and in the whirl of sand, took the nightmare with him. His kiss still lingers on my lips. “Olivia!”, I heard Melody’s voice. “Oh my god, are you alright? What happened?” “I’m fine, what happened to you”, she said. “Someone knocked me, while I was working. Then a woman helped me”. “I’m so glad, you are…alright”, I sighed. “It’s this guy that followed me. He found me here somehow. But that woman, Johanna, saved me. Then Morpheus came and took him away”. “Morpheus? The man you like?” she asked. “Yes, and he also kissed me”, I smiled dreamily. “You are over hills in love, friend”, she smirked. “So you are not in danger anymore?”

  “I think so”, I replied. “But I need to call my other friends. That guy knew where to find me. And I need to know how. Did you tell anyone that I’m here?” “No”, she said. “Maybe someone could overhear our conversation?” I called Jodie and she said, that one guy asked about me. And then someone broke into my house. I sighed. “Perhaps, he followed me home and then noticed that I went away”, he said. “Perhaps, he found some notes that could lead him here”, I said. “He broke in and followed you”, Melody was scared. “He is more dangerous than I thought. You should call the police”.

“There is no need any more”, I said. “Morpheus took care of him. I don’t think this man will bother me ever again”. “So do you need me to stay with you tonight?” she asked. “Or are you going to wait for your mysterious prince tonight?” “I don’t think he will come tonight”, I sighed. “So I will highly appreciate your company”. “I just need you to move to another cabin”, Melody said. “I can’t stay here, knowing that that psychopath attacked you here”. I didn’t mind and with her help, we moved to another cabin. Melody ordered food and asked one of her coworkers to keep an eye on whoever wanted to interrupt us.

  “So, are you going to return home now, when everything ends, or stay till the end of vocation?” she asked. “I think I stay”, I replied.  “I don’t want to return home after a break-in. Not yet. But I desperately want to see Morpheus”. “I can help you with distraction”, she smiled. “And I’m sorry you weren’t safe”. “We couldn’t predict it”, I said. “Don’t blame yourself. He was dangerous. I’m glad, he didn’t hurt you”. “Well, my head doesn’t agree with it”, she said.

@shadowqueen1318  @mypsychoticlove  @justathirstyhoe​  @ladymoztaza