#unfinished tales fic?

[gwaedhannen]

The storm moved quickly over the dark ocean

-@outofangband

(Your writing is so so good!)

It passed up the Anduin, bewildering the men of Pelargir and Osgiliath, Cair Andros and the Undeeps, twisting with unreal speed to the eaves of the shaking woods. It slowed as it turned eastwards up the Celebrant, pausing before its newly-named tributary to find a green hill crowned with silver and gilded boughs, and the two figures who stood there.

The newly-titled Lord and Lady surely could not be blind to the storm’s purpose, the depths reaching inland through the rivers with abyssal roil, overflowing with grief—but foreknowledge was no shield as Uinen bubbled forth in shame, bearing the drowned body of the prior King of Lórinand in her gut, suddenly so far from the last vicious argument in the White Mountains as one party fled south to sail and the other rallied north to aid; and great wailing broke above the trees, silver and gold and silver and gold—

“Amroth, Amroth!” “Ion nín!”

[nenyabusiness]

[Sauron] perceived at once that Galadriel would be his chief adversary and obstacle, and he endeavoured therefore to placate her, bearing her scorn with outward patience and courtesy.

Unfinished Tales, J.R.R. Tolkien (Ed. Christopher Tolkien)

[thetalesofno-one]

Curse of Strahd, Act I: Pt. 1, Ch. V -Shadow Of Barovia-

D&D Campaign Retelling Part 1/6 Chapter 5/5 ~5.1k words Content Warnings: Curse of Strahd typical content, Read at own risk

Summary Free of the deadman's path, the disparate travelers continue on across the misty lands into the shadow of a ruined village. Barovia. Civilization found, and hopefully answers, unknowing that their troubles have only just begun. Read Previous Chapters also available on AO3

Emet stares at the empty ground where the corpse grew its roots the last they passed this tree. The dirt empty and undisturbed, yet the deadman gone. No footsteps scar the mud, no scrabbling prints of some beast come to claim its rotting meal. And yet the body is gone.

He checked for undeath. His god may have forsaken him, but the remnant of that divine power granted to him when he first took his oath never faded even after all that happened. He felt the power, sensed it in his veins like a presence. A doorway he can still open. One his god did not lock and one Emet would have tried to break down if he did. But he hadn’t needed to. When he called on that power, it answered. And that power sensed no undeath when he used it. The body should still be here. 

Evrrot steps widely over the area to not sully any trail, his cognac eyes sharper than bourbon checking for any sign of what happened. Finding none he sinks an accusing glare into Emet.

“I thought you checked this shit.”

“I did.”

“Clearly not well enough.”

Emet’s lip curls in a half snarl and he turns back to the wagon path. The road stretching on, open now as freely as when they first walked it. No trick, no compulsion to continue circling the deadman’s path, no clawing thoughts at the edge of their minds, urging them to try again, try again. So why did the deadman obsessively run himself into exhaustion? Why continue clawing tallies into trees on a path that went nowhere when he must have crossed the wagon trail forty-three times? What made death by exhaustion a better choice than following this road? Or did the road not exist for him? The trail clearly started and ended where this group’s feet first set foot in the misty forest. Perhaps their arrival carved it into the land like a sign post, guiding them somewhere. Or perhaps it only exists for those it’s meant to exist. But then where else would the deadman have come from? 

Roshan clears his throat though it doesn’t clear the tension in the air.

“I am not the smartest man, but surely the man could not have been this dumb,” Roshan says, confirming Emet’s own thoughts, “Forty-three times.”

“Unless something addled his mind.”

“Maybe he thought he had to,” Evie adds. She looks back at the road that started them on this path and then ahead to wherever it might lead. Glancing at the spot where the body once rotted, her eyes flicker to Emet a moment. She’s the one who knew how he checked, so what does it say to her that he failed? That he is a liar? Or his god?

“Maybe the flaming horseman chased him off the wagon road,” Roshan nods as though that is the only possible answer. He points down the wagon trail, “But this is our only path left now.”

Emet wishes he was wrong—certain the others feel the same way by Evie’s wary look down the road and Evrrot’s scowl—but that may have been the deadman’s wish and look where that got him. Perhaps wishes are dangerous things in this place. 

Evie slips the compass from the pouch on her belt again, setting the bronze device in her palm and giving the needle a moment to settle. Her other hand twists the brooch about her neck, unconsciously mimicking the back and forth movement of the red needle still refusing to find North. Roshan twists his feather in a similar fashion, praying to it like a stick of incense and Emet finds himself absently checking the amber shard lashed to the back of his hand, seeking any guidance that led him this far. But the stone remains dark and empty and the compass needle never finds North. It no longer whirs violently beneath the glass at least.

Evrrot glares at them all.

“What do all of you have?” He narrows his eyes, “What are you playing with?” 

Roshan looks up from his feather, “I told you. It is a blessing from my god.”

Evie quickly drops the brooch, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Just my spell casting focus,” Emet lies, though only partially he supposes.

“Got any spells that can get rid of fog?” Evrrot asks sarcastically.

“Afraid not.”

Then what good are you, the tiefling’s expression seems to ask. Evrrot clearly doesn’t believe any of them and other than perhaps Roshan, Emet knows he and Evie are lying. They all saw each other get pulled into the mist by these trinkets. All except Evrrot who seems to have nothing as far as Emet can tell. So why did he follow?

The glares persist, each person daring the other to question their answers in silent challenge. But the standoff is quickly broken as Roshan starts trying to blow away the fog with his breath, the mist only swirling about lightly. 

Evie smiles dangerously and points a finger at the charmer. Magic infuses her words as she whispers, “I can’t dispel the fog either, but does this make it creepier?”

Her tinted lips move, forming words without sound, her finger still pointed sharply at Evrrot like a dagger. Emet hears nothing, the magic of the message spell stealing away her words and giving them solely to Evrrot. The tiefling flinches suddenly. Emet almost laughs thinking the charmer has never been on the receiving end of a message spell when Evrrot grabs his head and winces painfully, roaring.

“What the hells?! Stop it!”

Evie’s eyes flash wide at the outburst, holding up her hands and ending the spells casting.

“Devil boy, what is the matter with you?” Roshan demands, sounding exactly like a father tired of his son’s dramatics.

“She’s casting spells!”

The initial concern on Evie’s face rolls away with her eyes as she gives Evrrot the ‘done with your shit’ expression of an older sibling realizing their kin reacted to a pat on the shoulder like it was a slap to the face, “It was a joke, man. Chill. No one’s ever been hurt by a message spell.”

“Jokes don’t hurt!”

“Hurt? I did the little sneaky message thing—”

“That wasn’t a little message,” Evrrot mocks, “That was the voice of the damned screaming in my head. I don’t know what you did, but stop casting spells on me.”

“Mate, I don’t know what you’re talking about. Look, I’m not very magical, I can send little messages and I can do this,” she lights up her armor again with the deep bluish light.

Evrrot stabs a finger, still rubbing his head, “Watch her.”

“My magic is very bad, basic at best!” Evie continues, snapping her fingers to summon a small burst of green flame. She double takes a glance at the flickering fires dancing atop her pinched fingertips like she’s never seen such a thing before. “And that’s green now for some reason—” 

A dull whispering voice follows the flame, every ripple of the fire like a whisper from beyond. The green flames dance wildly along her chipped painted nails, more erratic than typical arcane flame. Evie stops talking, staring at the small magical fire with wide kohl painted eyes and a genuine expression of horror. Either this is new and she’s not lying or Emet has sorely misjudged who needs to be watched in this group.

“Okay that’s creepy.” Evie snuffs out the flame.

Roshan eyes her warily, “Did you kill someone in your past life?”

“No!”

“Then this place is haunted.”

Evrrot sweeps an angry finger across everyone again, backing up with his body lightly curled in a fighting stance, hand somehow always near a weapon at any given time with a well practiced ease, “We’ll all playing nice now, but I’m watching each of you. And if anyone stabs me in the back I will not hesitate.”

“Devil boy,” Roshan sighs, “Take the gnarled branch out of your ass. We have to be together for this, okay?”

Evrrot gives him a derisive snort and twists on his heel, the tiefling storming down the wagon road without another word. 

“Follow me,” Roshan sighs, waving to Evie and Emet like a father herding his unruly children after one threw a tantrum.

“We’re all walking in the same direction!” Evrrot growls ahead, “We’re not all following you.”

“Okay, whatever you say, devil boy.”

Roshan grins mischievously before jogging ahead to catch up with Evrrot and irritate him further. Emet sighs and offers Evie a shrug that says, this is our life now, and follows. The half elf groans behind him. It’s a moment before he hears the sound of her heavy platform boots stomping reluctantly behind.

Emet tries not to look back at her. The whispers of her green flames echo dully in his memory, haunting soliloquies at the edge of his mind. They did sound like the dead. Voices distant and stolen away. Here, but leagues apart. The desperate cries of spirits screaming into your ears, yet the fathom between life and death dulls their screams to a barely heard whisper. Words shouted right into your ears, yet too distant to make out.

He wonders if they cling to her too or if her flames merely gave them voice.

The dark woods fall away like words at the end of a page. The tree line breaking apart and stopping with the sharpness that can only come at the edge of an axe. Nature halted by the hand of civilization. Beyond the edge, the lands arms open wide and stretch across a large sweep of grassy valley. Only a ribbon of river bisects the knolls, cutting through the fabric of the fields. Still gloomy and misty, the fog drifts as low as a blanket across the gentle hills. It pours out from gnarled forest behind them like river water over a dam, thinning to the swirling stream dancing over the whispering fields of tall grass. Above, roiling thunder clouds twist and boil the dark skies, choking out whatever sun must hang above into little more than thin grey light.

Sharp jagged mountains pierce their teeth into the skies beyond the shadow of the vale, evergreen trees spilling down the mountainsides and enclosing this valley between sharp stone and needled trees. Snowcaps bleach the jagged grey edges of the stone teeth towering imperiously over the land, the vale swallowed in the maw of some godsbeast. 

And yet it is still a far more welcome sight than the forest behind.

Ahead, sickly yellow grasses and farmland sway in the ever shifting tides of mist and wind, wrapping around the sharp edges of some small settlement hunkered down in the trough of the valley. The pale river cuts past the settlement, the winter blue ribbon reflecting the roiling sky in its crystalline waters. 

And looming high above the settlement, perched at the edge of a sheer mountain cliff, a dark twisted castle, all spires and stone spines sitting alone in silent oppressive watch. A stone beast haunting the cliff’s edge, the village below its hapless prey. A thread of lightning cuts across the dark skies in a flash, casting the keep in sharp shadow and violent light before a sudden swell of thick fog sweeps across the vale in a wave, concealing both castle and settlement from view.

But at least they know that it is there. 

“That place looks pretty nice,” Roshan comments wryly.

Evrrot scoffs, “Yeah compared to here.”

Roshan claps his hands together, “We can all rest up and have a good night’s sleep. And then everyone will be less stressed.”

“Let’s hope it’s not one of those crazy villages where they believe the weather is controlled by sacrifice or some shit,” Evrrot mumbles. “You’d be the first to go.”

“Some gods do like you to sacrifice people, but that is a whole ‘nother thing.” Roshan waves everyone forward, “Come along.”

Emet barely cares where they are going at this point. His stomach stopped its complaining hours ago to settle into a disapproving dull ache and his leaden legs have resigned themselves to swinging forward with each step by momentum alone. It’s only when he stops that Emet feels like he could simply sink into the dirt and never move again. Better to keep trudging along until they find a real bed to rest, lest his body decide the ground is good enough after all. 

He’s not sure how long the others have been on their feet, but more hours have passed since they left the deadman’s trail and he’s guessing they are nearing eight or more hours since the mist swept them into strange lands. He was ready to end the day back in the leaning Daggerford barn, now he is close to collapse. 

The slate grey armor hanging from his shoulders felt like bars of iron back in Daggerford, now they sit like anvils after so many hours. The clothing beneath is soaked entirely between the rain and the sweat, and the black cloak draped over his shoulder hangs as heavy and damp as a wet blanket. If it wasn’t for the constant chill of this place freezing the sodden wear to his skin and the ever present sense of danger prickling at his frayed nerves, Emet would have started drifting off to sleep long ago whether he was on his feet or not.

Evie seems equally exhausted, her arms wrapped around herself and tugging at the short skirt beneath her armor as though she can stretch it out to keep the wind off her exposed legs. She chews at a lip piercing irritatedly, occasionally blowing a strand of fallen hair from her face with a huff. 

Evrrot seems warm however, that charcoal scented leather long coat of his keeping his clothing suitably dry and warm in this winter breeze. Emet wonders absently if his infernal blood warms him as well or if that’s only a rumor. He’s known a few tiefling in his long life, but mostly as clients. Never well enough to venture such a question. And he certainly won’t ask this man lest he give him the fire he needs for warmth through irritation alone.

Misery keeps their company and exhaustion their silence. Only Roshan clings obnoxiously to every fragment of hope this gloomy place spits at them. Where the old man gets his vitality, Emet will never know. The old human looks as weathered as old leather draped in scratchy white cloth—now soaked—but somehow his every step bounces with a spring in it and that near constant smile of his curls up the edges of his salted beard as reliably as the sun rises each day.

Evrrot glares at the old man every few paces with the irritated hatred born from a day that’s gone on for too long and Evie lets slip a small smirk when she thinks no one is looking, but Emet finds his mind drifting to Azem. Roshan’s bouncing gate reminds Emet of the sun elf every time they had set out together on a journey. No matter how long the day or early the morning, Azem always finds a way to brighten it. 

Sun elf and sun god, both so bright.

The muddy wagon path twists ahead of them, rolling across the grassy hills down into small valleys thick with puddles before rippling up again. The land folded and rippled like cloth. And all the while their sodden boots trudge it further still with the hope that the mist doesn’t completely swallow up the village ahead in more than sight. It already devoured their last one after all.

Evie nods toward something off the road, not daring to unwrap the warmth of her arms from around herself to point. “What’s that?” 

All heads swing to where she stares off the trail into the strange mist and the veil of it thins briefly to see a dark weathered stone atop a small knoll.

“Maybe it is a mile marker,” Roshan’s voice betrays the tiredness he is hiding better than the rest, “I will go have a look.”

“I’ll join, shouldn’t be splitting up,” Emet says, not wanting to stand still.

Evie shakes her head, “Don’t worry about it, we should keep going.”

“It is barely 20ft feet away,” Roshan waves his hand at the stone definitely more than 20ft away, “We will be fine.”

“I’m getting bad vibes from this place, let’s not go and explore every weird, creepy thing we come across.”

“Yes, let’s definitely go and together.”

Evie frowns, “That’s not what I said.”

Roshan trudges off path, sweeping aside the tall grasses with Emet in tow. Neither Evie nor Evrrot follow. 

Certainly isn’t a mile marker, Emet thinks as they get closer to the dark stone. The stone is slick with rain and soaked through, but rain-darkened words are carved into its rough surface in the common tongue—a good sign. Emet reads the epitaph chiseled into the gravestone. Rose and Thorn, and beneath the inscription the phrase, Lost to the world, Found in Judgement.

“This is a burial proverb of Kelemvor, yes? The God of Death in our Faerûn?” Roshan asks, kneeling beside the stone and brushing away the grasses already grown long around it. Emet notes the grave marker barely looks as though it has weathered a year. Roshan looks up expectantly at the tall moon elf, but Emet keeps his silence hoping the holy man will mistake it for ignorance and not familiarity. 

The holy man shrugs, “I think it is.”

Before departing the holy man offers a brief blessing, his hand marking the symbol not of Kelemvor, but of Lathander. Emet doesn’t quite remember which domain that god embodies, he never was the most devout in his order. Maybe that’s why things ended up the way they did. But then again, Roshan seems to have an abundance of faith and he’s still here in this mess beside Emet. So maybe the answer is that none of the gods care.

Roshan slaps his knees as he stands, breaking Emet out of his thoughts, “All done, thank you for waiting. We should head back now.”

The two trudge back through thick grass and uneven ground to Evie and Evrrot, the half elf and tiefling watching them carefully and impatiently. Evrrot’s horns drip droplets of water past his shoulders, hair more slick than ever in the wet rain and wetter still for them having made him wait as the rain picks up a little heavier. Emet is half surprised the tiefling didn’t simply leave as he’s so fond of threatening at every occasion. 

Evie just stares past them, out to the stone marker, her mohawk nearly flattened and drooping half way to her armored shoulders. She’d dug a ditch in the mud with her platform boots while waiting, chewing on her darkly tinted lips as though she half expected some terrible thing to burst out of the fog and snatch away Emet and Roshan on their way back. Not out of the realm of possibility, unfortunately.

“It was a just tombstone,” Roshan offers as Evie lifts her head expectantly.

“Ah yeah, nothing creepy about a random tombstone in the middle of nowhere,” she comments.

“You never know, this could have been their favorite hill.”

Evrrot uncrosses his arm, “Alright, you’ve had your fun. Follow me.”

“Of course, devil boy” Roshan grins, “We follow you.”

Devil and holy man walk side by side, already having forgotten Emet and Evie in their unspoken competition. Emet shakes his head and is about to follow when he realizes Evie doesn’t move. She stares off at that grave marker, arms crossed across the wet chainmail on her chest. She barely seems to realize half of them have left.

Evie takes a breath and steps forward, but not toward Emet. She determinedly marches for the gravestone alone. Emet nearly follows, wanting to keep anyone from being alone in this place, but something tells him to hold back. 

Platform boots slipping in the thick wet grasses up the knoll’s side, Evie barely realizes she’s gone to the grave marker before she finds herself standing in front of it. It’s not like she wants to be here, just that…she needs to. Or that she should. She doesn’t know anymore. 

Her eyes trail over the stone’s carving catching on the curl and slant of the ‘R’ in Rose and the sweeping ’T’ in Thorn with a prick of familiarity. She shakes her head and rereads the names and that small sense rewrites itself in her mind as coincidence. Found in Judgement. A familiar proverb from a familiar god. One she’s probably read or said a hundred different times in her twenty-something years. 

A snake curls in her stomach reading it. 

She never really knew how she felt about that phase. Evie knows it’s supposed to be a source of comfort, that the bad will get their due and the good will be absolved and find their eternities in their heavens. But at the same time, it feels like a watchful gaze. A reminder that everything you do, every mistake you make, and every person you disappoint becomes another tally in a book made to immortalize your every sin. A permanent record of every failure that you’ll carry forever…

Evie sighs and quickly makes the symbol of Kelemvor.

Duty fulfilled, she wraps her arms back around herself and trudges back through the mud to where that giant shadow waits for her. She narrows her eyes at him, giving him a look that asks Why are you still here, poncy idiot before angrily stomping past him. He keeps pace, not trailing behind as if he actually remembers she doesn’t want him behind her, and they hurry to catch up with the angry tiefling and the endless well of happiness irritating the ever living shit out of ‘devil boy.’ She almost wants to laugh seeing them both still vying to stay ahead of each other, but it catches in her throat and the sound is all too similar to a sob. She bites it back and keeps walking.

Emet keeps to Evie’s hurried pace, careful not to fall behind.

The ever present mist has thankfully not swept away the settlement like a vision, the tall shapes of stone and wood structures looming within the fog, slowly peeking out between the waves. Mud gives way to slick wet cobblestones beneath their feet and for the first time since the barn, Emet doesn’t feel like he’s in a dream.

Dwellings border either side of the main thoroughfare with windows as empty and dark as the dried broken sockets of a skull. No sound to cut the silence, no light to signal life. Emet has lived through conflicts before in the extraordinarily long life granted to those of elven blood, and the buildings here look like those who have suffered much and been afforded little in the aftermath. Crippled things, wood and stone scarred by blade or claw with glass long shattered and replaced by crooked planks of wood, all leaning against another as though the wall beside it is all that keeps it standing. Remove the one and all will crumble.  

Only the flapping of wings fills the streets as a raven swoops toward them from across the way. The little bird settles, perching with a flutter of black feathers atop an errant railing. It fusses with its wings a moment, a curious shade of blue tipping its silken edges before folding them neatly behind its back. It stares at the group expectantly. 

Evie’s eyes light up a moment when she sees it. The blue-tipped raven caws loudly and stomps its little feet before taking off, following the street toward what must be a town square up ahead. Beyond this lane, the buildings open up a bit more with what appears to be a statue of some kind at its center.

“I think it wants us to follow it,” Evie says.

Roshan squints after the raven as though seeking some sign, “It looks like a normal bird.”

“It cawed when it looked at me though. When you look at most birds, they just…” Evie flutters her hands, mimicking wings taking off.

Roshan gives Evie the same look the others have given him whenever he pulls out that feather of his to seek guidance. Seems the only one allowed to have signs from the gods is the holy man. 

The raven perches on a signpost across the town square, too distant to read from here at the edge of the village. None seem eager to take the first step into unfamiliar territory—and ruined territory at that, the buildings abandoned and dark as far as they can tell. But they all know there is no where else to go. 

“Should we be nice to anyone we come across?” Roshan asks.

“Don’t see why not. They’ve not done anything yet,” Emet’s eyes search the darkened windows, the quiet streets, “If they’re even here.”

Roshan studies the grim group. Weary from the days of travel, edges frayed and nerves short, they all wear a mask of misery. Were this a normal town with streets filled with souls, all would avoid them warily with the grim air about them.

“Maybe you should smile, Emet.”

The words slide between Emet’s ribs with a dagger’s edge and drift down his throat like poppy wine. Both numbing and warm and stealing away the pain long enough to feel the heat blood spilling over his ribs and mistake it for comfort. Memory is held in that painful warmth and he doesn’t hear Roshan’s voice, but Azemir’s. A faint smile, hollow and a ghost of what it once was answers and flickers across Emet’s face before the words turn sharp and he feels the dagger behind the wine. The pain of remembered words once spoken dearly by another soul awaiting his return.

The smiles fades as quickly as it appeared, yet none see the blood.

The holy man moves on, unknowing of the bittersweet blade he buried in Emet’s chest. 

“And maybe you should be happy, Evrrot. Angry devils are usually a very bad thing. Evie, you are fine.”

“Do I not come off as a happy person,” Evrrot comments, face as grim as a gravestone.

“Do I not come off as a miserable person?” Evie asks, affronted.

Roshan grins, “No and no.”

“I’m very cheery,” Evrrot glowers.

“Maybe once you’ve had some food in your stomach.”

“That’s probably the first thing you’ve said that’s made any sense.” Evrrot throws caution to the wind once more and strolls down the street, “Let’s go find an inn and see if you’re right.”

Muddy cobblestones scrape beneath their boots, the sound as loud as horse hooves in this eerie silence. If this place is occupied, there should be at least one or two people in the streets, shouldn’t there? Someone fetching the days errands, or a merchant tending their harvest stand, a kid chasing a dog, anything. But no, hollow as a tomb and quiet as the crypt. Only the wind whispering through the broken glass windows gives voice to this dead village. The swift breeze creaks a few half broken signs with rusted wails.

As they near the square, a beam of light briefly breaks through the darkened clouds and casts a pillar of pale white glow upon the statue. Even freed from the prison of clouds, the sun’s light is choked and faded, sapped of all warmth as it falls upon the figure dominating the square. Carved of old stone, the armored man’s shoulders are chipped and cracked from disrepair, matching the destitution of the village it protects. He holds a blade triumphantly aloft in stark contrast to the loss echoed all around him, a heavily booted foot resting atop the severed head of another man. Fangs jut from the severed head’s mouth, the snarling lips curled back with its jaw hung open at a broken angle. A sign of protection for those who live here and a warning to those with ill intent, but one that rings hollow through the empty shell of ruins. 

The metal of the weatherworn plaque at the base carries the green tinge of aged copper. Deep clawing gouges from some beast cut across the words hammered into the surface, but the name is still legible. 

Ismark Antonavich the Great

Burgomaster of Barovia

Bane of Vampires

618-662 BC

BC? That’s not the common dating notation utilized in Faerûn or anywhere that Emet’s heard of. And Barovia is equally an unknown. Granted, the moon elf isn’t the most well traveled, or even the most well read despite his past, but one glance at the others tells him he is not the only one lost as to when or where any of this is.

Roshan is the first to voice their questions, “What is Barovia?”

“What is BC?” Evie asks.

“Oh, is that strange too? I don’t know the actual years, so I don’t know what it is supposed to be.”

Emet and Evie’s eyes settle on the holy man. Not knowing the day or maybe the month is understandable, but the year?

Evrrot remains fixated on the plaque, “Bane of Vampires…”

Roshan lifts a finger, grinning, “That word I do know.”

“Are there vampires here?” Evrrot wonders.

Emet tilts his head to the shrouded skies where the dim light of sun weakly pours through the heaviest of the storm. Its beam sallow and faint as though the skies themselves suffocate their star. Every day a slow and agonizing breath above the land, a single gasp above the night’s waters before it is dragged below each night into stillness.

“If there aren’t then there were,” he answers. 

Evrrot joins him in squinting up at the skies, the thin beam snuffing out at last as a wave of thick clouds rolls overhead, “It’s certainly ideal if this is the weather every day.”

A shrill caw breaks their conversation, the blue-tipped raven shouting its displeasure at being ignored like a lordling demanding attention. The bird stomps its small feet with little clicking sounds as the talons dance along the top of a wooden post jutting out from the side of a building no more remarkable than any of the others. Though its build and size suggests it may indeed be an inn. A wooden sign hangs precariously from the post by a single chain—the other broken and clinking lightly in the wind—is painted with a once vibrantly green vine dripping in what may be blood or wine. The paint half chipped and cracked by the natural fissures in the wood still bears the name. 

The Blood on the Vine Tavern. 

“Hey, look at that.” Evrrot casts a hand toward the sign, “The raven led us to beer.”

Satisfied its message has been received, the regal raven quickly flutters off into the mist. If Emet were a faithful man, he’d call it a sign.

“Seems your prayers were answered,” Emet murmurs as the tiefling makes his way to the double doors.

NOTES

Thanks so much for reading Part 1! I'm going to be taking a brief hiatus to catch up on some writing and notes, but I will be back. Part 2 will be available on April 23rd, hope to see you then

[theriverwild]

Aftermath

Chapter 8

SA 1701: The Wound and The Salve

Side note:

Posted this to AO3 a few days ago but between frequent travel the past few weeks I am still catching up on my Tumblr. Good news is, however, that I did a lot of writing on an airplane today. I hope to be on another posting spree this weekend.

[elennalore]

Reveals for Scribbles & Drabbles @fall-for-tolkien are here!

I'm happy I had a chance to write a fic for this wonderful Isildur art by @erdarieldraws

Fic: Weregild (3181 words)

Gen, rated T

Characters: Elendur, Isildur

Summary: Elendur learns about the One Ring and the effects it has on his father – and himself.

[welcometolotr]

TFO.II: a tale unending, a life complete

Chapter 15: inordinate grace

Galathil grinned. “You don’t like living on the edge?”

Saeros pinned him with a stiff stare. “Do I look like I do?”

He had to admit the answer was no; Saeros was as buttoned-up as Valwë. Most of the court dressed in sheer fabrics to deal with the gentle warmth and humidity of the caves, but Saeros had on thick, opaque dress that looked like it was probably rather hot. “To each his own,” Galathil relented. “Here, the library is down the stairs after those double doors,” he said, pointing. “Perhaps I’ll see you later?”

“Perhaps.” It seemed as if Saeros forgot him in the very next instant as he pushed through the doors and into the waiting hallway without another word.

Galathil shrugged. He seemed interesting, at least – an opinionated person meant that there was a personality behind it all, even if it might take some digging to connect.

As he let his feet carry him back to the family wing, he realized that Saeros had never asked for his name.

read the full chapter on ao3 here

[cidandy]

AGGGHH i love cidandy grggrgrrr i love tjen so much i literally am always thinking about those two

[wri0thesley]

spoilt - yandere alhaitham x reader x yandere kaveh (4.7k)

alhaitham has a lesson to teach.

cw: not sfw, minors dni. yandere, but of the 'softer' variety - reader is happy with their lot as 'pet' of alhaitham and kaveh, this is mostly a smut fic. pet reader. blowjobs, cunnilingus, piv sex, fingering. reader is afab but no gendered pronouns are used.

this was a commissioned work.

It starts with a simple sentence. 

Alhaitham, over dinner, where you sit prettily and primly and properly at his feet, saying it to Kaveh with a laser focus when the architect tries to lean down to you and feed you a piece of his dessert. Alhaitham doesn’t speak off-handedly; he watches you demur the sugary piece of crystallized fruit between Kaveh’s fingertips (you think you see a flash of satisfaction in his eyes), and then he says with all of the weight that his words always bear;

“You spoil them. It’s not good for them.” 

Kaveh had looked at Alhaitham for a moment, and then you. His lip had jutted out, obstinately, as he’d replied to Alhaitham in an almost-injured voice.

“I think they deserve to be spoiled. Just because you don’t--”

Alhaitham sighs, and reaches down to gently rest his hand atop of your head. 

“The nature of training a pet,” Alhaitham reminds Kaveh, “means not always giving in to every whim. I know you are a bleeding heart, Kaveh, but this really is what’s best for them--”

“Well,” Kaveh shoots back, burning passionate and bright. “Why don’t you ask them what they’d prefer? If they want to be spoiled? If they want to be taken care of and coddled and adored or if they want what you provide them instead--”

“Fine.” Alhaitham’s tone doesn’t change; his face hardly so much as twitches. The hand atop of your head moves, to cup your chin and tilt your face towards him so that he can make eye contact with you. 

Alhaitham is big on eye contact; he’s big on manners and eye contact and earning the things you want. You do not mind so much - at least he is easy to understand. Though occasionally callous, you know where you stand with Alhaitham. His lack of thinking over-emotionally means you understand his decisions, even if you may not agree with them.

(Though you’ve become somewhat desensitized to your new life, there are still certain things that gnaw at your soul; a longing for freedom, a desire to see your friends and family again, a hundred things you left unfinished before Alhaitham decided you would be better served if your place was beside him. These are things, though, that the piece of crystallized zaytun peach that Kaveh is trying to tempt you with would not fix. Spoiling you and indulging you will fix nothing, and you prefer to remain obedient to Alhaitham if only to make your existence here easier.)

( . . . And, too, because sometimes seeing the silver-haired scholar with the bright eyes makes your insides churn and your face grow hot and your words come out wrong. You get the same reaction when Kaveh’s gaze lingers on you, but he’s so much easier to understand you sometimes manage to keep yourself in check somewhat easier. Somewhat.)

“What would you prefer?” Alhaitham asks you, his tone just a touch softer - barely imperceptible, but for a man like Alhaitham . . . You notice all of the little inflections.

“I--” Your voice comes out a little dry, a little high - squeak more than word. You can feel your cheeks heating. “Wh-whatever you think is best--”

Kaveh scoffs. Alhaitham’s lips twitch at the corners. His hand slides down your chin to gently tug at the collar you wear; dark green leather (Alhaitham’s choice), that Kaveh had once snuck out in the night and embossed the imprint of Padisarahs upon. Alhaitham’s finger hooks carefully into the O-ring that rests in the hollow of your throat, and he tugs hard enough that you feel a tell-tale twist of want between your thighs and a soft gasp escapes your parted lips. 

“How about,” Alhaitham murmurs, and his voice has gotten dark. “We retire into the bedroom and remind dear Kaveh exactly how our little pet ought to be treated?”

The words in combination with the way his finger is hooked into your collar makes your breath go short; your lashes flutter. Your tongue darts out to wet your lips, as you softly respond to him again;

“A-anything you want.”

“Good,” Alhaitham does not praise lightly; so you take this little word and lock it into that part of your heart that remembers everything he says to you, that cherishes the ‘well dones’ and the ‘that’s rights’ that he sometimes feels fit to give you. Alhaitham stands, not letting go of his grip on your collar, but at least making sure he rises slow enough that you have time to get shakily to your own feet from your obedient knelt position. “Come on.” He begins to walk slowly and deliberately towards his bedroom - as he does, he turns his head to the side to look at the architect, still looking a little nonplussed by the turn of events.

“Well?” Alhaitham asks. “Are you coming?”

-

Once in the bedroom, Alhaitham bids you get back onto your knees and be patient as you wait for him. You do exactly that, knees sinking into the plush carpeting, and Alhaitham rewards you with a gentle pat on your head as he moves a chair close to the bed.

“Sit there,” Alhaitham tells Kaveh, who crosses the room with a hint of unease - despite the bulge in his trousers at what exactly Alhaitham has promised to show him in this room. Alhaitham’s lip curls into a small, secretive smile again. “Don’t look so worried, Kaveh. I told you. This is just a demonstration . . . I’m just going to remind you how to properly handle a pet.”

Kaveh doesn’t reply, just takes a single shuddering breath. Alhaitham looks at you with his eyes softer - he always is soft, when it comes to sex. Punishment is not pleasurable for him or you. Your insides buzz with excitement, the space between your thighs growing hot and wet and damp. 

“Take off your clothes,” Alhaitham says to you, not unkindly. In the house, you wear only your collar, and a thin robe that comes to just above your knees - no use for fine fabrics when you are a pet, and when both of them prefer you out of them. Kaveh has occasionally embroidered patterns around collars and sleeves for you, and you treasure those too - even Alhaitham says nothing about it. You do not bother wearing underwear. The fabric falls from your body, pooling around your knelt figure; you do not even need to stand up to disrobe. “Good pet.”

You fair shine at the praise, your face breaking into a smile, and Kaveh sighs wistfully to look at you. 

“See?” Alhaitham says mildly. “You reap the rewards of my thorough training just as much, don’t you?”

“I . . . p-perhaps . . .”

“Look at you,” Alhaitham murmurs, gently cupping the soft fullness of your cheek in his hand as he looks down at you with all of the hunger of a wolf. “You’re lovely.” 

You look at him, pleasure shining on your face, and his lips stay curled into that handsome smile. 

“You’re going to show Kaveh exactly how much you like being a pet,” Alhaitham says to you, voice slow and quiet. “With your mouth. Do you understand? Show me you understand.”

You open your mouth obediently, tongue flat, showing Alhaitham exactly where you would like him to guide his aching cock. And as he reaches for the placket of his trousers, as his deft fingers work the buttons open, you see that his cock is indeed aching - thick, the tip reddened, veins pulsing under the brush of his fingertips. 

“Are you watching, Kaveh?” Alhaitham asks mildly, as you shift your weight from knee to knee and continue to look at Alhaitham with a mix of trepidation and desire. “See? You must be firm with them. Keep your mouth open.”

You have not closed it, but at Alhaitham’s command you strain your jaw wider, so that your lips stretch as far apart as you can. Alhaitham makes a soft noise of approval, and then slowly guides his cock into your mouth. For a moment, he lets the heavy weight of it rest upon your tongue; you can feel the taste of him, a little musky but masculine and familiar, flood your senses. 

“It’s better to start off slowly,” Alhaitham intones - you allow yourself a brief moment of disobedience, just so that your eyes can flitter to Kaveh to see how he is reacting. The architect looks beautiful - his cheeks are pink, his mouth slightly parted, his eyes blown wide as he takes in the scene before him. He looks at once like he wants to argue his point with Alhaitham (you know the two do enjoy verbal sparring), and at once like he does not want to say a single syllable and risk breaking the spell of what is happening before him. 

Also very visible where Kaveh is sat is how the fabric of his trousers strains at the crotch; his own cock longing to be released from the confines of the fabric. 

Alhaitham rests a hand atop of your head as he waits for you to follow his instruction - and, as he has bade, you slowly suck on the length of his cock that’s been slotted into your mouth. You slowly trace the place where head meets shaft, gently tease his frenulum with the very tip of your tongue until he leaks more and more precome into your mouth and he sighs in pleasure, fingers tightening where they rest. 

“A little faster,” he tells you, and you obediently bob your head along his cock this time - obediently run your tongue quicker through the slit of his cock. 

Alhaitham is firm and commanding, but he is not cruel - he controls the pace he wants you to work your mouth and your tongue over his cock with the hand upon your head, but he does not do anything so declasse as simply hold you in place and fuck your throat. He believes in firm discipline - and as you are so well-behaved, as you squeak and go warm and nervous when he looks at you and gives you attention - you have no reason, most of the time, to find yourself on the ‘discipline’ side. 

So you let him guide the way your mouth slides over his cock - let him set the pace of his hips, let him sigh and breathe out through gritted teeth. You feel his cock jump in your mouth as you do it and you use all of the tricks he has ever taught you in order to please him - the flourish of your tongue, the swirl over his head, the brief moment where you get your throat to relax and take him deeper than he’s expecting.

And you win his pleasure. His smile, his eyes soft, his deep groan. You win the feel of his hips losing their composure, the smooth rhythm disrupted with a jolt or two, shaky, until suddenly he is speaking;

“Stay still--”

And his cock is twitching in your mouth and your senses are flooded with the salty, musky taste of his release as he shoots ropes of his pearly come against your tongue. He’s breathing heavy now, waiting for a moment for the aftershocks of his orgasm to recede - but when they do, and he pulls back, he fixes you with that firm but not unpleasant stare.

(It’s a stare like he can see every thought you have - a stare like he knows you body and soul). 

“Show me,” Alhaitham commands, and you shyly open your mouth to reveal the milky mess of his come on your tongue. “And show him, too.” He gestures towards Kaveh - hot all over, you keep your mouth open as you meet Kaveh’s golden eyes, and the architect looks like he wants to devour you whole.

“Alright,” Alhaitham says, after you’ve held his release upon your tongue a few beats longer. “You can swallow it now.”

You gulp, the taste of his come still lingering upon your tastebuds - but that is not important, as Alhaitham takes firm hold of your arms and helps you up, and as he carefully maneuvers you onto the bed. As he positions your ass upon the edge, your back propped up with pillows. He looks at Kaveh as he says;

“Now they deserve a reward; now they’ve done something for it. Now,” and he looks at you and smiles, “now, you deserve some pleasure of your own.”

Sparks of excitement race up your spine as Alhaitham gracefully gets onto his own knees, this time. 

It’s hardly the first time Alhaitham has done this - he’s surprisingly generous with his mouth, though you do indeed only have this happen when you have done something to please him - but you still cannot help the thrill of pleasure that zaps up your spine at the light kiss he gives your sex, before his tongue darts out to tease at your clit. 

Your fingers clutch at the bedsheets; Alhaitham has not said that you can pull at his hair, so you do not. Alhaitham takes a moment in between kisses to throw some words towards Kaveh;

“See? A little reward, when earned, is far better than just getting spoilt and learning to expect it. See how grateful they are? How pretty their face looks when I do this?”

He kisses at your clit again, before sliding his tongue down your folds to tease at your entrance. Your hips arch without you even thinking about it, a whimpering noise of embarrassment and pleasure escaping from your throat in a squeak that makes Alhaitham chuckle against your wet sex. The vibrations send more waves of pleasure careening through you, and the noises that keep escaping your mouth come in whimpering little entreaties.

They are nothing compared to the noises that keep coming from between your thighs; the wet sound of Alhaitham’s tongue, dragging through your own slick as you pump more and more of it out and onto his face. The occasional groan of pleasure as Alhaitham drinks you in.

He takes one more break, to rasp;

“And it’s not as if one doesn’t get anything out of this reward for themselves--”

Before he buries his face back between your thighs, this time with a vengeance. 

Through every lick and suck and stroke, you can feel that familiar knot of tension low between your thighs begin to tighten and coil. Every stroke of his tongue feels like him pulling at the threads, making the knot more and more complicated - and more and more of a relief when it will finally be pulled, breaking and untangling. You find your hips writhing, more noises falling from your lips. 

When did you first feel this pounding between your thighs? It pounds in time with your heartbeat, your own need the only thing you can properly think about. You might have been here, at Alhaitham’s mercy, for hours. Time does not feel like a tangible thing, with Alhaitham’s tongue working you over so sweetly.

You’re close. You can feel it - the way the threads of your arousal are humming, like too-tense strings on an instrument, moments away from snapping. Alhaitham’s tongue has just gotten faster, dancing over your clit, coaxing forth that all-knowing, all-consuming pleasure that will put an end to the desperate humming of your heart--

And he stops.

He ceases. 

He pulls back, and the only stimulation you get is a warm exhale against your throbbing clit - your strings remain unsnapped, your knot still as tight and inescapable as ever. You sob aloud. 

“P-please--” You whisper out, your mind hazy - all you can think of is how close that you were to your own orgasm, and how cruelly Alhaitham had snatched away your moment of victory. “Alhaitham--”

“Now,” Alhaitham murmurs to you, again not unkindly, his breath warm against your heated core. “You know better than that, darling. Be well-behaved, and you get what you want.”

Alhaitham pulls his face out from between your thighs to face Kaveh again. His chin and mouth glimmer with your slick, but on his proud and fine face it looks almost regal. 

“You see?” Alhaitham asks Kaveh. “It’s far better if a pet learns to associate their pleasure with their master’s pleasure, or they might get greedy and entitled.” He looks back at you and smiles at you, but there is a hint of danger glinting in his eye. “Now. Darling. Tell me what it is you want.”

You want to cry out and beat your fists and stamp your feet - you want to come. You want Alhaitham to put his mouth between your thighs again, to feel his tongue hungrily lap against your clit and tease at your entrance and let you shake and shiver and moan as you come on his face. 

But that is not how a proper pet behaves.

A proper pet knows their pleasure comes with their master’s pleasure; knows that once he has gotten what he wants, they too will get what they want. 

“Please,” you whisper again, through lowered lashes and in a soft, shaking voice that you know appeals to both men. Kaveh lets out a soft, shuddering groan. “Please. Please fuck me.” 

Alhaitham leans in and gives the soft, full flesh of your inner thigh a nip, speaks to you with his voice a low growl.

“Say it more prettily for me, now. Remember your manners.” You take a deep breath, the pounding ache of tension that has not yet been released between your thighs dulling your thoughts and every other sense you have. A tear squeezes itself out of your eye, rolling down the plump fullness of your cheek as your voice breaks in desperation and you ask; 

“Please, Alhaitham. Will you please fuck me?”

“Good pet,” Alhaitham praises, and he presses a kiss over the spot he just bit at, before he carefully rises to his knees. Already anticipating what it is that’s about to happen, you wiggle yourself a little further up the bed to facilitate Alhaitham getting between your thighs and fucking the thoughts out of you - but to your surprise, Alhaitham turns to Kaveh. 

“Do you see?” He asks. “How much they like it? How well-behaved they are? Do you agree that my theory has merit?”

Kaveh, his cheeks still pink, his eyes not moving from where you are laid out on the bed like a delicious feast waiting to be devoured. 

“Yes,” he says, his voice quiet and hoarse with wanting. Alhaitham smiles and reaches for the architect, gently patting him on the cheek. 

“Well, then,” he says. “I think you ought to show me what you’ve learned, don’t you?” Green eyes flick over to your form, joining the golden gaze. “You fuck them this time. Of course, I’ll give you a little help - a guiding hand - but . . . It’s time to put my instruction into practice.” 

“I-- yes,” Kaveh practically stumbles over himself to accept the offer, and before you can quite parse what’s happening Kaveh is shedding his own clothes - linens and cottons and silks, finely patterned and prettily coloured falling to the ground to join your own shed clothes. 

(Alhaitham, of course, has retained all of his clothes - even with his placket undone, his cock exposed to the air, there is something kingly about him. Self-assured. Confident.) 

Kaveh’s a little clumsy with it all - his cock bobs against his stomach, thinner than Alhaitham’s but longer, pretty as the architect himself. He’s on the bed before you can breathe, cock smearing pre-come over the soft fullness of your thigh. 

“Patience,” Alhaitham says, as he takes a seat in the chair that Kaveh has just vacated. “Let them come to you for the kiss.”

Kaveh manages to stop himself from whining, but it seems to take a tremendous effort - he hovers above you, his lips swollen, and you do indeed lean forward to press a kiss upon his mouth. He cannot hold himself back after that; his mouth on yours is devouring. Alhaitham keeps up a calm stream of advice and commentary;

“Remember who is in charge,” he says. “Tell them off if they bite; you get to lead the way.” You do not bite at Kaveh’s lower lip (you, of course, know who is in charge), but Kaveh takes inspiration from Alhaitham’s advice and his teeth nip teasingly at your own lower lip until you gasp, sighing into his mouth. 

Alhaitham makes a low hum of approval. 

“Good,” he says. “Now, remember - your pleasure is paramount. Of course, they may come - but not until after you. A good pet wouldn’t want to have their fun until they’re certain that their master has had his.” 

You are a good pet.

You reach between yours and Kaveh’s sweat-slicked bodies to find his cock - it pulses and jumps at the touch of your palm, warm upon it. You guide him to the space between your thighs, slick with a mixture of both of your wanting. Kaveh’s eyes flutter as you take him slowly inside of you - as your sex envelopes first his head, and then his shaft, inch by aching inch. 

“You’re beautiful,” Kaveh says, and he smiles down at you and it feels like the sun is warm and shining upon you. 

“You set the pace,” Alhaitham says, and Kaveh presses a kiss to your forehead even as he adjusts his own hips, finding the most comfortable angle. You swallow back whines and moans that bubble up in your throat, easily and happily letting the architect follow the Scribe’s orders as he finds the perfect angle, gets used to the feel of your sex clinging hot and tight and wet around him. 

He wraps his hands around the softness of your thighs, dragging them to cling to his hips, his fingers sinking into the plush flesh. You let him, because he is in charge - and when he urges you to hold on, to let him fuck into you exactly the way he wants to, you obey. 

Kaveh’s pace is almost frantic - you have no idea how long it has been since Alhaitham began all of this, but he fucks into you like he is a man who has been denied human companionship for years, not hours. His fingers find your hips and cling to them - slide over your chest, tug at your nipples, feel you in every way that a person can feel you. He always looks at you with that same expression; adoration, like he is looking at something beautiful. It does not stop him adjusting you to the perfect angle, the perfect everything - but you feel adored. 

His cock hits a spot inside of you that makes you sigh, a curve to his length that leans the other way to Alhaitham’s and explores a different (but no less thrilling) part of you. Your earlier tension returns in a pleasant heat, fingers tugging expertly at those strings within you. 

Alhaitham has gone quieter, now; content to watch you. His breathing in the room is almost as loud as Kaveh’s (you chance a glance at him, at one point, and he is rubbing the front of his trousers over his re-buttoned placket, watching the way Kaveh sinks into you. You try to reposition yourself so that he has a better view and he murmurs ‘good pet’ under his breath. Kaveh is too far gone to notice).

The wet sounds of Kaveh’s clock plunging in and out of you echo around the room. The muscles in Kaveh’s abdomen jump with every thrust; his chest heaving with the effort. You stare at him as his hips lose their place in the rhythm, as they stutter - your own breath intermingles with his, two lots of panting, two lots of whimpering and whining. They dance together in the air.

Oh, oh, oh. 

You’re so close.

So, so close - Kaveh whines, sweat beading on his hairline, his eyes so dark and deep they are like staring into pools of molten gold, and--

He comes inside of you, cock jolting, the angle allowing him to fill you so deeply you can barely breathe with rope after rope of his release. You whine as his cock spasms and jerks, and he grinds his hips into you in search of eking out every drop of sensation, but it is not quite enough. You do not come, and Kaveh is pulling out.

Alhaitham is suddenly by the bed. 

“Now who’s the one not spoiling them?” Alhaitham asks, with one raised eyebrow. “The poor thing didn’t even get to come.”

“I didn’t--”

Alhaitham reaches between you both, his clever fingers immediately finding the space between your thighs, still swollen and slick. Kaveh, not to be outdone (and only now realising that your release did not come in twain with his own), slides two of his fingers inside the space his cock just vacated, uncaring that all he is doing as he begins to fuck you on those two slender fingers is fucking his come right back inside of you. 

“Making promises you do not fulfill is bad form for a pet owner,” Alhaitham says, his eyes moving from Kaveh to you. “They remember, you see. It is only right to tell them the truth, in order to foster trust--”

Alhaitham’s thumb is rubbing over your clit with a slow but firm pressure, much like the man himself. Those two denied orgasms come rushing back up, filling you with a crackling, building pressure. 

You sob as you feel it threatening to overwhelm, only just managing to fit yourself into any kind of human language.

Still. You are a good pet, and a good pet would never forget their manners.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you--”

You’re babbling; you can’t concentrate, not with Kaveh’s slender fingers inside of you and Alhaitham’s thumb rubbing slow inexorable circles over your clit, not with your body screaming out for release - and all at once, that great dam inside of you seems to break and waves rush over you like the ocean and the shore. You fair sob with the over-stimulation of it all, as your body seems to break into glittering shards and then fit itself back together again in time with your panting heartbeat. 

“Good,” Alhaitham is murmuring against one ear. “That’s right. There’s a good pet.”

“You’re so beautiful,” Kaveh, his voice still half slurred with his own orgasm, is whispering into your other. “Oh, you’re so beautiful when you come--”

They guide you through it, with those stroking fingers and gentle words and soft touches. It’s one of the softest times you ever see Alhaitham; when you turn to look at him with a needy look in your eye (asking for his approval the way a dog seeks praise from its master), he smiles and leans forward to press a kiss upon your sweat-soaked forehead. 

“I think you can sleep in the bed with me tonight, hmm?” He asks. You have a bed - a comfortable enough one, at the foot of Alhaitham’s own, though yours is rather lower to the ground and more befitting a pet than a human being. You have long since stopped thinking of these things. Your life is your life, and Alhaitham and Kaveh are not cruel masters - if nothing else, the pleasure still singing in your bones proves that. 

Your lip wobbles, though. You reach for Kaveh, your fingers finding his arm.

“I want to sleep with both of you,” you say, your voice a little petulant. It’s true; they are both your masters, are they not? You see no reason to have to choose between the two of them. Kaveh laughs softly, and Alhaitham heaves a sigh. 

Even through the sigh, you can see there is a fond smile on his face. 

“Don’t go getting too much of a brat, now,” Alhaitham chides you, but then he turns his gaze on Kaveh and his lips twitch at the corners again. “Alright; what say you, Kaveh? Will you come and sleep on their other side?”

Kaveh smiles back.

“Ah, I’m not sure,” he replies. “I fear that would fall in the realm of spoiling our dear little pet--”

“Perhaps,” Alhaitham says mildly, “and just perhaps, mind you - perhaps a little spoiling, now and then, might be good for them.”

When you drift off to sleep that night, both of your masters sandwiching you between them, you cannot help but feel the luckiest and the most spoilt pet in the whole of Teyvat. 

[butdaddyilovehimmm]

t's marvey fic rec list!

These are mostly smut (bdsm / d/s), fluff is in pt. 2 in the reblogs

Long Fics (50k +)

Forget The Rest by eadunne2 (66k)

Chance Meeting Series by SmoothieM (286k) (one of my fav series ever)

Barely Legal by KittyHowell (142k) (cw teacher/hs student but mike's legal)

The Marvey Chronicles by flamyshine (129k)

The Complicated Way by SmoothieM (100k)

Honey Trap by SuzyQSmilesForYou (191k)

Pretty Boy by SmoothieM (120k)

Deal of a Lifetime by SmoothieM (96k) (another fav)

Quarantine Diaries by SmoothieM

Biological d/s AU

Once Upon A Brat by Fessst (62k)

Subspace by poppypickford (69k) (part 1 of a 3 part series, 3rd fic is unfinished and 2nd is v angsty lol)

Bite by paraselenewoman (15k) (unfinished)

Long BDSM Fics

Fall Into Me by malawi (81k)

The Last Thirty Percent by TooSel (110k)

Possession Verse by Xanthe (73k) (one of my personal favs)

Needs Must by thatotherperv (98k) (a classic)

The Day We Met & Submit by BeautifulBestseller (one of my favs too)

Just Ask Series by veritas_st (57k)

No Needles Series by sal_si_puedes (68k)

Fate Gets a Bad Case of the Shanks by Joni_Beloni (84k) (read the tags)

Everything You Want Series by ThatwasJustaHarvey (81k) (pretty heavy but good)

Upside Down and Inside Out by mskatej (37k) (i LOVE this)

The art of coming clean by in_need_of_some_sanity (341k) (unfinished but i honestly really enjoyed it for what it is)

Contra by butdaddyilovehim (sorry for self promo LOL! i post lots of d/s if ur interested, though ;))

One Shots / Short Fics /PWP

Charlie's Fetish and Bondage Emporium by Joni_Beloni (10k)

And our dreams will break the boundaries of our fear by rospeaks (23k)

Tales of the Forgotten Associates by AnnaNSmith (2k)

Happy Birthday by cyphernaut (1k)

Almost Like You're Asking For It by FoxInSoxes (13k)

Obedience (1k)

That Damned Skinny Tie by mightierthanthecanon (3k)

Good Boy by MajaLi (3k)

Sweet Thang by MajaLi (13k)

Happy Stoniversary by Loyalty2WayStreet (6k)

Hush by Sway (4k)

you fire me all the way by Sway (2k)

Calamity of Casual Touches by bewarethesmirk (10k)

Like the Way You Apologize by EclecticRegard (3k)

Strictly Ballroom by sal_si_puedes (3k)

Going Public by LearnedFoot (4k)

Best in the World by mskatej (6k)

That Sweet Spot by mskatej (8k)

Come Again by mskatej (9k)

Five Hotels Series by mskatej (24k) (can u tell i love their writing)

Tied Together With An Easy Thread by androdaixa (15k)

Heat by CC99trialanderrorgirl (1k) (this is dom!mike but it's hot as fuck)

Madison Avenue by Closer (5k)

Office Hours by greenlifejacket (2k)

intrigue and accidents by Bontaque (5k)

Obviously Oblivious by leista (7k)

Blackout 'Verse by CC99trialanderrorgirl (7k)

Again by Faulty_Funeral (4k)

The Drop by flitterflutterfly (6k)

Five Times Mike’s Phone Sort of Gets Him Into Trouble and One Time It Really, Really Doesn’t by Akiseo (4k)

Baby Blues by surrenderdammit (5k)

a day too early (still a couple dollars short) by thatotherperv (11k)

Three Simple Rules by LearnedFoot (13k)

Doll, you make them feel so small (and they love it) by trinipedia (16k)

Punish by veritas_st (3k)

words to live by by Sway (1k)

Markers by Xazz (4k)

What I Want by silentdescant (2k)

We'll Stagger Home After Midnight by team_freewill (2k)

Streak by LawfulSlab (3k)

You Got Off Easy by theaeblackthorn (5k)

2 Tickets, 2 Lawyers by jazzwriter (3k)

Mr. Specter by L122YTorch (4k)

libidinous, adj. by eadunne2 (19k)

Desk Job Series by JaneDavitt (8k)

Like Stars by babykid528 (1k)

A Night to Remember by tinygiantsam (8k)

9pm in the Records Room by revvvv (2k)

Exclusively Yours Verse by tattooedsiren

Special Hell by ChristyCorr (7k)

Answer in the Form of a Question by blackstar777 (20k)

Harvey Specter, Fashion Icon by TooSel (7k)

Soulmates AU

Imprimatur by Closer (22k)

many times, many ways by spqr (15k)

A/B/O

Appetite by Skara_Brae (18k)

The Ultimate Challenge by sal_si_puedes (18k)

truth is only hearsay by Miyai (13k)

Imperfect Perfection by Skara_Brae (15k)

Machinations by astralfox (4k)

The Art of Running into You by SmoothieM (37k)

(i'm not really into abo but i liked these)

Vacay Fics (aka bed sharing teritory!)

Just the Right Amount of Wrong by blackstar777 (6k)

It's an Inconvenience by killym (16k)

The Trip by mskatej (9k)

Reservations by khasael (13k)

One Night In Paradise by Vearth (8k)

libidinous, adj. by eadunne2 (19k)

the long way around by TooSel (15k) (no smut but so incredibly cute omg)

Vacation in Vermont by Joni_Beloni (21k) (cw for cheating but technically not really?)

What Happens in Vegas by LearnedFoot (7k)

Secret Identity

Nerd Love Series (11k)

5U175 by Closer (26k) (a classic and one of my absolute favs it's so good)

Chocolate by writingtoreachyou (33k)

[pocketjoong]

❥𓂃𓏧PRECIOUS

ꕥ𓂃𓏧 (SYNOPSIS) As a nature witch, you always wanted your own familiar ever since you were a kid, however, fate seemed to have different plans for you.

ꕥ𓂃𓏧 (PAIRING) cat boy!hongjoong x fem!reader

ꕥ𓂃𓏧 (WARNINGS) Hongjoong is a cat. mentions of food and drinking. a little bit of violence. mentions of getting injured. questionable editing. lmk if I am missing something

ꕥ𓂃𓏧 (WORD COUNT) 8.9k

ꕥ𓂃𓏧 (NOTES) My entry for the stuck in summer collab hosted by @a1sh1teruu. This was mainly inspired by cat boy!hwa fic written by @hwaightme! I always enjoy feedback, reviews, and asks so don't hesitate to comment/send an ask!

Humming to yourself, you lock the door to your quaint little cottage nestled in the heart of the woods. Your basket, which is brimming with aromatic herbs and meticulously crafted potions, dangles from your arm as you set toward the nearby town. There’s a spring in your step that reflects the life thriving in the flora around you. As a nature witch, you prefer to live in your element; hence, your chosen abode rests at the forest’s edge, a mere mile from the bustling town you call home.

This distance necessitates a journey by foot, a mile-long expedition riddled with untamed trails and serpentine streams. The unpaved path is untouched by humanity, offering no comfort of a well-trodden road, but in its midst—intertwined with the symphony of rustling leaves, bubbling brooks, and the whispered secrets of the trees—you feel at home.

As you amble past the outskirts of the town, a voice pierces through the tranquil air of the early morning. You falter at the unexpected call of your name and gaze past a waist-high fence to witness Miyeon—the daughter of a fellow witch and cherished friend—hurrying down her front yard with a bundle of fur resting in her arms.

“Y/N! Look! I found my very own familiar,” she says, words brimming with pride and joy. 

Your smile broadens as you congratulate her on her newfound magical connection. As you fuss over the young girl, your friend arrives, scolding her daughter for leaving her breakfast unfinished on the table. After exchanging cordial greetings and a gossip-laden exchange, you bid them adieu, recommencing your journey to Wooyoung’s shop.

As you leave behind the jovial mother-daughter duo, your once-beaming smile begins to wane, usurped by the pang in your chest. The yearning for a familiar casts a shadow upon your heart. Your dreams and visions of such a bond had been nurtured by tales of your parents’ harmonious connection with their own familiars and a childhood fantasy that stemmed from watching and re-watching Kiki’s Delivery Service. Usually, you can easily ward off these dark thoughts, allowing them to be no more than a passing whisper. But today, the loneliness of being a witch without a familiar resurfaces with a melancholic tenacity that defies dismissal.

“Why the long face?” 

Your response to the unexpected voice is a startled screech before you realise that it’s only Wooyoung who is standing at the window of his shop. The playful curve of his lips and the fond glint in his eyes prompt you to mutter a curse under your breath—more in playful annoyance than actual resentment.

You met Jung Wooyoung right after you found yourself in Alusia when you were a bright-eyed young witch, fresh out of the academy. He owned an antique shop inherited from his grandparents and was new in the town too, having arrived only a week prior. In his willingness to find a friend, Wooyoung offered you shelter under his roof when you needed it most—a gesture that solidified the foundations of an unbreakable friendship. Soon, the two of you converted the antique shop into an apothecary—a venture carved from your joint dreams and driven by your unique talents. Wooyoung, with his inherent charm (or, as your mutual friend San teasingly referred to it as Wooyoung being a loudmouth), engaged with clients while you prepared the elixirs and potions that graced the shop’s shelves.

“You are such a menace, Woo,” you tease, rolling your eyes playfully in mock exasperation as you step into the shop, extending the basket to him. He lifts the lid carefully to reveal its contents, his enthusiasm palpable as he thoroughly inspects your offerings. “You are an angel, you know that?! I was running low on most of these and—oh?” In a burst of affection, he engulfs you in an unexpected hug, “You've finished Mrs Kim's potion already? You truly are a wonder, Y/N.”

By the time you step out of the shop to return home, it’s past noon, and the sun is high in the sky, casting a glow that makes you squint against its brilliance. But you smile despite the temporary discomfort because the warmth of the summer sun serves as a reminder of your cherished garden. The thought of the flourishing herbs and thriving plants in your backyard makes you smile.

Skipping lightly across the worn, flat stones that act as a bridge over the clear stream, you revel in the prospect of returning home after an exhausting week. The last few days were a flurry of ceaseless activity—the sheer number of concoctions to prepare left you without a moment to catch your breath. So, the mere idea of spending the rest of the day simply resting without worrying about tasks and obligations sounds heavenly. With each step that leads you closer to your home, a sense of serenity unfurls within you, anticipation blossoming like the flowers that line both sides of your path.

On your way, you come across another stream, its gurgling rhythm a soothing undercurrent to your thoughts. Just as you approach it, however, a soft rustling pierces the air, causing you to halt in your tracks. Your brows furrow and your gaze sweeps the landscape for the source of the sound. Nothing seems amiss, yet the sight of a fawn preoccupied with a hidden something beneath the swaying grass causes you to move closer.

A gasp, involuntary and hushed, escapes your lips as your eyes land on a jet-black cat, its form huddled against the earth, a stark contrast against the vibrant backdrop of nature. However, it’s not the feline’s presence that startles you, but its pitiable state. Laboured breaths escape the creature, and the emerald blades beneath it are smeared in crimson blood. Without much thought, you scoop the injured feline into your arms. Careful of its wounds, you break into a brisk pace, your heart beating in tandem with your desperate urgency.

Foregoing the cottage, you bring the cat to the outhouse that doubles as your workspace. There, you tenderly set it upon a generously sized cushion at the far table. Despite the anxiety riddling your thoughts, your hands are steady as you collect the required ingredients to heal him. Gratitude unfurls within you for the foresight that ensured your own provisions remained well-stocked, even as you had taken most of the supplies to the apothecary.

Once you’re armed with everything you will need, you fuss over the wounded feline. As you carefully begin healing the cat, a whispered prayer escapes your lips—an offering of gratitude to the nature spirits that guided you to the cat for if you had been even a few minutes late, he would not have survived whatever ordeal had led to his pitiful condition. As you work, the sun dips beneath the horizon, casting hues of purple and orange in the sky. The cat’s exhausted form eventually surrenders to peaceful slumber, and though relieved, you still find yourself unable to depart for the comforts of your cottage.

Fetching the futon that you use when the making of a potion demands vigilant oversight, you nestle into its warmth. From the glass ceiling, you smile at the star-strewn sky that arches above you. Like this, under the watchful gaze of the constellations, you fall asleep, unknowing that your life is now intertwined with the cat’s own.

Your eyes flutter open to the soft morning sunlight piercing through the windows of the outhouse and your gaze shifts to the feline. You smile as you see the cat is doing better and leave the cat to its peaceful slumber to fix up a quick breakfast for yourself, only returning with a list of potions you must deliver to the shop the following week.

You put your phone onto your desk and begin your work, enveloped in a symphony of tranquil melodies that mirror the serenity of the forest that lies merely a few paces from where you stand. As you are immersed in your craft, the sun reaches its zenith, casting its warmth upon your workspace. As you work, a subtle shift draws your attention—a faint movement that you catch in the corner of your vision.

Turning to the source of movement, your eyes settle upon the cat, the creature finally stirring from its slumber. Wariness born from a shared unfamiliarity—yours with its nature, and its with yours—causes you to stay where you are. You wait with bated breath as the little guy brings his paws to his eyes to rub them, followed by a languid stretch. A yowl of discomfort leaves him, echoing through the space, and you can’t help but inhale sharply at his distress; he probably hears it because the very next moment, he’s on his paws and hissing at you.

You observe him with a mixture of understanding and patience, knowing that such a response comes from the fear and uncertainty of finding oneself in unfamiliar surroundings. You raise both your hands to show that you mean no harm. 

“Hey, it's okay,” your voice flows with reassurance, carrying with it an aura of compassion that you hope the cat can sense. “You're safe here, I promise. Please, just… rest some more. Moving might cause more harm than good right now, and it took me a while to treat those wounds of yours.”

The cat’s eyes narrow in distrust as his eyes rake over your form. Eventually, however, his cautious resolve gives way, and with a subdued huff, he eases back onto the cushion. You can tell that he is still wary of your presence, so you return to your task.

Stirring the potion, you softly break the silence. “You know, you’ve been out for almost a day. I was growing rather concerned, to be honest.” The cat tilts its head subtly, almost as if he’s curious, so you continue your train of thought. “Your injuries were quite severe. It’s a relief to see you awake.”

As the hours tick by, you remain absorbed in your work. Bottles and vials are filled with elixirs and put into another basket, each labelled with care and precision. While you work, you can feel the cat’s watchful gaze upon you. Once your tasks are completed, you shift your attention to your companion, who is now fast asleep. The feline, who was so cautious of you merely hours ago, now embodies a tranquillity that makes your lips quirk up at the corners. As you tidy your workspace, your heart brims with warmth, and once done, you begin preparations for lunch in your cottage.

The golden rays of the sun filter through your kitchen windows, illuminating your countertop as you cook a simple yet hearty lunch. You walk out of the kitchen, wanting to awaken the cat to give him some food, but as you enter the living room, a curious sight awaits your gaze. The cat is seated in front of the coffee table, blinking at you lazily. At his curious behaviour, your magic reaches out gently, a fleeting touch that reveals nothing out of the ordinary, causing you to hum in confusion. 

Armed with food, you step closer to your companion, emboldened by the silent affirmation that he won’t run away. “Would you mind if I turn on the TV?” Your query hangs in the air, and a melodic meow is the only answer you get before he’s diving headfirst into the meal you had prepared. Considering his response a go-ahead, you tune into Pirates of the Caribbean, the movie becoming a backdrop to your shared meal.

As the credits of the first movie start to roll, you can sense wariness in the cat’s watchful eyes, but this morning’s feral hiss has yielded to a tentative harmony. Noticing how entranced the cat is by the movie, you don’t turn it off as you clean the dishes, a gesture that you suspect he appreciates. Returning to the living room on completion of your chores, you find the once-restless creature nestled upon the sofa in cosy contentment—an image that both warms your heart and fascinates you.

You settle into the opposite end of the couch, and open your grandmother's book of remedies. The sounds from the TV fade into background noise as you read through the tome, and you can’t help but think about how oddly domestic this moment seems.

Emboldened by how relaxed your new companion looks, you decide to talk to him. “Hey, buddy, would you mind if I checked on your wound? Just to make sure it's healing the way it should?”

The feline responds with a subtle shift—a repositioning that unveils its wounded side. As you approach, your heart swells due to the delicate trust blooming between you. If you’re surprised by how quickly he is healing, you don’t let it be known. “Looks like you will be fine by the end of the week. I’d love for you to stay here with me until then, but the choice is yours.”

Your offer hangs in the air for a moment before he meows, sealing the agreement. The cat settles back into the same position in which he’d been watching the movie, so you assume that means he’s going to stay in cat-speak.

Yet, a lingering thought flits through your mind—the matter of a name. “What do we name you, though?” you ponder aloud, your voice a soft murmur. You drop random names that seem fitting for a cat. Most receive only a nonchalant disregard, save for an outright hiss at the name “minion”.

As you are at your wits’ end, an idea strikes you. “What about Captain... Jack Sparrow?” The last part is whispered, so you don’t know if he heard, but you’d shorten it to Captain anyways, so in your humble opinion, it is the perfect name.

In the wake of your suggestion, the feline’s eyes light up in affirmation, making you smile. “Okay then, Captain it is,” you declare softly, marking the beginning of a bond, one forged in the quiet moments and shared names bridging the divide between the two of you.

In a surprising twist, Captain Jack Sparrow defies your initial expectations by choosing not to leave your cottage even after his recovery. The once-wounded feline weaves his presence into the very fabric of your life in the form of a plush cat bed nestled within a spare room. Though, in hindsight, it was an unnecessary purchase as the bed remains pristine and untouched, while the cat himself stakes claim to your couches and book-laden shelves.

During the day, the uppermost shelf of your work area becomes Captain’s sanctuary, where he slumbers amidst the tomes stacked alphabetically. With time, Captain inches closer, from lower shelves to the corner of your very table—a silent testament to the trust that has bloomed between the two of you.

Then, one day, the gentle touch of a paw upon your hand breaks through your concentration. Wide-eyed, you find yourself captivated by the slumbering form of Captain. For the next hour, you don’t dare move your hand, driven by the irrational belief that any movement on your part could shatter the delicate companionship you’ve woven over months of shared moments.

The seconds stretch like an eternity, yet you remain still. When Captain awakens to find you in such a vulnerable state, his response is one that eases your fears—a gentle nudge of his nose against your hand in gratitude and acknowledgement and leaves before you can process what happened.

That night onwards, you find Captain curled up at the top of your closet during the night. The first few times, the sight of his glowing orbs startles you, but with time, you find yourself comforted by this silent guardian who watches over you as you slumber. When you tell Wooyoung about this, his response is one of gentle reassurance. “He probably watches over you to protect you as you sleep during the night.”

Speaking of Wooyoung, the first time you ask Captain to accompany the town on your visit, he seems a little sceptical. “It’s your choice, Captain. If you don’t want to, that’s perfectly alright. I just thought you would like some change of scenery,” you tell him. As you gather your belongings and secure your cottage, you expect Captain to stay back. However, as you lock the door, you find him perched upon the fence, waiting for you. And when you introduce Captain to Wooyoung, it is a new experience, to say the least. Laughter spills forth as you are unable to suppress your mirth as Captain scratches your friend’s hand in an instinctive response to Wooyoung’s attempt to lift him into his arms.

“You have adopted a devil, Y/N,” he screeches, pointing at Captain while cradling his arm protectively. Your cat, on the other hand, is sitting on his haunches while licking his paw—the picture of angelic innocence.

“Please, I would scratch you too if you tried to scare me. The only reason I don’t is because you’d whine about it for days. Captain might just be the guardian I need to keep you in check, aren’t you, bud?” The answering meow causes another round of joyous laughter to burst forth from your lips.

You’d think Captain’s initial aloofness would deter Wooyoung but, Captain's coldness only seems to fuel your friend’s determination as he tries everything he can to get Captain to like him—from treats to gentle pets to whimsical trinkets—all in an attempt to win over the feline. Yet, Captain remains steadfast, his indifference to these gestures firmly intact. And it is not as if this attitude is reserved for Wooyoung alone.

Ever since that first trip where he accompanied you, Captain follows you each time you visit Alusia. As you navigate the streets of the town, he treads his own path, a few paces away and often on higher surfaces while you go about your business. The townspeople, on learning of your feline companion, attempt to win his affection, but he doesn’t seem like people (or people touching him), so eventually, they give up trying. However, he still accepts treats from them despite you telling them not to, but the way he looks at you has you quickly going back on your words. How can you say no when he looks at you with his large eyes that seem to hold entire universes within them?

During one such trip to Alusia, a jewellery shop captures your attention for a moment, but as your mind is preoccupied with the bubbling concoction back at the outhouse, you walk past the display without lingering. In your haste, you don’t even realise that Captain has stopped in front of the big window and isn’t following you. It is only the sensation of something amiss that prompts you to retrace your steps, leading you to the forlorn figure of Captain seated before the shop—a sight that tugs at your heartstrings.

A sigh escapes your lips as you crouch beside him. “Would you like to explore what the shop has to offer?” you inquire gently, recognising the twinkle in Captain's gaze as he looks up at you.

Though your feline companion is a delight to be around, sometimes you can’t help but be sceptical of the little guy. You have often caught him reading your journals or tomes as if he understands them, prompting speculation about his understanding of human knowledge. Yet, those notions are quickly discarded when he settles onto the page with a languid yawn. “Cap’n, my books are not cushions for napping,” you always chide him in playful exasperation, only to be met with a dismissive glare and a subsequent shift into your lap. Amongst all his quirks, one stands out—his remarkable understanding of human speech. Whenever you ask him something, he answers with a meow or a hiss (it’s easy to tell which is for which), just like how he answers your question about the shop with a meow.

With a nod, you offer your arms as a welcoming perch for Captain to leap into and enter the quaint shop. The glittering array of chokers fascinates him, prompting you to lead him towards the displays. He studies each piece carefully, and at the end of this impromptu stop, Captain is adorned with a collar—which is more of a choker, really. A topaz moon and vibrant red marigold pendants grace his new accessory, shining beautifully as the sunlight hits them.

For the rest of the week, Captain's spirited headbutts and unabashed demonstrations of fondness keep you on your toes, simultaneously warming your heart and distracting you from your potion-making. His playfulness leads you to scold him gently because you are worried that he could get hurt while you work. “Cap’n, I know you love your new collar, but I need to concentrate on my work, or you could get hurt.” Despite your reprimand, his adoration remains undeterred, but he does quiet down as you work and lingers nearby, a reassuring presence amid your bustling workspace.

Weeks pass, and one night in mid-August, you are jolted from your sleep by a distressing nightmare—a rare occurrence for you as you rarely dream. Gasping for breath, your magic surges instinctively, tethering you to the calming embrace of the forest that surrounds your home.

As your panic settles and you feel calmer than before, you reach for the glass of water on your nightstand, only to be startled when a pair of glowing eyes meet your gaze from the heights of your closet. It’s a familiar sight, yet the remnants of the unsettling dream create a tremor within you.

“Captain Jack Sparrow, you nearly gave me a heart attack.” Your hand instinctively rests over your pounding heart as you chide him, the mixture of residual fear making your voice tremble.

Observing your distress, Captain gently descends from his vantage point to the expanse of your bed. A soft meow accompanies his movements, and his eyes seek yours before he nuzzles his head against your side. Sighing, you relent, succumbing to his affection. Your touch is tender and reassuring as you pet his head gently, “It’s alright, buddy. I didn't mean to scold you. I was just startled by the nightmare.”

Cocooned in the soft cotton sheets, you lay back down to go back to sleep and notice Captain curling up by your side with a gentle purr. His tail encircles your wrist in a protective gesture as if trying to ward off the shadows that threaten to disturb your sleep. From that night onwards, most nights, you awaken to find him nestled by your feet or right by your pillow—a silent guardian whose comforting aura intertwines with the magic that surrounds you. 

Time passes and one season transitions into the next, and before you know it, you’ve been living with Captain Jack Sparrow for almost a year. As yet another summer rolls around, you notice his presence has brought profound happiness to your existence. While he may not be the familiar you once yearned for, he has become a source of unwavering support, and his mere presence never fails to brighten up your days.

However, there’s an unexpected shift in Captain’s behaviour one day, he seems restless, and it only intensifies during the night. Despite your attempts to understand what’s wrong, you can’t seem to figure it out, which leaves you both perturbed and anxious. As dawn breaks, you decide professional insight is necessary and bring Captain to the town’s vet, only to be told that your cat is in perfect health. Though baffled, you’re relieved to know that Captain is not in any particular danger. On your way back home, you venture into the apothecary only to be met with a frantic San and aghast Wooyoung. 

“What's wrong?” You ask softly, only for Wooyoung to burst into sobs as he throws himself into your arms. 

Turning your gaze to San, his weary visage reflects the toll whatever ordeal he has gone through has taken on him. His voice is a blend of exhaustion and urgency as he relays the heartbreaking news to you, “Miyeon vanished in the forest. She had been working on her first test as a witch-in-training and didn’t return.” 

You know how important the test is, for it is the first step in any witch’s path towards the prestigious academy in the capital. San continues to explain that when the young girl didn’t return home, even as the stars twinkled in the rapidly darkening sky, her mother raised an alarm and the townspeople searched for her throughout the night to no avail.

“It’s as if she vanished into thin air, Y/N,” San’s voice is filled with the fatigue of fruitless searching and worry for Miyeon.

Your brows furrow, “Do you have any idea where she might have gone missing?”

San shakes his head with a sigh, “The only thing we found was her bracelet, and that was miles away from where she should’ve been—near the rocky caves close to the mountains.”

The information stirs a gasp from your lips, for the mountains lie nearly fifty miles away from Alusia’s borders. “But that's miles away. How could she have ended up there?”

Weariness is evident in every line of San’s face as he levels you with a sorrowful look, “No one knows.”

Days stretch on, heavy with a gnawing sense of uncertainty, as Miyeon’s absence continues to hang upon Alusia like a dark cloud that just won’t leave. The ominous shadows that loom over the forest deepen as more individuals vanish without a trace, their fates shrouded in a veil of mystery that defies explanation. Countless efforts have been in vain, leaving everyone in a state of collective apprehension. Venturing into the heart of the forest with San and Wooyoung, you’ve even journeyed to the rocky caves where the bracelet had been discovered. However, you find no tangible clues, and the sombre truth of your fruitless attempts sinks in.

Weirdly enough, amidst the sense of dread and uncertainty that surrounds the town and the forest, your cottage emerges as a safe haven. Whether the protective spells you’ve cast around its perimeter have deterred the sinister force or some other unknown factor is at play, whatever has been prowling in the forest doesn’t seem to approach your home. Your heart fills with relief at this, for it ensures the safety of not only yourself but also of your feline companion.

Captain has been venturing into the forest stealthily; however, you’re attuned to the subtle shifts that accompany his absence. Despite your worry, you permit him these solitary ventures as not only is your confidence in his instincts unwavering, but you also know that he wouldn’t stray too far to put himself in jeopardy. True to your belief, he returns to your side by the time you’re done with the day’s work.

However, one day when Captain doesn’t come back home by dusk, you reach out to Wooyoung, informing him that you will set out in search of your cat. Your friend’s apprehension is palpable even through the texts, and he reminds you of the prevailing danger that has claimed Miyeon and others, yet your determination overrides his caution.

Urgency propels you into the forest’s depths as the sun sets even further, washing the canopy above you in shadows that stretch like fingers reaching out to pull you into their darkness. An unsettling hush descends upon the surrounding area, a peculiar silence that leaves you both aware and wary. Your senses are on high alert as you advance deeper into the foliage and look for your cat.

As you spot a clearing in front of you that is bathed in the ethereal glow of twilight, you notice Captain Jack Sparrow in the middle, his attention fixed on an unseen presence shrouded within the trees on the other side. 

“Captain?” At the sound of your voice, his head whips around, his meow fraught with urgency. As he hurries to your side, his head nudging against your leg, you recognise his plea for you to retreat.

“I’m not leaving without you,” you tell him softly but with enough conviction in your voice that elicits a resigned meow from Captain.

He positions himself in front of you, his lithe form a protective barrier between you and the hidden danger that holds his attention. The silence seems to pulse with malevolent energy, and the hairs on your arms stand on end as you brace yourself for what awaits.

And then, from the gap between the trees, steps out a figure that you have only seen within the pages of the books you’ve read—a demon. His arrival disrupts the eerie stillness, his form emanating an aura that sends a shiver coursing down your spine. Horns, reminiscent of an infernal crown, emerge from tufts of his long hair. Intricate tattoos wind their way along his arms like serpents of darkness, and wings resembling a bat's silhouette stretch ominously, casting shadows that dance in tune with the forest’s secrets. The deep crimson glow of his eyes sears a path into your very soul, leaving you trembling beneath his gaze.

Your heart beats wildly within your chest, your senses keenly aware of the danger that emanates from this being. As the realisation that you stand before a high demon dawns upon you, you cannot help but inhale sharply.

Though fear courses through your veins, your mind functions with remarkable clarity. A plan takes shape, and your instinct for self-preservation and the well-being of those you hold dear compels you to act. Fingers trembling, you manage to send a discreet message to Wooyoung and tell him to bring a priest whose knowledge and skills would be able to banish this entity back where he belongs.

Beside you, Captain Jack Sparrow emits another series of hisses, his agitation a mirror to your own. The feline’s protectiveness seems to amuse the demon, for his lips curl into a sinister grin. “You think your feline companion is any threat to me? You’re foolish to think so, little witch.”

Your heart pounds as you face the looming demon. With your makeshift weapon—a sturdy stick—grasped firmly, you weave determination and resolve into your stance. Your gaze shifts to Captain, his eyes reflecting the trust he places in you. Kneeling before him, you utter your words in a hushed tone. “Can you distract him for me?”

Captain Jack Sparrow meets your gaze with unwavering intensity, an unspoken understanding passing between you two. His nod is resolute, a testament to his loyalty and his faith in you. Without hesitation, he catapults himself toward the demon, a feline embodiment of courage and defiance.

With a sharp breath, you drag the stick into the forest floor as you etch a devil’s trap. Each stroke in the soil forms a link in a mystical chain, a barrier that could keep the demon trapped until the priest arrives with Wooyoung. The forest seems to hold its breath, the air thick with anticipation as you carve your intentions into the earth, invoking protection and safeguarding magic into each gesture.

Just as you make the last stroke on the earth, a piercing howl of agony pierces through the silence. Panic claws at your chest as you stand, your eyes locking onto Captain, who now lies amidst the underbrush. The demon’s glee is evident, a sickening grin that sparks a fire of anger within you.

Even as your heart races with a mixture of fury and desperation, his taunting words punctuate the air, “You can’t hurt me either, little witch. You’re too weak to go up against me.”

Your voice, though laced with tremors, carries a fire born of defiance. “You underestimate me, demon. My strength lies in more than just might.”

As the tension builds, you brace yourself, a fusion of anger and resolve fuelling your next steps. For some reason, a smirk dances at the edges of your lips, the action adding to the demon’s simmering fury. His snarl of irritation is a satisfying confirmation that your audacity has hit its mark, goading him into action. Without warning, he hurtles toward you with terrifying speed, and instinct kicks in, your body moving with a fluidity born of desperation as you sidestep his oncoming assault, your heart pounding with a mixture of adrenaline and a fervent prayer for Wooyoung to be quick. He’s your anchor, your beacon of hope, a lifeline that promises light at the end of the tunnel.

Your attempt to land a punch only garners a momentary victory, a fleeting contact that sends a jolt of satisfaction through your veins before the demon's ferocity reignites. Your “fight” with the demon is more of a dance between predator and prey. The demon is tireless, his attacks relentless, and your resilience the only thing keeping you from succumbing to his power.

As you’re trying to catch your breath while also simultaneously dodging the demon’s attacks, a movement in the corner of your vision catches your attention—a graceful, stealthy approach. It’s Captain Jack Sparrow, emerging from the undergrowth despite being hurt himself. You can see the fire in his own eyes as he moves closer to the two of you.

Your focus narrows as the duel intensifies. Yet, in a split second, your world tilts on its axis. The demon’s strike finally lands its mark, and an agonising pain flares in your abdomen as his blade pierces through you. Your gasp of pain mingles with the harshness of your exhale, the world momentarily spinning as you lose your grip on reality.

Amidst the searing agony, a small hope presents itself—a diversion in the form of your cat. Captain’s launch distracts the demon, his collision with the devil turning the tide of battle. A triumphant surge courses through you as the malevolent entity stumbles ensnared within the conjured lines and symbols of the devil’s trap.

Hope blossoms anew as the demon’s growls turn to roars of rage. It’s a momentous turn of events, however, the sweet taste of victory is swiftly tempered by the urgency of your injury. Blood flows from your wound, a crimson river that threatens to drown you in its tide. 

But as darkness threatens to claim you, the forest is pierced by the sound of familiar voices. Wooyoung’s call is a lifeline, as he and the priest, followed by San, move toward the heart of the clearing. Their arrival sparks a surge of relief within you, the fervent prayers you’d cast finding their answer.

For your two friends, the demon, now in the custody of the priest, takes a backseat to the immediate urgency of your wound. Bloodied and battered, you succumb to the overwhelming sense of fatigue that washes over you, your vision flickering as you teeter on the precipice of consciousness. As the world blurs and wavers, you hear Captain’s mournful meows and Wooyoung’s desperate pleas as San works to stem the bleeding. Darkness envelops you, but not before you grasp the hands of those who are by your side, hoping to give them some comfort.

As you gradually resurface from the depths of the unconsciousness, you’re met with a hazy awareness of your surroundings. The soft rustle of leaves, a gentle breeze, and the warmth of the sun’s rays brush against your senses, weaving together a mosaic of sensations that bring you back to the world of the living.

As your eyelids flutter open, the world swims into focus, and you realise you’re laid down in the comfort of your bed. With careful and deliberate motions, you navigate meticulously to take note of any aches along your body. The pain is there, an ever-present reminder of the brutal encounter with the demon, but it’s not as overwhelming as you initially feared.

Summoning the strength to sit up, you’re acutely aware of the effort it takes. Your muscles protest the movement, a chorus of twinges and discomfort that underscore the extent of your injuries. You exhale a measured breath, grateful for the incremental progress that you’ve made in whatever number of days you’ve been unconscious. 

You wonder if Wooyoung or San are downstairs, for you hear movement and sounds drifting through the air—evidence that you're not alone. With a mixture of trepidation and anticipation, you muster the energy to call out. “Hello?”

In response, the sounds shift—a plate clatters in the sink, and footsteps echo through the corridors as they draw nearer. You await the reply with a mixture of anticipation and unease, as the door to your room creaks open, revealing an unexpected visitor who seems as surprised to find you conscious as you are to meet him. The stranger stands framed in the doorway, his presence both enigmatic and captivating. Your gaze sweeps over him, capturing the details that distinguish him from any other human.

His silver hair shimmers like moonlight swept in an artful disarray around his face. His brown eyes are warm and expressive, and his petite nose adds a touch of whimsy to his features, a charming little thing that lends him an air of approachability.

Yet, what captivates your attention most are the silver cat ears that adorn his head. They peek from behind his tousled locks, a hint of something magical, a connection to the feline that has become such a significant part of your life. And there, nestled against his throat, rests the same choker you had bought for Captain—the final object that weaves a thread of familiarity between you and this stranger.

You blink at the unexpected revelation, your mind whirling as it tries to reconcile this silver-haired stranger with the raven-furred feline companion who had been a constant presence in your life for over a year. The pieces of the puzzle rearrange themselves in your perception, forming a new and baffling image that challenges your understanding of magic and reality.

“Please don’t tell me that you’re the cat who’s been living with me for the past year,” your incredulity and confusion are woven into the words that hang in the air between you.

He blinks back at you, the innocence in his gaze casting a surreal contrast against the situation you’ve found yourself in. “Um, okay?” His response is soft, almost timid, and a pang of empathy stirs within you.

“But, you… I didn’t sense a single ounce of magic in you,” you murmur, your words imbued with a touch of bewilderment. The dichotomy between his appearance as a cat and now as a being with apparent human attributes leaves you struggling to grasp the threads of truth.

He shifts uneasily in the doorway, his cat ears betraying his discomfort as they flatten against his hair. As your brain races to piece together the implications of his transformation, Captain—your erstwhile feline friend—interjects with a soft sigh, “That’s because our magic is way different. Nature witches can rarely sense dark magic unless it’s threatening.”

“Oh… WAIT— WHAT DO YOU MEAN DARK MAGIC?” 

The elusive and sinister nature of dark magic indeed renders it undetectable to your innate senses. But to think you had been living with a creature who practised dark magic made you shudder.

“I am a mage, well—I was one until I declined a fae’s advances. They cursed me to live as a cat for the rest of my life,” he confesses, his voice carrying the weight of a burden he’s carried for far too long.

Your emotions teeter on the precipice of uncertainty. Part of you instinctively yearns to distance yourself, wary of the unpredictable nature of dark magic and its ramifications. Yet, another part—perhaps the more empathetic and compassionate side—compels you to understand.

“And how did you turn back?” you inquire gently, the words wrapped in a blanket of cautious curiosity. You observe his response closely, measuring his demeanour, and his expressions, seeking any sign of deceit or danger.

He meets your gaze squarely, his eyes carrying a mixture of vulnerability and sincerity. “I called in a favour another fae owed me. They helped me out and managed to undo some of the curse… but I was to stay a cat until I felt the heartbreak of almost losing someone precious to me,” he confides, his voice trembling with an authenticity that resonates with your intuition.

“Precious?” You echo the word.

The notion seems almost surreal, a subtle revelation that has you momentarily flustered. Your heart flutters in an unfamiliar rhythm, a dance choreographed by the unexpected emotions swirling within you. 

He observes your reaction, a gentle smile playing upon his lips as he regards you with tender familiarity. “You're precious to me, Y/N,” he admits, the words carrying an honesty that sends a shiver down your spine. His gaze is a caress, drawing you into the depths of his sentiment. For a heartbeat, the world narrows to just the two of you, and you find yourself holding your breath.

He probably senses the shift in your breathing and looks at you in concern, so you force yourself to inhale, coughing a bit as you choke. Once he sees you’re fine, he continues, his words laced with a trace of melancholy. “So… you almost losing your life changed me back. Not fully, though, never fully. I’ll still be able to turn back into a cat and then back into this form. That’s what I’ve been doing while Wooyoung and San come to check up on you.”

The notion of him resuming his dual existence as both a cat and this silver-haired individual evokes a sense of both wonder and sympathy. Your gaze lingers on him, searching for traces of the feline friend you’ve known for so long within the person before you.

“Oh…” The word slips from your lips, laden with a complexity of emotions that you struggle to articulate.

He shifts slightly, his demeanour carrying an air of uncertainty as he speaks. “Um… I can leave if you don’t want me around any—”

You interject, the words tumbling from your lips before he can finish his sentence, a resolute assertion that quashes any hint of rejection. “No! I just… I'll just need a while to… uh… yeah.” You gesture vaguely, the swirl of emotions within you manifesting in a flurry of gestures that you can’t seem to articulate into words. He nods at you, and the silence that falls over the room is punctuated only by the soft rustling of fabric as he shifts his weight.

“Would you like something to eat?” he offers, seeking to ground the situation in something familiar. “I'm not the best at cooking, but I make a nice porridge and considering you haven’t eaten in a couple of days, it's best if you have something light to eat.”

Your quick nod is accompanied by a brief departure and a swift return, a bowl of porridge cradled in his hands. When you notice that he’s about to leave you alone again, you can’t help but call out. “Wait.” As his steps pause in response, you invite him to stay with a gentle smile, the words unspoken but the sentiment clear.

Curiosity laces your words as you venture into uncharted territory. “So… can you still do magic?” The inquiry stems from a genuine desire to understand the extent of his transformation and the implications it holds.

He takes a seat beside your bed, his posture relaxed as he contemplates your question. “I haven't been able to use any magic since you got injured. The demon, he hurt me with the same knife he used to hurt you… and uh, I think whatever magic I have sort of reacted with yours…” His gaze finds yours from beneath the fall of his bangs, an unspoken query hidden within his eyes, “Do you feel any different?”

“I can't tell right now…” As silence settles between you, you sense the opportunity to delve further, to uncover a piece of the puzzle that he’s held close. “What's your name?” you ask, your voice soft yet insistent.

“Huh?” He seems momentarily taken aback as if the question isn’t something he expected.

“Your name,” you repeat.

“Kim Hongjoong.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah…” The response seems to hang in the air, a bridge between the past and the present, a marker of his identity before the curse that had transformed him.

An uncomfortable quiet follows, the weight of revelations and the unspoken understanding rendering words momentarily inadequate. Seeking a refuge in the familiarity of action, you take another spoonful of porridge, the act providing temporary solace.

Breaking through the silence, he cautiously inquires, his voice softer than before, “Is it okay?” The gaze you direct at Hongjoong carries an unspoken question, “The porridge?” he clarifies.

Your response is a nod as you offer him a tentative smile that reflects your gratitude. “It's really tasty. Thank you.”

Hongjoong’s nod is a humble acknowledgement, his gaze holding a fleeting yet meaningful connection with yours. As the seconds tick by, another awkward silence settles, but this one holds the gentle promise of the unknown.

That evening as the sunset paints the evening sky in hues of purple and orange, you find yourself in the presence of Wooyoung and San. Their eyes, suffused with the relief of your recovering strength, mirror the unspoken concern that brought them here. Nestled at your side, Hongjoong has resumed his feline form, a steadfast source of familiar comfort as Wooyoung tells you about the people who had gone missing. As the priest banished the demon, they were liberated from the captivity of the demon who was using them as a source to draw power. You are glad to know that Miyeon and the others have safely returned to their homes, and the four of you enjoy an evening filled with the warmth of companionship.

As your body completes its healing process, a newfound awareness awakens within you—an inkling that your magic has indeed undergone a transformation. Engaging Hongjoong in conversation about this, you both reach a consensus that teaching each other about your respective magic could be the key to unravelling the intricacies of your unique connection.

You start small, inviting Hongjoong to partake in nurturing the growth of herbs and other flora and having him observe the delicate craft of potion-making. With patience and thoroughness that speaks to the depth of your understanding, you slowly and meticulously introduce him to the art that has been your life’s calling.

Conversely, Hongjoong takes a more theoretical approach. Armed with the wealth of knowledge he has amassed over the years, he embarks on the journey of studying dark magic alongside you. Evenings become an intimate soiree of shared books, a merging of his wisdom and your practical expertise. The pursuit is not without its challenges, especially for him as the concepts of dark magic are both familiar and alien, a delicate dance between his past experiences and his present identity.

Slowly but surely, the awkwardness of your interactions dissipates, and you settle into a rhythm, an understanding blooming from the mutual pursuit of knowledge. Hongjoong’s presence becomes an inseparable part of your magical undertakings, his assistance serving as both catalyst and amplification. The mundane tasks of your craft transform into collaborative ventures that find their completion with newfound ease and velocity.

In this partnership, you both traverse uncharted realms, unearthing hidden gems of wisdom and forging new techniques. You discover the intricacies of advanced protective charms, the nuances of spellcasting, and the delicate balance between the ethereal and the tangible. Every conversation brings new insights as his eyes aglow with passion while he delves into explanations that light up your understanding.

Hongjoong isn’t oblivious to the subtle shifts in your demeanour either, the way your attention seems to gravitate toward his words with an almost magnetic pull. He playfully teases you when you zone out while listening to him, but beneath his banter lies a quiet satisfaction at having captured your focus.

One summer evening, almost two years after you found and healed Hongjoong, you find yourself basking in the warmth of his presence. As Hongjoong delves into the mysteries of Tarot cards, your attention wavers. Mesmerised by his words, your gaze inadvertently drifts to his lips, where the graceful dance of his explanations seems to take on a sensual rhythm of its own. Lost in the tempo of his speech, you’re barely aware of your growing fascination until the sound of his clearing throat breaks through your reverie. Flushing in embarrassment, you avert your gaze, your heart racing at having been caught by him.

Hongjoong chuckles softly, a melodious sound that carries warmth. His fingers, feather-light and tinged with confidence, slide beneath your chin, lifting it until your eyes meet his. His touch is tender, a silent reassurance that dissipates your unease, even as his eyes search yours with an intensity that ignites a flutter in your chest.

The air between you seems charged with unspoken desires, and as Hongjoong’s gaze darkens, your heart skips a beat. His presence is magnetic, his proximity an intoxicating pull that leaves you breathless. The realisation that this is a defining juncture in your connection dawns upon you, your anticipation matched only by the uncertainty of what's to come.

“May I kiss you?” Leaned in so close that his breath dances upon your lips, Hongjoong’s voice is barely a whisper as he seeks permission, his question hanging between you like a promise. His eyes, fixed on your mouth, reflect the yearning that pulses through his veins.

Your nod is almost imperceptible, a fervent agreement that is all the confirmation Hongjoong needs. His lips descend upon yours with a delicate reverence, his touch a gentle brush that sends sparks through your very being. A deep, resonant purr thrums from within his chest, the vibrations of which reverberate against you as he draws you closer to himself.

Hongjoong’s kiss unfolds with a tenderness that contrasts the unspoken longing that has been growing between the two of you. His lips move against yours in a rhythm that speaks of his own vulnerability, each touch conveying a deeper sentiment. But as you respond in earnest, his tongue glides across your lips, prompting longing to flare through your veins.

Your lips part, the connection broken only for a moment as you both draw a ragged breath. Yet, the space between you feels electric, the air pregnant with the promise of what’s to come. Giving in to desire, Hongjoong’s kisses trail along your jaw, igniting sensations that tumble forth as a soft, involuntary whimper. The velvety brush of his lips against your skin seems to write a narrative of its own as if he’s trying to make a home in your very soul.

With a husky murmur, Hongjoong guides you forward, his voice a seductive entreaty that resonates through your core. As his teeth graze beneath the collar of your shirt, a shiver courses down your spine, “That's it, love,” he exhales, his words a sultry invitation to unravel the depths of your desires. “Let me hear you.”

The fervour of your shared moment is interrupted by a sudden, urgent knock on your door. The sound jolts you both out of the cocoon of passion, and you exchange a hasty yet intense kiss as if to imprint the sensation on your soul before pulling away. Breathing heavily, you share a lingering glance before reluctantly untangling yourself from his embrace and heading to the front door, your heartbeats echoing the electricity that still courses through your veins.

As you open the door, you’re met with the sight of Wooyoung and San, their expressions a mix of concern and curiosity. They look at you and Hongjoong with knowing smiles as if they can sense the transformation in the air, but they refrain from commenting. It’s a silent acknowledgement of the intimacy that has bloomed between you, and you’re grateful for their unspoken understanding.

In the days that follow, you and Hongjoong continue navigating your newfound connection. The kiss remains unspoken, yet its imprint is undeniable. The two of you seem to share a mutual agreement to explore this uncharted territory without the constraints of labels or expectations, allowing your relationship to unfurl naturally.

With Hongjoong by your side, every interaction becomes a wordless conversation, every shared glance a testament to the bond that has formed between you. The ease with which you navigate each other’s thoughts and emotions astounds you as if you’ve known each other across lifetimes.

With Hongjoong, you find solace and a rare understanding that extends beyond the realms of mere companionship. With him by your side, life seems to flow effortlessly, and even the challenges that come your way are met with a united front, the strength of your connection acting as a shield against adversity.

As time passes, you realise that what you have with Hongjoong is more profound than any bond you could have hoped for had you connected with a familiar. Yours is a love that has grown from mutual respect, shared experiences, and the unspoken promises that linger between your glances.

You might have longed for a familiar as a young witch, but now you realise that fate had something even better in store for you—a soul who understands you in ways words can never express and a heart that beats in harmony with your own. With Hongjoong by your side, you found the person who complemented your magic, someone who loved you and would go to the ends of the earth for you, and you knew that you’d do the same for him.

[sytoran]

𝟒𝐊 𝐂𝐄𝐋𝐄𝐁𝐑𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 | milestone event

hey! to all followers new and old, thank you for your support in reblogging 💞 i've recently hit 4k followers, so i'll be having another milestone event celebration! if yall have stuck around since the previous 2k one, you'll know that we have a poll that will decide what fic i'm writing next!

as always, all fics will be dom!reader. i'll try to keep the fic as a oneshot, but things spiral out of control sometimes, and word count is subject to change.

poll will be up for one day only, so make your decision quick!

‧₊˚🖇️✩ ₊˚🎧 see: main m.list

── #01. knight!stark!reader x princess!rogers!wanda

a pair of star-crossed lovers meet at a ball. romeo and juliet, but make romeo a playboy knight lesbian who falls head over heels in love with the princess of her rivalled clan. a classic shakespearean tale, but make it sapphic literature + angsty love + horny queers + u-haul lesbians in medieval times.

── #02. mortal!reader x goddess of lust!natasha

the fifth instalment of the 'my divine goddess' universe. timelines and lifelines have torn you and natasha apart, but the two of you are bound by the child you have created. though subjected to earth, loki, god of mischief, dangles the possibility of a future with natasha by making you a god.

── #03. a kinktober fic - up for your decision!

there are quite a number of kinktober 2023 fics that i have left unfinished, and now is a chance for me to finally finishing writing them... but which one?? from hydra!reader to barbie!wanda, you guys can choose which tale i tell next. (if this is the most popular option, there will be another poll set up.)

[southfarthing]

I'm counting the hobbit as part of lotr, and extended tolkien works like unfinished tales and CoH etc as silmarillion

fandom engagement just means where you like to hang out! the things you post or like/reblog, the people you follow, the art/fics/gifs/meta etc that you either make or enjoy from others

[al-the-remix]

Six Sentence Saturday (or something like that)

Starting on my second bucktommy fic 😌 This was inspired by a post I'm pretty sure @unfuckablebogtroll made a few months ago that I can't find anymore, but the gist is that Tommy buys his house during the 2007/8 financial crash, refinances during covid, and has been saving since then to be able to renovate it himself. In this fic Buck's obviously going to volunteer to help Tommy out ( with his previous construction experience and all) and slowly insinuate himself into Tommy's home without either of them fully realizing it...at first. Buck learns Tommy as he learns more about his house: starting the inside and working outwards. Meanwhile Tommy learns how to let people help him and that Buck's really in it for the long haul ✨

“Hey, can I ask you a question?”

Looking over his shoulder, Tommy raises a brow. He’s elbow-deep in Evan’s kitchen sink, warm, sudsy water tickling his skin as he finishes the last of the dinner dishes. Evan made a chicken parm that had Tommy contemplating the existence of God and carefully planning the head he’d be giving his boyfriend later. As long as Tommy had known him–which was admittedly not very long–Evan has been a shoot first, ask questions later kind of guy. More likely to barrel through any awkwardness than couch his questions in some kind of lead up. “Of course you can, you know that.”

Evan takes the plate Tommy offers him in hand, drying it and setting it aside, his expression just hesitant enough to give Tommy pause. 

“Why do we always hang out at my place?”

The question startles a laugh from him. That…wasn’t what Tommy had been expecting. “We don’t, sometimes we go on dates.” Tommy allows his face to settle, faux serious and gently teasing. “Are you claiming I’m not romancing you enough Buckley, because I take that accusation very seriously.”

It gets him the reaction he was hoping for: Evan rolls his eyes like he’s aiming to hit 20 Klicks into the stratosphere and keep climbing. He can hear Evan's common refrain in his head, only coworkers call me Buckley, and I don’t even want to contemplate explaining what we’ve been up to to HR.

 “Ha, ha. You know that’s not what I meant. You don’t think it’s a little weird that it’s been two months and I haven’t made it past your garage?”

Tommy’s brain goes straight to the gutter, but Evan’s arms are crossed over his chest in what Tommy has come to learn is a tell-tale sign of him feeling a little insecure.

Tommy tucks away the innocent expression he’d been pulling and sighs, yanking the plug and reaching for the discarded towel to wipe his hands clean. “I mean, it’s a shorter drive for me to come here from Harbour than make you slog it all the way out to mine. I was just trying to make things easier on you.”

Evan holds up his hands like he’s trying to brace both himself and Tommy for his next question. “Okay, let me be more direct. Do you still live with your mom?”

That one shocks, a genuine, full belly laugh from him. The concern on Evan’s face is beginning to grow, and Tommy waves him off. 

“No, it’s nothing like that. My place is just…a little unfinished at the moment, is all.”

Evan’s apartment was so put together it had honestly taken Tommy aback the first time he’d gotten a good look at it He didn’t know what he’d been expecting but it hadn’t been anything this nice, clean, or stylish, and the next opportunity he’d had to linger and poke around…with fewer distractions…he had quickly reevaluated the person he’d assumed Evan to be based on first impressions alone.

It had been his first in a long chain of lessons he’d learnt to never underestimate Evan Buckley. It had also made him feel slightly…lacking.

“Okay,” Evan says slowly, he’s using that tone of voice that usually means he already has a succession of twenty questions in the barrel and was just barely holding back from pulling the trigger.  “Unfinished, how?”

Tommy scratches at the side of his nose before he can stop himself. A nervous tick. “Well, I bought it with the intention of renovating it myself--my first job was working for a contractor–but I, uh, kept getting a little side tracked.”

Evan shrugs. “That doesn’t sound so bad.”

“You haven’t seen it yet…” Tommy warns.

Evan’s smile slides sideways. “Yeah, and don’t you think it’s a little unfair that Eddie’s seen your place and your boyfriend hasn't?”

He feels silly, but Tommy can’t stop the way his stomach goes hot and squirmy every time Evan says it. Boyfriend–like it’s a pearl cupped lovingly on the bed of his tongue. 

It’s Tommy’s turn to roll his eyes. He reaches out, covering Evan’s damp hand with his own and offering him a direct, hot-eyed look. “I’m not trying to impress Eddie.”

His words have their intended effect, Evan grins and ducks his head, cheeks going pleasantly red. 

Evan laces their fingers together. “I don’t care how rough it is around the edges, I want to see every part of you,” he says, devastatingly sincere. 

Every time Tommy thinks he’s gotten an upper hand on his feelings, Evan throws him for a loop. “Alright, but don’t say I didn’t warn ya.”

Evan’s grin spreads across his face like soft butter on toast. “You got it.”

[elesianne]

Some resources for Silmarillion fic writers, artists, and general enthusiasts, 2023 version

I made a new version of this post since the old one now has some dead links .

The Silmarillion, full text by chapters - the thing itself.

Laws and Customs of the Eldar, full text from The History of Middle-earth: Morgoth's Ring. This essay written by J.R.R. Tolkien, with commentary by Christopher Tolkien, includes information on the elven life cycle and marriage, roles of men and women, Noldor naming customs, the fëa and hröa, death and rebirth, and the complex matter of Finwë & Míriel & Indis. Whether you want to write ‘LaCE’-compliant fic or not, it’s interesting reading.

The Silmarillion Writers' Guild Biographies are great, comprehensive summaries of what Tolkien wrote about a particular character, complete with quotations and references, with some commentary. They’re written by many different contributors so they differ from one another but all are useful when you want to learn about a character. (Older version, characters listed alphabetically)

Henneth Annun character bios contain less commentary but there are lots of them, including for minor characters, from the Silmarillion, Unfinished Tales, The Hobbit and LotR. Bios include facts and quotes about the characters.

Heraldic devices of Silmarillion (and LotR) characters, including heraldic rules among Elves etc. Some are copied from Tolkien’s original drawings while others have been drawn based on descriptions in the books.

Timelines for the events of the Silmarillion on Tolkien Gateway which cannot possibly be accurate for all of Tolkien’s conflicting versions, but they are still a very useful resource

Arms and Armours of the Eldar is a comprehensive list of quotations from Tolkien’s works concerning all things physically offensive and defensive.

Parf Edhellen Dictionary of Tolkien’s languages gathers definitions from multiple other sites. Easy to use.

RealElvish.net Name lists are an excellent resource for finding a name for your OC.

Please note that I cannot guarantee the security or accuracy of any of these websites.

[xagave]

pleasepleaseplease recommend some danphan fics!!

Sorry these are on ff.net I was into danphan before AO3 was really A Thing. Invisobang also just completed and a whole wack of new fics are also now out for your enjoyment so I suggest taking a look there too Lab Rat - Danny (as Phantom) is captured by his parents and vivisected in the lab. THE MOST iconic dp fic from this era of fandom and also the first dp fic I ever read which single-handedly got me into the fandom. I also recommend anything else by this author[sequel]

Pits - Danny is captured by Walker and thrown into the Pits to fight for his life. HANDS DOWN my all time favorite dp fic. I drew a bunch of fanart for it and never showed the author LMAO [sequel]

In The Way - A twisted tale of a summer spent all alone

Wondering - Danny's been captured and tortured by his parents, but he refuses to say a word until his psychiatrist starts connecting the dots. Can he risk keeping it a secret any longer?

Dreams of Light - A cute box ghost fic with a fun twist at the end

Phantom's Sketchbook - Mr. Lancer finds himself in an unparalleled situation, he has access to something which can give him incredible insight into the personal workings of Amity Park's local ghost teen hero, Danny Phantom

Masks - Lancer has had enough of his most enigmatic, frustrating student Daniel Fenton and forces him to stay in detention with him until Danny tells him The Truth. A story examining Danny's relationship with the human race. Another BIG FAVE of mine [sequel]

Darkness - Part 1 of Illuminations saga. [part 2][part 3][part 4] Maddie and Phantom are trapped in the dark and must work together to avoid dying. I don't remember much about this but I do remember it being super creepy and I bulldozed my way through all 4 parts so it must have been good lol

I'm Still Here - Danny's been locked away in a forgotten thermos, buried in the backyard for 70 years. When he's finally released, happy isn't the word he'd use to describe his new life

Real Life - A very creepy take on ghosts and the events of the show, where they're more inhuman, feral, and scary. I don't remember much about this but it's unfinished

Lopeholt - Valerie must survived the night in the third scariest place on earth. **VERY** creepy, I remember reading this in the dark and it gave me nightmares. Another top fave. I def recommend reading anything else by this author

Running to the Enemy's Arms - Danny runs away and ends up on the doorstep of the person who's dead last on his list of favorite people - Vlad. Danny/Vlad father son relationship. A fun and interesting view of what Danny's life would be like had he been the son Vlad always wanted. Incomplete but also another BIG FAVE of mine. Tolerate the first 1-2 chapters and the rest is golden

Checkmate - Vlad forces Danny to leave everything behind in order to save Jazz's life. But just when the billionaire believes to have won his chess game against his young rival, Danny makes a single unexpected move.

A Secret Uncovered - Danny's transformation is caught on tape and now the whole town knows who he is Photoshop - Dash and Kwan find an old class picture and start having a little too much fun on Photoshop. Will someone's secret be revealed?

Chained - It starts with a fire at the Guys in White headquarters, where a vengeful Valerie stumbles across an imprisoned Danny Phantom. It starts with injustice. But what happens when justice and revenge are confused for one another? Where does a hero end, and a villain begin?

Phantom of Truth - Locked away in a secret government lab with Phantom as her subject, nothing stands between Maddie and the truth… except, perhaps, herself [Sequel]

The Soul Sepulchre - Something foul is stirring in Amity Park and it all starts in the bowels of Amity Park's Museum of Natural History

Moral Code - Moral code says to never kill or capture a specimen that you did not weaken yourself. Maddie finds Danny Phantom wounded late at night after a hard battle. After she helps him, she finds there is more to him than she ever thought possible. Mother/son bonding

Connections - Maddie knows that the Booo-merang has keyed into Danny, for whatever reason, so what's she to think when she sees it collide with Phantom? [Sequel]

Isolated - It's just a wish that's been granted with the wrong twist, but for Danny, it's a nightmare that's become reality. He's stuck as Phantom, his family's hunting him, and everyone who can help him is gone

Little Earthquakes - They say that a man is defined by what he does when he thinks nobody's looking. Does the same hold true for ghosts?

Tortured Truth - Danny's parents discover that the ghost boy is half human. Now that they've captured Danny, will he submit to torture and reveal himself, or is the revelation just the beginning of their problems? [Sequel]

Estrelas - AU. Sam's attention is captured by a lonely ghost haunting her grandmother's attic…and discovering his secrets will take everything she has.

Criteria of Life - Every living thing must follow the Laws of Life; however, Maddie wonders if Phantom can somehow follow these laws as well. The fact that he is a ghost is putting a knick in her plans, but what if Phantom can follow the Laws of Life?

[turtleblogatlast]

hey!!! this is less of an ask and more of a fic rec tbh 😭 but have you read 'I May be Invisible, but I Still Look Good" by Dandy over on Ao3???? It's after the movie AND Leo-centric and like he gets cursed so his spirit is ripped out of his body. It's like 125k words of wonderful storytelling

OH- but for an actual question, do you have and fic recs?? or any AU's you think people should go check out?

I tried answering this before and it erased my reply orz

ANYWAY YES I HAVE read this and I absolutely love it with every fiber of my being.❤️ 100% one of my top fics to read in this fandom that I even go back to for a reread more than once. The characters are perfectly done and the set up for the story is believable with a fantastic payoff, highly highly highly recommend to anyone who hasn’t read it yet.❤️

As for recs, I’ve always been terrible at giving recs since my memory is very bad especially for ones I haven’t read in a while.😭 Off the top of my head I can recommend (note these are practically entirely Leo-centric since he’s my special guy you understand (the others aren’t forgotten at all though!!!) - and most of these are very very well known so you’ve likely already read them…):

[Note many of these are unfinished and may remain that way - please no one harass the writers for more, let them write at their own pace if they choose to write at all]

- The Neon Void by sugarpastels is absolutely incredible, the dramatic irony of it all as we follow Leo in the state he’s in and see just how broken all the Hamatos are by his “death” is just 👌👌👌 The fact that this places with one of my favorite tropes aka “Leo being in the Prison Dimension longer than canon” is just so good. Genuinely a thoroughly gripping tale that I highly recommend. It’s not complete yet (a lot of this list isn’t) but what is there is so amazing please read (though you most likely have read it already haha)

- little kid with a big death wish and firefight by remrose are another two you’ve likely seen but by god are they worth the read. Firefight isn’t done yet but it and death wish are so amazingly well written and really go into how trauma affects people differently and how ties with family can be tested in traumatic situations. Hard subjects definitely but very maturely done. (Also I misread firefight as firelight for way too long before I realized it-)

- Power Up and Times Five by pickedcarrotsandradish are both unfinished but I can’t care because what we were given is so good that I’m fine with them as they are. Both deal with Leo’s insecurities and bad feelings about himself and, very importantly, the fics go into how these insecurities establish a base for Leo’s very real flaws and how those flaws push him to act the way he does. Very interesting and compelling stuff here!! Power Up especially does really cool things for the boys’ mystic power ups, especially Leo’s, and I loved reading about the ins and outs of what they could do.

- Race Against Life, Death, and the EPF by Cass_Phoenix is just so engaging to read??? Like I love the entire set up for it - it’s feels so fresh and like you’re in Leo’s desperate situation yourself. I was so excited whenever a new chapter came out because the atmosphere was so well done.

- A Mixed Bag by GreatlyBlessed is SHOCKINGLY not Leo-centric for once haha. It’s not completed, but again, like the others above it is so good that I recommend it anyway. This story is actually a crossover between four sets of TMNT (‘87, ‘03, ‘12, and Rise) and the dynamics set up in it are SO fun I love it. Team 2 is my fave because you have literally all my faves on that team how could I not?? I also highly appreciate that everyone gets a chance to shine and that there’s no bashing at all, they’re all just very much in character and it’s refreshing to read ❤️❤️❤️

There’s a LOAD more that I could recommend I’m sure but I don’t remember them off the top of my head at the moment.😭 If I remember I’ll come back and add them in!

(Forgot about AU’s- honestly there’s some that I see and catch up on when I see them but there’s just so many that it’s a bit difficult to keep track of sometimes! I’d have to go around and fully look through many before having a solid answer haha! The ones I do see are always so well done though, I may come back and add them here if I remember 😅)