#what lies beneath review

[archesa]

From the past, with all my love - 1335 AE

Dust had gathered in the study, a thin silver lining veiling the furniture and golden specks twirling like snow in the sun filtering through the frosted windows.

A shroud of salt and rust stained the glass and the cascade of fire orchids falling from the heights of the greenhouse onto the side of the fort had rained a storm of withering petals on their courtyard where Trahearne had summoned minions to help him beat the rugs and pillows – a flesh and vines golem repeatedly charging a carpet hanging on the low branches of a plum tree.

In the meantime Anwen dusted the furniture Trahearne had omitted to cover before his hasty departure for Cantha – most of them, really, but how could she blame him – and used this opportunity to declutter and reorganise their quarters.

Their desks in particular required some attention. A pile of heavy leather-bound volumes on magical theory and the dragon cycle were stranded there – vestiges from a time just passed – in the midst of Trahearne's own research on the quaggan and largos' exile from the depths – recently proved not to be owed to the elder dragon of the abyss.

She scoured the notes and slipped them in the escritoire, the familiar scent of parchment and ink filling her lungs and welcoming her with a sense of belonging. Under the canopy of glass and metal, in the shade of orchids and wisteria, lulled by the sound of waves breaking on the fort, she was home.

The stationary barely fit the cylinder desk. Her curiosity piqued, she pulled the escritoire from the drawer, a bundle of letters neatly wrapped with a gold and sapphire blue ribbon, falling on her lap, from the depths of the secretary.

She stared, awestruck, as her own writing spread endlessly on the page – deep blue ink and never sealed messages she had long thought lost and regretted she never sent.

And here they were. Every single one of them – most unfinished, as she had left them, dated from 1325 to 1327.

Dearest friend,

An eternity it seems passed since we last met.

I hope life in Orr is treating you well, and that your duties to Pact allow you some respite.

I am writing from Lion's Arch, on my way to the Black Citadel at Tribune Brimstone's request. Assistance with the constant afflux of refugees from northern Ascalon.

The city is the same as ever but the sight of Claw Island, in the distance, beyond the bay, gives perspective to these last months. So much happened in so little time that neither of us really took the time to process.

I expect our business in the Citadel will conclude shortly – after Zhaïtan, what threat could be so hard to dispose of – and if you so agree, I shall bring you my transfer request for Caer Aval in person within a fortnight.

Yours truly,

Anwen Evergreen

PS : Meryw sends her love!

Dearest friend,

Our business in the Citadel it seems will require my attention longer than I originally planned.

The Dredges and the Flame Legion have formed an alliance and they harass these people endlessly. The Imperators seem helpless to deal with their guerilla – hit and run, scorched land – methods.

I took the liberty to offer the Pact's assistance – even if said assistance was then limited to Meryw and I – and assumed coordination of the agents and vigils already mustered there.

Dearest friend,

My sincerest apologies for not writing sooner.

Since Wintersday the days have grown, and yet they're still too short.

I hope you know you are on my mind-

A celebration of the Pact's victory is to be held in Lion's Arch in a fortnight. I dare hope our paths will meet there. I have so much to tell you. I realise now that you probably received a good dozen reports on the events that kept me in Central Tyria but–

Dearest friend,

I must once again delay my coming to Orr.

Captain Theo Ashford, who was killed during the attack, was a close friend of Logan Thackeray's. He asked me as a personal favour to assist the investigators – a detective of the Reach by the name Marjory Delaqua.

I am to meet her and her assistant – a friend of my brother, from the Academy, it's a small world! - in Lion's Arch today for further investigation of the crime scene.

I hope we can find the culprit shortly and I will then be free to officially file my transfer request to Orr.

I long to see Caer Aval again, and I cannot wait to offer my meager gardening talents to the restoration of the isles.

Yours truly,

Your friend, Anwen Evergreen

Dearest friend,

I wish to reiterate my family's thanks for your kind words and well wishes.

My brother is, I believe, on the verge of recovery as this misadventure did not even harm the most prominent part of his person : his ego is unfortunately unscathed. He seems more concerned by the ladies who witnessed his heroism than the healer's orders. And I worry for Meryw who must now endure him for the fortnight – and who definitely does not seem as annoyed as I had expected at the prospect of spending two weeks at the manor with Faren. I dread to think of the influence he might have on her! For all the love I have for my brother, I fear the world cannot endure another like him!

As for Scarlet Briar – or Ceara as she was once called – her motivations are still elusive... Chaos? Perhaps. But I fear there is more to her assault in the Reach – on the Queen's Jubilee – than most would deem.

The Shining Blade and the Seraph see no further than the immediate threat on the crown and Kryta. And the Arcane Council envoy dismissed her actions as a madwoman errance. But I have rarely met such a conflated ego – even for an asura! – and never seen Meryw have such a strong immediate dislike for someone, and though she remains tight-lipped on her reasons, I trust her judgement. Emissary Vorpp might be a brilliant dynamist but his expertise on the intricacies of the mind seem shallow at best.

But I digress.

These recent developments, I fear, will keep me in Kryta yet again.

Until we meet again, I remain yours truly,

Your friend, Anwen Evergreen

I killed you. Scarlet made me see this, made me do this. I know it was just a hallucination – just a nightmare but I see you every time I close my eyes, I feel your blood on my hands and your head on my shoulder as you breath your last.

Meryw saw Sieran.

Scarlet... This toxin showed us a glimpse of our subconscious, a place I hope my darkest nightmares will never wander back to... Every one of us peered into our deepest fear.

Mine is a world without you.

Dearest friend,

I hope this letter finds you well. I can barely believe it has been a year since last we met. I never expected

Caer Aval must be quite tranquil with the arrival of winter. If your duty allows, I would be honoured happy delighted honoured to have you as my guest for Wintersday.

The winter fêtes of the Faren house are famed for the brightness of their illuminations and the sweetness of their spirits.

If it so pleases you, we could avoid the crowds together.

Merry Wintersday, dear friend.

Letter after letter, she revisited this distant past – two or three lifetimes ago, it seemed – until the familiar sound of footsteps interrupted her.

Trahearne froze on the threshold, seeing her sat on the floor, the letters scattered around her and on her lap.

"You had them... I never sent them, and I thought they were lost forever, how...?"

"Meryw."

She stifled a breathless laugh.

Of course!

If there were anyone she could trust had innocent – or at least unequivocally good – intentions sending her correspondence, it was her shield-maiden.

"She wrote a few words with every unsent message, telling me of the unlikely places she had found the letters – blaming your distraction, your forgetfulness."

"I was busy...", Anwen smiled apologetically.

"I had noticed.", Trahearne chuckled. "These letters offered me a glimpse of you – stories I dared hope you would one day share with me."

"And... did I live up to your expectations?"

He laughed and knelt by her side, considering a moment everything they had been through these past ten years, the promise of tranquility after a decade – a lifetime in his case – of constant crisis almost too painfully sweet to believe.

"Our life together surpasses everything I could have imagined."

She leaned in his embrace, a content hum rumbling in her chest as she rested her head against him.

"Rereading those...", she sighed, "I realise how far we've come... and how close I have been from seeing my nightmare come true."

"A second Faren!", Trahearne breathed, in exaggerated horror. "Meryw is immune, but I believe Canach is a good contender..."

Her laughter filled the room with light and his heart with joy.

With the secondborn returned to Tyria to flaunt his success around the most elitists salons – and incidentally find more patrons to finance the Friends' Detective Agency – and Meryw recently recruited for the preparation of the wedding – and as such not-so-reluctantly entangled in the procession of bridesmaids counting in their ranks the oldest friend of Kasmeer, it seemed their orchard had succumbed to the gravitational attraction of Anwen's brother. And, most alarmingly, did not seem to complain!

He felt rather than heard her breath catch, a tremor in the quiet rise and fall of her chest against his.

“Dearheart?”

He reluctantly broke their embrace, a sinking feeling settling in his chest when he noticed her eyes glistening in the faint light. She blinked rapidly, a broken sob shattering on her lips.

"Anwen, what troubles you?"

“Sorry, I– I'm fine. Don't worry, I– I don't know why–...”

“It's alright.”, he murmured, tenderly holding her while she cried and leaned in his touch when he dried her tears.

“I'm so tired, Trahearne..."

It was a simple admission, but it was a relief.

"I... I think it's the first time since these letters that I cannot see further than the next step."

After they defeated Zhaïtan, she had naively believed there would be peace. They had defeated a dragon awakened for over a century and Trahearne had shattered its hold on the land it corrupted. Hopefully, the others wouldn't wake for a few centuries. And if she knew they would eventually bring the fight to Kralkatorrikk she had secretly hoped, since it was as good as dormant since Glint's death, that it would have taken years - time enough for the Pact to gather intel and reform an army to instill fear in the heart of an Elder Dragon. She had hoped...

"I... wanted nothing more than to spend all my time here, with you. And now we're finally there, now we can finally rest, I'm... ruining it."

"You're not ruining anything...", he breathed, tightening his embrace and resting his forehead against hers.

He knew this feeling. After the completion of his wyld-hunt he had felt… Bereft. Helpless. Forlorn. The great purpose of his life was complete and in its absence only remained emptiness and aching.

"Anwen, you're allowed to be tired. You're allowed to be sad because this chapter of our lives is over and relieved there is not battles left to fight. You're allowed to be unsure about the future and elated by what's to come. You're allowed to regret, to be proud of what you have accomplished."

"I'm– I just want to rest... with you."

"We rest, then.", he said softly.

She nodded feebly, a yelp stuck in her throat when he lifted her off the floor and carried her to the sofa nearby. A breathless chuckle broke on her lips, dispelling the shadow looming over them.

"I shall brew us some tea.", he offered, leaning forth to grab the nearest bundle of letters and laying it on the cushion beside her. "The one we brought from Seitung Province?"

"Would be perfect.", she smiled, the bitterness of nostalgia fading at the mere memory of the scent and aroma of white tea and sweet summer peaches.

Trahearne tenderly replaced a stray lock behind her ear and leaned in to lay a kiss on her cheek.

"Rest easy, Anwen. I'll take it from here."

(special thanks to @your-toxic-cat-universe for this beautiful piece! )

[holidayjoecoffee]

What Lies Beneath (2000)

Suspenseful thriller with Michelle Pfeiffer and Harrison Ford. Dark secrets haunt this Vermont couple. Not much more to be said without spoiling it. This is a well made whodunit with chills aplenty, and great moody atmosphere and music. Robert Zemeckis directs.

[silkjade]

WICKED DRAGON, LAY WASTE TO ME

⤀ synopsis: neuvillette has always been the gentlest of lovers—and so tonight you ask him not to hold back ⤀ cw: afab!reader, unprotected + rough sex, size kink, praise, overstimulation, breeding + creampie, marking, monsterfucking (dragon cock), cervix fucking, multiple orgasms, dumbification, mentions of mates, lil bit of dom!neuvi (??) but he is still sweet — mdni || ꒰ 8.4k wc ꒱ ⤀ notes: leviathan fic for leviathan neuv ( i’m not talking abt his constellation ) rbs + feedback are always vry much appreciated ♡

“Well? What do you think?” You come home, twirling before him in a gown, different than the one you had left in. The short hem at the front lifts mischievously, teasing just a peek of what lies underneath, while the longer, flouncing layers of skirts behind you, wrap flirtatiously around your legs. Neuvillette feels his throat run dry.

“Navia and Clorinde thought it was high time I changed my look, and you know I can’t ever say no to Chioriya Boutique.” 

While he’s spent the better part of the night reviewing court documents in the parlor, you have been out with Navia and Clorinde, who he thinks have perhaps plotted to kill him. ‘Girls’ night,’ you had called it.

Draped in a vivid palette of the finest fabrics, decorated interchangeably with delicate metalwork and dainty ribbons, the blush on his pale skin is ever-present as he rakes his eyes up and down your body. The dark, patterned stockings, squeezing your thighs just enough, so that supple flesh spills obscenely over the top, the tight, whale-boned embrace of your corset, accentuating the curves of your waist, and pushing upwards the swell of your breasts…

A coy smile graces your features when you catch how his throat bobs in his silence. Giggling, you lean down, tracing the tip of your finger up the contours of his neck, skimming the gentle curve beneath his chin until you’ve tilted his gaze to yours. “Hydro dragon, hydro dragon, got nothing to say?”

How can he even think, much less find the right words to say, when the familiar scent of your perfume fills his head with indecent, lascivious thoughts? Everything about you is intoxicating, almost insidiously attractive, so would it suffice to say that he’d much rather see your pretty, new dress abandoned somewhere on the floor? 

That first pulse of arousal translates into the first twitch of his cock, and oh how he wishes to kiss away your teasing little grin, but his lust-driven eyes are drawn to the miniscule movements of your bodice sleeve, predatory as he watches how it begins to shift, ever so slowly, off your shoulders. 

“If you don’t like it, then perhaps…” You loosely roll your shoulder, letting the sleeve slide right off. “…you’d like to help me undress?”

That, he will gladly do. His hands fly to your waist, dragging you down into a straddle over his hips. 

“Temptress,” he murmurs into the skin of your neck, distracting you with a featherlight kiss as his nimble fingers waste no time in undoing the delicate clasps of your bodice, leaving the heavy outer garment to tumble off your shoulders, abandoned in a pile at your waist. 

Cool air licks at the now exposed skin, though it’s nothing compared to the warmth of his lips as he slots his mouth against yours, gently coaxing you open with a subtle swipe of his tongue. Your eyes flutter shut in honeyed complacence, allowing Neuvillette to kiss you slow and sweet; impassioned, ardent, each kiss an oath of love and longing and lust. 

Desire blooms like romaritime flowers upon water, and you just know the tension underneath his placid exterior, is ready to burst. It’s prevalent in the way his muscles grow taut, tense beneath your every touch, fighting to hold himself back as your legs squeeze around his hips. Demonstrated, again, by how he pulls apart your corset, impatient and haphazard as he unlaces each cross, before tossing it to the ground, forgotten. And of course, only you can attest to the searing sensations of his escalating kisses—gentle wisps, once faint and docile, now wanton and heated with depravity. 

You can already feel it in your chest, in your bones, in the wetness that’s begun to form between your legs; maybe it’s the anticipation, but despite the layers of clothing you’ve already shed, you find it even harder now to breathe, especially as he holds you so close, body pressed against yours, while he traces the bare curve of your neck with his lips. 

For one with such a carefully crafted visage of elegance and poise, Neuvillette becomes sloppier as his restraint fades and lust seeps through the cracks. Something about you drives him wild, draws out the more carnal side of him that he so desperately seeks to hide away from you, who he could never even dream of hurting. 

But perhaps he’s spent too much time amongst humans. Or perhaps he understands their nature more than he had initially believed, for he makes the most human mistake of all in letting his control slip—enough that his fangs graze upon your sensitive skin, sending a shiver that reaches all the way down to your core, eliciting a moan so mellifluous, he cannot help but utter a sigh of strained content as the undeniably sweet sound reaches his ears.

“If we don’t stop now, I’m afraid I won’t be able to hold back,” he mutters, tongue laving over the spot in apology. It doesn’t help that you voluntarily crane your neck, offering him even more access in your heated bliss. His fingers dig into your waist in a silent plea to still your rolling hips. 

“So don’t,” you breathe. “Don’t hold back tonight.” Desperate to have him closer, you arch into him, the loose material of his shirt firmly clasped in your hands, deepening the kiss with a quick tug, a silent request for him to let go, but he immediately halts his movements, pulling away in hesitance. 

Oh Neuvillette. Your sweet Neuvillette, who in spite of his stern exterior, is the gentlest of lovers—always so tender with you and steadfast in placing your pleasure before his. You know of his draconic origins, know that he holds back in fear of hurting you, but for all the times he’s pleased you to the fullest extent, you only wish to do the same for him.

Your hand reaches to cup his face and he leans into your familiar touch, steely eyes soft. “It’s okay, I trust you.”

It’s already difficult denying you anything on a normal basis, so how can he, now that you sit, straddled over him, determination colored in your bright eyes, and with nothing but flimsy cloth left between the two of you. His eyes linger at your chest, the scooping neckline of your lace slip doing nothing to hide the smooth crests of your collarbones, begging to be marked. 

Neuvillette sucks in a breath, and attempts to swallow his doubts, before exhaling. He can no longer ignore the tightness in his groin, and to you, it’s clear that the obvious erection poking from beneath his trousers, speaks much louder than the uncertainty storming in his eyes. Perhaps he just needs one more push…

Your fingers come to curve around the sharp lines of his jaw, unwavering as you tilt his head up into your gaze. “Don’t worry about me, I can take it.”

His heart threatens to leap out of his chest in a flash of excitement, gratitude, desire; it’s far from the first time you’ve lain together, but to choose to bear such vulnerability before him, to surrender yourself to a full-fledged dragon… He glides his hands over the round slopes of your shoulders, easily sliding off the straps of your slip as he goes. The silk garment collapses down your torso, piling atop your forgotten dress. 

“If that is truly what you wish…” He presses an openmouthed kiss to the bare skin between your breasts, and the warmth of his breath runs a chill even colder than the night air. His whispers hide a growl, and despite the blush apparent at the tips of his pointed ears, his hold on your waist tightens. One hand slides down to grasp at your rear, and you can feel him smile against your lips, the rattle of a faint chuckle rippling in his throat before your breath hitches as he picks you up in his arms, and carries you off to the bedroom. 

He sets you by your shared bed, tearing off his now wrinkled shirt, while you wriggle out of whatever’s left of your dress, until both sets of clothing are discarded somewhere on the floor, and you’re finally left in only your panties and your stockings.

Immediately, his hands find your waist, roaming up and down over your curves as he smothers you in hungry kisses, herding you along until the backs of your knees hit the edge of your shared bed. This Neuvillette nips at your bottom lip, not asking for, but demanding entrance into your mouth, and you have no choice but to let him in, what with the way he makes you whine as he sneaks his hands down to knead the globe of your ass, before lowering you onto the bed. 

The tingling sensations bloom in your stomach, buzzing with excitement while you ready yourself to surrender completely—pliant to his will, whatever it may be. Arousal swallows you like the sea and he has yet to even really touch you. Impatient, your hand wanders, though not far down enough before you’re caught in his grasp. 

“Patience…” he mutters, pinning your wrist beside your head, broad shoulders caging you in between him and the sheets. His other hand follows the natural lines of your body, tracing along the edges until he stops to fondle one of your breasts. 

It’s impossible to relax your speeding heart at this side of Neuvillette: less reserved in his touches, more candid in his wants. The untreated heat in your body makes sure to touch on every part of you, running like water through your veins, until you’re sure your dripping cunt is pulsing with a heart of its own. Unable to stand the ache any longer, you wriggle beneath him—rolling your hips and squirming until your knee unwittingly brushes against his crotch, eliciting a choked grunt from him, only slightly muffled by the fact that his teeth have dug their way into your exposed flesh. 

He immediately pulls away at the sound of your surprised yelp, eyes darting to and fro across your features in frantic search for even the smallest semblance of discomfort, completely missing the way your entire body had seemed to arch into his touch. His eyes finally settle at the light indentations now displayed upon your once unblemished skin.

“Forgive me,” he begins, “I should have been more careful.” Neuvillette is ever the gentleman, but his voice is clearly strained in a poor attempt at fighting back his instincts—instincts that demand a dragon to mark what is his. 

“There’s nothing to forgive.” A soft smile graces your lips as your hand reaches to cradle his face, curling around his jaw in hushed reassurance. It’s so easy to read the thoughts that plague him so. “It felt good, I promise.”

True to your word, his heightened senses easily pick up on the scent of pure arousal that drifts from between your legs, swirling in the air, and lulling him into a state he’s kept buried for so long, he’s unsure of whether he’d be able to hold himself back even if he wanted to. He admires your bravery for daring to poke at the slumbering beast; bravery he knows stems from a place of passion, but how can he release such inhibitions upon a mere human? So physically… fragile. 

“I meant what I said: I can take it. And I know you won’t hurt me so…” Your fingers clasp around his shoulders, pulling your lover down just far enough to whisper, low and sultry, in his pointed ear.

“Don’t you dare look down on me, o’ hydro dragon sovereign..” 

You lurch forward, manicured nails drawing light lines down his bare back, and he meets you halfway in a long, drawn out kiss. A quiet growl rumbles from deep within his throat, clearly aroused by the way you had drawled out his full title. He nips at your bottom lip, dragging out a single, short gasp before leaving to trail wet kisses down the column of your throat, never stopping until his lips hover over the very spot where he had previously made his mark. 

He doesn’t even have to touch you, just his presence, tangled with your own anticipatory excitement, invites a shudder so deep, you can feel it in your bones. The sharp edge of his fangs scrape along that still-sensitive patch of skin, lightly, as if testing the waters, though this time, he makes sure to take note of the quiver in your pretty little mewls. 

Slowly, he bites down again and a moan slips past your lips, forced out from the very depths of your chest as your fingers fly to tangle in his moonridden tresses. His hot breath seeps past the barrier of your skin, leaving every nerve privy to his effect, and combined with the building pressure, you’re left open for the stream of soft whimpers that leave the perfect ‘o’ of your parted lips. As he sinks his teeth deeper, you squeeze your eyes shut in the midst of all the pleasure.

“Do it again,” you gasp, “felt good… ”

And oh, he has absolutely every intention to, what with the way you’re putty underneath him. However, he must do something about how distracting your hands are when you tug at his hair: hard enough for him to groan with an ache so wanton, it sends tremors echoing down until his trousers feel far, far too tight. 

Neuvillette is neither here nor there when he alternates between kissing and sucking and biting at your tender flesh—anywhere is fair game when you’ve relinquished yourself to him like this. With how attentive his lips are along your body, you hardly even care for the absence of his hand when he reaches around to untie the ribbon in his hair… at least not until it’s too late and you're left bemused by the uncharacteristic display of boldness; after all, it’s all you can do when your wrists are suddenly so tightly bound overhead.

You whine as he wraps his lips around one of your nipples, suckling and swirling his tongue, while he ravishes the other between his fingers. Heat surges through you and the aching desperation congregating in your belly begins to boil; you’ve never felt so sensitive, never been more pervasive to his touch.

Inside. You need him inside of you. But with your hands currently incapacitated, you’ve no other choice except to buck into him, beckoning him with your hips in the hopes of redirecting his attention to where you throb. 

“Inside. Please. I need you. Need you inside.” 

He hums in acknowledgement of your wishes, tugging at the hardened bud with his teeth, successfully wringing another shaky cry from your throat, before he finally pulls at the delicate lace of your panties, and guides them down the length of your legs. You easily kick them off, but in his observation, his piercing gaze catches every thrum of your muscles as they tense underneath the hand that finally trails between your thighs. He drags his lithe fingers between your folds, coating them in your slick, while his thumb rubs your clit in slow, but firm, circles. 

“My apologies for the wait.” Neuvillette kisses you right above your heart, where his acute hearing easily picks up how it palpitates as he dips his fingers into your velvet walls. “Allow me to make amends, my love.”

With the way your cunt gushes so copiously, it’s easy for him to slide all the way down to the last knuckle. He flicks his wrist, pumping fast and hard, scissoring you open before slipping in a third digit, drawing out mewl after pathetic mewl, as you fail to pull yourself together. The bedsheets twist beneath your incessant movements: simultaneously squirming not only from the initial stretch, but also to feel him deeper.

The discomfort is all too familiar, but with just the curl of his fingers, it washes away into unadulterated pleasure, just as it always does. But with your arms tethered, leaving you open and powerless, everything—every touch, every twist, every curl—feels tenfold.

Plus, no one would even believe you if you were to say that the chief justice had such a playful side in the bedroom; his fingers have explored your insides far too many times for him to just miss the little spot that he definitely knows by muscle memory. Whining, you buck your hips, senselessly grinding into his hand, hoping he’d get the message, hoping he’d quell your heat right at the source. 

But something dangerous and wild and primordial shines in the blue-violet glow of his eyes. For all the times you’ve made love together, he’s never seen you like this: so desperate, so needy for him. He pinches a nipple, hard, before locking your jolting hips down; a show of strength to remind you of your place. 

“Please, more.” Your voice rises in congruence with how you struggle against your ribbon-bound wrists. His fingers tease the spot again, this time with more force, and he watches as you keen and clench around him—helpless and at his mercy. 

With a curl, his fingers crook inside your silken walls, pistoning in and out, fast and hard. Arousal continues to build, turning the low squelches into distinct suctions. Every nerve in your body is ignited, seared by the heat as he laps at the overflowing wetness that seeps out of your entrance. A satisfied purr sounds in his throat, and the vibrations dare your hips to buck in spite of the iron grip that holds you down.  

It thrills him to see you steadily fall apart like this, coming so undone before him, dissolving under the weight of your pleasure. It’s just as you had wanted. More. So you can take it, can’t you? You can take more? 

Neuvillette slots your throbbing clit into his mouth, hot tongue relentlessly striking the swollen nub with viscous lashes, while his fingers continue to bully your insides with no intention of slowing down. Sucking harder, fucking faster—you keen at the added stimulation, back arching clean off the bed in blinding pleasure, unable to do anything more than let out jagged sobs as you cum.

Your entire body grows taut as he sees you through the end of this high, before finally drawing out with one last sleight of his hand, so that his fingertips might graze along the velvet top of your walls, bidding farewell with another shudder-inducing wave of euphoria. He exits his soiled digits, clearly pleased as he inspects the amount of slick that coats his elegant hand. 

“You’re absolutely divine.” He hums whilst licking up the side of his wrist, so as not to waste a single drop of your liquid pleasure. It’s intoxicating how exquisite you are, more decadent than even the most pristine of waters. “Perhaps you’d like a taste?”

His offer is rhetorical at best, as he answers for you, already slipping his slender fingers into your open mouth, tangling them with your tongue, until the first bits of drool begin to dribble from your lips. 

He unties your wrists, releasing them from the ribbon’s hold; time and experience have proven that you’ll need something to grasp onto. In a haste, Neuvillette discards what remains of his clothes, and his cock springs forward in all its glory: long and thick, pale tip leaking and thrumming with desire. 

“You’re absolutely sure… ?” he mumbles, voice trailing off, almost embarrassed. He can no longer control the way his hips twitch in excitement, begging to bury his cock into your warmth, but for his gentle heart’s sake, he needs to hear you say it again.

You laugh out a soft ‘yes’ but just for good measure, you rake your nails down his chest, applying just enough pressure to tickle his nerves. “Use me,” you goad. “Come on. Be wicked, my dragon.” 

Neuvillette exhales, chuckling softly at humanity's arrogance. Wicked dragon. If that was what you wanted... “I wonder if you’d still say the same after I’ve finished with you.”

He pins you back down in one fell move, and aligns himself to your entrance, stopping after inserting only the tip. A delicate whimper leaves your lips as you wince at that familiarly sweet stretch, but you and your little cunt are both so eager to please—the continued arousal you churn out, weeping nonstop, and already clenching around just his cockhead. You wriggle into him, trying to fuck yourself deeper on his fat cock as you adjust to his size. 

Reaching up, you pull him into a seemingly reassuring kiss, hands smoothing over the framing pieces of his hair, before curving around his jaw. His lips follow yours, but as you pull away and the short pieces of his hair fall back into place, you notice how his slitted reptilian pupils are dilated almost round. 

“You wish for me not to hold back,” his voice comes in a low growl as he inches further into your cunt, “so please show me how resilient you are.”

It’s all the warning you receive before he slides the rest of his length to the hilt, burying himself in your creamy insides. A shattered sob tears through the room, and your arms fly around his neck in a desperate attempt to anchor yourself, but it only pulls him closer as he leans more of his weight into you, pressing down and reinforcing the heavy plow of his merciless hips. 

Taking him all at once like this burns like wildfire. Pain from the sudden, rough stretch spreads hot and fast, the small embers bursting into a blaze of arousal as pleasure breezes through just as quickly—like air infinitely adding to an already devouring flame. 

“You’re taking me so well,” he praises, turning his head to reward a small kiss to your cheek. Your hole gushes, rushing to quell the heat, and the added lubrication helps you settle into his pace. Still, the dual sensations wash over you like the tide. It pulls you under, drowns you and consumes you with absolute ecstasy.

And just when you think you’ve grown accustomed, Neuvillette lifts your hips, aiming for the spot he knows will drag out the most wonderfully broken cries from your throat. Your nails dig into his back, and he groans at the vice grip as you clamp down around his cock. With each powerful thrust, he buries himself balls deep with a force that has your tits bouncing along to his rhythm, letting the wanton sound of your sobs ring throughout the room, loud enough to almost drown out the lewd noise of skin slapping upon skin. 

The coil in your belly is wound so tight that you’re sure it won’t be long until it collapses into itself. That it won’t be long until you yourself are about to implode, like a star ready to burst. 

“I’m going… going to…” Between the ragged breaths and the overwhelming sensations of ecstasy, you can’t even find it in yourself to think straight.

Neuvillette hums, his liquid smooth voice doing nothing to hide his amusement. “You’d do well not to break so soon.”

He thumbs your clit, drawing tight circles, ignoring the way you convulse beneath him. As your back arches, he drags the flat of his teeth from the edges of your collarbones, down through the valley between your breasts. 

Your entire body quivers, legs jolting by reflex to the intensity of your orgasm, vision blurring white as your lover continues to pound relentlessly through your high. There’s a layer of fuzziness over your mind that leaves you feeling as if you’re floating atop calm waters, but the fingers still thrumming on your abused nub are quick to drag you back into the salaciously dangerous depths of your own pleasure. 

A string of pitched whines follow in the aftermath, but the pretty noises you make has him throbbing even from within your tight hole. You ask him not to hold back, yet here you are before him, so small and pitiful, already writhing from the intensity—and he hasn’t even cum yet. 

Tears threaten to fall from your eyes, your body struggling for a break from the stimulation, but Neuvillette finds it quite adorable, in the way that a predator might toy with its prey. He slows his thrusts, but reaches deeper with every roll of his hips, each languid stroke hitting the exact spot that fills your sight with stars. 

The lascivious sounds of your soaked cunt perfectly swallowing his cock, followed by the slap of his heavy balls on your ass—he’s mesmerized by the way he disappears and reappears, and disappears again inside of you. His heart skips, and he bucks, breaking his rhythm. You undo him like no other, and it spurs him on that he too, seems to have the same effect on you. The way your pussy holds on to him so tightly, the helpless cries of his name amidst your hiccuped whimpering… 

He lets out a small chuckle, breath hot and ragged in your ear as he sucks at the inch of skin below. “Surely you can give me another,” he murmurs, the low grumble of his voice reverberating all the way down, until you can feel the vibrations in the hollows of your collarbone. 

Your eyes flutter, desperately blinking away the wetness that has begun to gather at your lash line. Sweet Neuvillette, your Neuvillette who reveres you more than he ought to and touches you like you’re made of glass. Even through the numbing haze, you know that for him, you’d give anything. 

A long, stuttered moan breaks out from between your lips. As if biding his time, he drags the entirety of his cock along your walls, the large vein that wraps around the length gliding along just right, that your back arches and your knees bend. It’s not that he means to move so tortuously slow, but you squeeze him to such an extent that in spite of his aching need to cum, he cannot help but try and savor the delicious way your walls are gripping for dear life. 

Neuvillette pulls out with the sticky squish of your slick. His throbbing cock, long and flushed, glistens with the sheen of your juices. In the emptiness, you think that perhaps he’s taken pity on you and your now overly sensitive cunt, but that just isn’t fair. Not to him, nor you and your once again looming orgasm.

“You haven’t even cum yet,” you gasp, trying to argue through baited breath. The whole point of this was so that he could feel just as good as he always made sure you did. So why would he—

“I know.” 

You can feel him as he lifts you, flipping you over like you’re nothing more than a doll, and manhandles you onto all fours. Limbs weak, mind frazzled, you’re barely able to hold yourself up, so when he realigns himself at your entrance and slams back through your folds with just as much power as before, you quite literally fall apart. 

“Too much?” The low chuckle in your ear is dangerously taunting, wickedly amused and with no sign of its usual sweetness. You’re able to muster a pitiful whine, but the way your entire body trembles tells him everything he needs to know, as he reangles you mid-thrust.

“I believe you said you could take it.” With a particularly powerful snap of his hips, your arms buckle, and you collapse onto the mattress. The intensity continues to send you jolting forward, but his reaffirmed grip on your waist holds your hips in place.

Nothing deters him as he ruts into you, hitting deep new angles that have your fingers grasping at the sheets while your cunt grasps onto his cock. With every slap of his skin against yours, his tip threatens to kiss your cervix, the aftershocks rippling through you until they’re released as broken sobs, muffled into the bed. 

How unfortunate that such noises, so very sweet to his ears, would be hidden from the world. Tangling his fingers along your scalp, Neuvillette tugs at your hair, lifting your head back so as to hear the pretty melody you sing when your cries ring around the room. Good. Just as the whole of Fontaine should recognize a dragon’s mark on your skin, they too should hear it’s he who pleasures your body so.

Little bits of drool trickle out of your open mouth, your eyes rolling back as he keeps up the brutal pace. Everything feels too overwhelming, yet so tantalizingly good, that your back curves and you’re creaming around him again. 

Electricity shoots through your veins, your lungs desperately racing to catch up with the rapid beat of your heart. The stars painted across your vision drop down to your stomach, exploding with an intensity that rattles you to your core. It’s a flood with no remorse—taking and leaving nothing in return, easily washing away any and all thoughts, until you’re left mewling the name of the only one who could ever give you such a sweet taste of heaven. 

But Neuvillette continues to thrust into you, and as he, too, nears his peak, his tireless strokes finally melt into something a little more forgiving. Just a little. The long drag of his cock slides so smoothly against your slick walls, gentle enough to fool your delirious mind into loosening your grip around him. 

What trickery from the wicked dragon who slams his hips forward with enough force so that your body jostles with every push and pull as he hits all the right spots again and again. Trapped under the weight of his body, all you can do is feel: the heat of the room smothering all your senses, the fervorous thrusts pushing you to your very limit—all you can do is feel and take it as he kisses the spongy head of your cervix, leaving you without a semblance of sanity, blabbering indiscernible nothings that beg to milk him dry.       

“Want more,” you keen, voice as broken as the crystalline tears that roll down your cheeks and melt into the pillows. “Inside. Wan’ it inside.”

Neuvillette laughs, low and airy, strained as his grip tightens, fingertips digging into your hips hard enough that it’d be sure to leave bruises come the morrow. “Is that what you want?”

“Please, please I–” You stop to let out something between a pant and a moan. “Want you to, h-hah, cum inside, wan’ your cum inside me.” Your walls clamp down even harder, as if attempting to trap his cock deep inside you forever, as if you weren’t already tight enough around him. 

White fills his vision, and white fills your womb as Neuvillette cums to the knowledge that you love this. He takes in the sight of you, his precious treasure, now reduced to the likes of a common whore: legs quivering, ass in the air, cunt filled to the brim and leaking from where the two of you merge. All for him. By his doing. 

Such splendor automatically evokes the instinct to claim you in a way far beyond that of human understanding… but you’ve already let him indulge more than enough tonight; he couldn’t possibly ask for more. 

You whimper when you feel him stir again inside you, careful as he brushes past your too-sensitive folds, but even such simple movements hazard to relight the flicker of arousal once again. Every ridge and vein, drawn out so agonizingly slow, sends an inadvertent shiver down your spine until he finally pulls out with a squelch.  

There’s no hope in tearing those sharp, reptilian eyes away from your puffy cunt, abused and messy and leaking with your combined fluids. Neuvillette sucks in a breath, trying to suppress his urges as much as he’s trying to swallow down the desire quickly boiling over in his belly again. Cumming inside you—no, breeding you—was a privilege. For dragons such as he, it’s a ritual reserved only for mates, and given the difference in your physiology, he had never allowed himself to do so—at least not until now, that is. 

In his defense, you had begged for it, and how could he ever deny the very one whom he has entrusted his heart to—especially when you were so beautifully fucked out and unraveled on his cock like that. And perhaps he’s lived among humans long enough to forgive this indulgence as a paradigm of fleeting desire, though nothing of what he feels for you could ever be considered fleeting. 

He parts your folds with two slender fingers, giving himself a better view as his cum now seeps out with suent access. You whine again when you feel him drag his digits down the sides of your pussy lips, catching the overflow before it can fall onto the sheets, and stuffing it right back into your little hole. No point in stopping now, if he’s already committed his sin.

From your half-lidded gaze, you manage to steal a glance at your lover, and judging from the erection that still stands stiff as a rod, he has yet to be satiated. In the attempt to break through the shadow of delirium, you lift your head, shifting your weight back onto your elbows, and forcing your battered body to turn just the slightest bit over. 

“You’re still hard,” you note through staggered breath, “We can go again if you want.”

Neuvillette looks down as if he hasn’t already been feeling the near painful arousal throbbing in his groin. Of course he’s still hard—how could he not be; you’re so complacent before him, offering yourself to him like that. But perhaps he is too soft-hearted, for he only lets out a reassuring hum as he leans forward to place a gentle kiss on your forehead. 

“You were beyond perfect tonight,” he murmurs. “It… might not be pleasurable for you if I continue anymore. I can finish myself.” 

Lovestruck, you shake your head. “I can take it r’member?” Your large eyes, red-rimmed and dreamy, plead for him to use you—use you to his own content, use you so that he’d feel just as good as he always makes you feel. You nibble at your bottom lip, bashful. “You can even use your other form if you'd like...” 

Your words catch him off guard, and he immediately stills in a half-hearted attempt to collect himself as another wave of pure, unadulterated desire pulses through his entire being. Neuvillette swallows hard before letting out a slow, shaky breath. His cock twitches and his muscles tense beneath the creamy skin that now seems to gleam with a soft shine, revealing scattered patches of effervescent cerulean scales. You affect him more than you could possibly know, revitalizing such carnal urges that ignore his will and allow his body to react so enthusiastically.

“You’re sure…?” His normally polished tone is husked in a defiant strain. Despite the way his pupils are blown wide and wild with lust, conflict still swims in the shallows of his expression, made clear by the way his voice rasps as he desperately claws to retain even a semblance of his composure. 

The tips of your fingers trace the blue streaks that protrude from the crown of his silver head, now hardened into twin ribbons of ivory; his horns, delicate but strong, glow a luminescent azure—so warm and inviting in its radiance… You grasp them tight, pulling him down with you, as you fall back into the bed, his lips pressed against yours. Of course you’re sure. He’d never hurt you, your Neuvillette would never ever hurt you.

“Devious…” he whispers between kisses, your tongue and teeth clashing in a waltz of their own, as his body drapes over yours. 

It’s not the first time you’ve seen him in this form, crossed somewhere between a human and a dragon, as beautiful as he is powerful. But it’s certainly the first time you’ve ever attempted to take him like this. He’s bigger in this form—you can already feel it as he grinds up between your legs. Longer. Thicker. Ribbed and embossed with the same pearlescent blue scales. Beautifully intimidating, just like the dragon sovereign himself. 

And as you continue to marvel, he lets his cock rest across your lower stomach, sizing you up. His fervor shines through in the way he’s already leaking a mess of sticky precum atop the smooth skin of your belly. A satisfied hum vibrates in his throat, clearly enthused. 

“This is how deep I’ll be,” he muses, almost apologetic of the incoming stretch you’d have to endure. “I’m beginning to wonder if I can even fit inside you.” 

Would it be wicked of him to admit, even to himself, that he enjoys the way you wriggle and cry just taking him in his human form? And yet… he’s forced to steady his breathing in a poor attempt at grounding himself—a task near impossible as you roll your hips up, ardently shaking your head no, outright ignoring the last out he offers.

“I will… make it fit.” They’re the last words you manage to wrangle out before being overtaken by the need to be full and filled. There’s no reason you should be so terribly, terribly hollow, when he’s right there. Neuvillette chokes back a laugh; your unyielding determination sends blood rushing to his erection, desperate to feel your velvet walls crowd around him again.

Finally relenting, he teases your entrance—running his cock up and down your slit, spreading your wetness, before slapping your clit with the tip—reminding you just how sensitive you still are. Gasping, you jerk away from the stimulation that once again taunts your nerves. Your hole, however, clenches around nothing, eager to please. 

But perhaps you’ve greatly underestimated just how big he is, because he barely makes it past the threshold of your folds, before the pleasure pain of the stretch begins to take over. That, and the overstimulation from your previous orgasms, already have you instinctively trying to snap your legs shut, but the firm hold on your thighs forbid you from doing so.

“Ha-ah N-neuvi—” A twisted sense of pride swells in his chest at the way you can hardly speak as your breath hitches and your lungs desperately search for air. “’s too big,” you sob.

He gives you a momentary reprieve to adjust, while his hand snakes down to run sloppy circles over your clit.

“More?” he whispers. 

It takes you a minute to respond, but he waits until finally your voice shakes with the violence of each hiccupped sob. “More.. please…”

A baritone hum sounds in his throat as he pulls forward, pressing wet kisses to your jaw in a quiet reassurance, effectively sliding a couple inches deeper, as he does so. “You can take it, my love. You’re so pretty like this.”

Your arms wrap around his neck, your hold eliciting a long, low groan from the dragon. Wherever you squirm, he follows, pressing more of his weight onto you, burying more of his cock into you. Each ridged inch that slides past your folds, seems to push the thoughts right out of your head, letting them dissipate into thin air until you’re left mindlessly moaning sweet praises to his name. 

Desperate to accommodate the unfamiliar enormity of his dragon cock, your walls ripple and tense around him, back arching into him, wanting to feel ever closer to the love of your life, determined to push your cunt to its limit for him. For your Neuvillette. 

Neuvillette. Neuvillette. Neuvillete. He’s all you can think about; him and his monster cock that seems to split you so deliciously open. It’s wave after wave of heat that sets your insides ablaze, soothed by the waters of arousal that have you begging for more, and restarting the cycle until he finally bottoms out, and you feel as if you’ve been electrified. You squeeze your eyes shut, but with the way his bulbous tip prods at your cervix, your mind goes blank, and the tears fall regardless. 

“There…” you pant, eyes glassy from the euphoria of feeling so incredibly full. “’s all in.”

“Yes,” he praises, softly. “Look at you, so nice and tight for me.” 

He wipes the salt from your cheeks, distracting you with a delicate kiss. His fangs are more prominent in this form; you can feel them as he grins against your lips, whilst whispering breathy nothings that tell of how good you are for him, how perfect, how he should be so lucky to have you like this, to have you as his. 

When your body eases enough, he pulls away, though the subtle shift of his cock still drags a pitched whine out from your lips. If he’s to be honest, he cannot tear his gaze from where the two of you are joined. It’s mesmerizing, hypnotic, to see how he splits you open, to feel how you mold into the shape of him, to imagine just how much your little cunt had to stretch so that he might rest comfortably inside.

Though, comfortable might be an overstatement due to the way your muscles tense and release so tightly around him, clamoring for more of his attention.  Eyes darkening with lust, Neuvillette smooths a hand over your abdomen, cerulean scales cold upon your skin.

“Can you feel me right…” He draws a clawed finger delicately across the skin of your belly, where his cock rests parallel underneath. “Here…”

He leaves more than just a faint line of red where his talon rakes. Yes, you want to say. You can feel the faint prickle of his claw on your skin, you can feel how the sharpness sends a shiver ringing through your body, and of course you can feel how he’s sheathed his dragon cock right into the very depths of your cunt, deeper than anyone’s ever been, deeper than he’s ever been… But the only sounds that spill through your lips are another stream of broken sobs, fever touched by how close you are to cumming just from being filled.

“Go on, darling. Cum for me.” He can feel you pulsing around him, clenching and unclenching in search of sweet release, yet he makes no additional moves to help you, leaving you to your own devices.

At this point, you can no longer tell if you’re making things better or worse, as every little movement knocks you into reaction—like dominoes toppling over until every piece of you has been unraveled. You writhe atop the soiled sheets for any sort of friction, but it’s too much when his tip knocks against the entrance to your womb. So you shift away, letting the ridges on his shaft graze against your syruped walls, inciting another wave of need. The scales continue to tip between ‘too much’ and ‘more’, until you finally work yourself into a delirious orgasm, on nothing but his cock inside you and your own incessant squirming. 

As you continue to ride out your high, Neuvillete finally begins to move, tearing himself away from your fluttering vice grip with a tremulous moan, because fuck you’re still so tight around him, still so warm and wet even after cumming for what? The fourth time tonight? Pressure lands heavy over your frame as he begins to rock into you, folding you in half as he does. 

He fucks you slow and even, stretching you out even more with every new stroke. Your mouth drops open in a silent scream as this new position affords him the privilege to reach impossibly deeper. Despite his shallow thrusts, each drag of his cock still blooms an ache from all the hidden spots that he has no choice but to touch, though it’s quick to pass, as pleasure continues to coil in your belly. 

It’s so much all at once. You can’t take it, it’s too much. But the soul-shattering euphoria of being so utterly full, is unparalleled. You want more, you need more.   

“My pearl,” he whispers, though his voice is gruff, “my heart… I want to hear you.” 

And so you oblige him, wailing something broken and pitched and strangled, at the sudden snap of his hips, at the way he bumps into your cervix and seems to rattle your organs about. 

“F-fuck,” you cry, without thinking. Not that you can anyway, when the push-pull tide of his thrusts raises you to new heights of delirium. “H-ah god, fuck Neu–”

Another sharp, jutting thrust cuts you off as the dragon above you snarls, clearly agitated by your crass choice of words. “There are no gods to help you here.” Not in Fontaine where he rules, and certainly not here in his home.

There’s a feral wildness that shines in his bright vishap eyes, and his possessive streak flares—dragons have no natural inclination to share after all. It’s clear in the way his pace changes: faster, harsher, more ragged—a ferocity befitting of an elemental dragon ruler. But titles aside, he’s still your Neuvillette, and every move he makes is still laced with a tenderness, so as not to break you more than he already has. 

“Tell me you’re mine,” he commands, dragging his tongue up the length of your throat.

“Yours. ‘m yours, Neuvillette.”

In and out, in and out. His long strokes guide the ridges of his cock back and forth through your tender muscles, leaving you to mumble mindless nonsense as you convulse and keen beneath him. Whatever pain you had felt earlier has long chipped away into undeniable pleasure as you near the precipice of yet another orgasm. Eyes glazed over in all consuming ecstasy, all you know to do is to chase your lust, and so your hips grind back, rolling together like waves in a storm. 

Amidst the flagrant wet sounds of your rabid fucking, you cum again, lashes fluttering as your eyes roll, muscles tight as they tremble from such rapture—so lovely, so beautiful. Your siren call of pretty cries spill from your lips, intermingled with weak babbles of his name. You’re so breathtaking like this in your post-climax haze: fucked out and cloudy-eyed, panting into the cool air as his slowed thrusts still rack up an aftershock of shudders.

Neuvillette bows his head, once again trailing wet kisses across your collarbones, before pausing to hover his lips right over the juncture of your neck and shoulder, his warm breath a familiar spot of comfort in this maddening pleasure. Perhaps it’s some sort of sixth sense unique to only the most attuned of lovers, ones whose souls seem to harmonize in perfect resonance, but there’s hesitance in the way he suckles at the spot, fangs ghosting over your tender skin.

“S’okay… you can do it.” Your soft, dreamy sighs of approval are accompanied by the languid tilt of your neck, jeopardizing more of your delicate skin to the dangers of his teeth. “You can mark me… w’nna be your mate…”

Choking back a moan, Neuvillette pistons thrice more into your cunt—pulling out until just his tip remains, and then plunging back into your gooey insides, sending you into another round of dizzying convulsions. His own orgasm follows, seeing stars as he places an amorous bite to the crook of your neck using only the flat of his teeth. 

With how deep he’s buried, ribbons of his cum shoot right into your womb, spilling out into every cavity, and painting your interior white. Warmth blossoms from the inside out. Your heart is full, mumbling happy nothings of ‘mates’ in between sniffles, while a creamy ring forms around the base of his cock, thick liquid oozing from where he ends and you begin. His own chest rises and falls in jagged patterns, but his only want is to seek your lips, to drink in your mewls, and exchange sweet kisses, so that your soul and his, may meld together as they dance in the shape of your breaths intertwined.

He strokes your hair, planting easy kisses all around as he unplugs himself, letting loose the flood of cum that seeps out of your hole, but you whine at the loss, wanting nothing more than to be ever close to your newly consummated mate. Neuvillette only nuzzles into your neck, deep purrs of content reverberating from his chest as he lazily rubs his scent all over you. Meanwhile, a quick swish of his sapphire tail up the sticky underside of your thigh, teases another pulse from your cunt, and by reflex, you push out another dollop of white. 

A small tap tap to his shoulder distracts him from his scenting, and he looks up with a tilt to his head and a small furrow to his brow, his normally sharp eyes full of earnest concern, relaxing only once he finishes reading through the bleary, dulcet tones of adoration that glow in your half-lidded eyes. You poorly suppress your little giggles—although he often disagrees, your lover really can be quite adorable. 

Fontaine’s Iudex Neuvillette is elegant, poised, and meticulously polished… but here in the quiet night hours, in the privacy of your hearth, your Neuvillette is unruly-haired and damp-skinned from satiating the beastly desires of his still tender heart. You reach out a tired arm, first brushing back the pieces of hair that cling to his skin, then wrapping your palm around to cup his face. 

“Was I a good mate?” Your hand slips down from his cheek to play with the tips of his silvery hair. “W’nna be the best for you.”

“You already are the best for me.” His hand, no longer clawed nor scaled, brings yours back up for a kiss to your knuckles. “The only one for me.” 

He rolls off of you, sweeping you into his embrace, as he carries you off to the bathroom. Your head rests heavily against his chest, but your happy hums and quiet murmurs of ‘good,’ tell him that you have not drifted off into slumber just yet.  

“You truly are a wonder,” he breathes, dipping his head to place a soft kiss to your forehead. “And it would be my honor to have you as my mate… but not tonight.”

His instincts had urged him to do it, to permanently claim you as his, and mark you as a dragon would, but his heart vehemently disagrees. The most sacred bond known to his kind is an ultimatum in your relationship, and it is one he refuses to be the sole architect of, so perhaps the two of you can revisit this conversation again once you’re more clear-headed; his answer would remain the same anyways.

edit 10/2024: please Do Not Follow if you are “just here to read,” with the expectation that i will post more fics of this caliber, or any fics At All. this is mainly a selfship blog with VERY occasional writing, thanks.

notes2: writing this took years off my life, but i hope you enjoyed it nonetheless ! as always, thank u sm for reading, and reblogs + feedback are very much appreciated ♡

notes3: here is a little visual of how i imagine the dress at the beginning to look like, but of course you can always imagine it however you like since i’ve purposely left it rather vague : )

© silkjade — do not steal, plagiarize, translate or repost any content onto any other platform

[petew21-blog]

A 5 star review

"Ok, Luke and one final question. A very well known and feared movie critic, Marcus Montoya, in his latest review for one of your films, has called you stiff and boring for a gay guy. What would you respond to him if he were here right now?"

"I would tell him to come see me at Lotus club tonight and we'll see which one of the two of us is the boring one. Haha"

"Ok, thank you for answering and have a great day"

Lotus club, Friday 10:14 PM

Luke:"Oh look who we have here. I really didn't think you would show. A straight gay in here. And you actually look bored."

Marcus:"Bored from watching you and your movies"

Luke:"Look, I don't know what you have against me, but it seems personal. If you wanna talk about it, spit it out. If not, then let me show you how gay people have fun. What do you think?"

There was a slight change in Marcus's expression that showed he wasn't really gonna talk, which Luke immediately noticed. Luke smiled and grabbed his arm and took him to the dance floor. They danced and drank for hours.

Luke:"So you're not into me. You're not gay and I haven't done anything bad to you. Why do you hate me then?"

Marcus:"It's my job to say mean stuff about people. It tends to bring out the best in them."

Luke:"That's a stupid theory. So, why coming here?"

Marcus:"I wanted to see if you can have fun"

Luke:"Oh I can show you even more fun"

Marcus stopped dancing and leaned Luke's ear.

Luke:"Oh don't worry honey. I won't tell a single soul. Let's go"

They arrived to Luke's appartement. Still drunk. One a bit hornier than the other.

They kissed all the way to the bedroom.

Luke:"Wanna top?"

Marcus:"I don't even know what that means."

Luke:"Jesus, you straight guys. I'll walk you through it."

Luke positioned himself on top of Marcus. Flexing for him

Luke:"You like these guns?"

Marcus stayed silent. He looked like he was concentrating hard enough to stay hard.

Luke felt dominant. He was fucking his tormentor. It didn't matter who had dick in whose ass. It mattered that his tormentor was now beneath him. His straight tormentor.

He could already feel his dick pulsating inside of him. He didn't wear a condom. Luke knew that this guy wasn't the type to transmit anything. Besides, he wanted all the cum inside of him. He wanted to feel all of it

Luke collapsed on the bed. Except Luke now felt a bit heavier and there was a very hunky man breathing heavily next to him

Marcus:"I really didn't think I'd convince you for having sex with me. Damn, for a gay sex this was a thrill. But I don't think I'll be doing that ever again. Or atleast for some time necessary."

Luke:"How did this happen? How did you do this?"

Marcus:"Relax. It resets back after we have sex again"

Luke:"So we're not stuck like this?"

Marcus:"Calm down, man. You'll get to have sex with yourself. Not everyone gets that chance. Now tell me where can I get some water?"

Luke still perplexed:"The... Kitchen. In the kitchen. There is filtered water."

Marcus got up with his new borrowed body. Luke was observing his new hairy and not very well maintained body.

Luke looked up as he heard footsteps coming back from the kitchen

Marcus:"I kinda lied about the sex part"

BANG. One bullet shot from the gun held by Luke's body

Marcus was now standing in his own appartement, clean from all the blood he had to scrape from his new body. Getting rid of his old body turned out to be much harder than he thought.

He went through all the steps in his head, just to figure out if he didn't forget anything.

"Honeyyy? Are you finished?" a voice echoed from the hall behind the door

"Yeah. Come in, love. No need to be ashamed. It's still me." Marcus answered with joy

His wife entered the bathroom.

Jessica:"Oh looking good, sir. I'm almost blushing from looking at you. I feel like cheating."

Marcus grabbed her by the waist and sat her down on his lap while sitting down on the toilet.

Marcus:"As if we haven't done this many times now. So, how do you like my new body?"

Jess:"Very handsome, very sexy. But... I'm not feeling so comfortable about all this gay stuff. Are you sure it wouldn't be easier to find someone... more normal?"

Marcus:"Oh honey, I'm queer now. You can't say that shit in front of me"

Both of them laughed out loud

Marcus:"I'll mention in another interview that God showed me the right way or some other bullshit. Can't let all the people know what really happened to Luke."

"Now, let's introduce this dick to your pussy. I have to beat that thought of fucking ass out of my head."

Another story request from inbox

Could you do a story where a straight movie critic swaps bodies with Luke Macfarlane?

Btw don't be like this fictional Luke and WEAR A CONDOM 😁

[mindblowingscience]

After decades of dreaming of Jupiter’s moon Europa — and the vast ocean that probably lies beneath its icy surface — scientists are now weeks away from sending a spacecraft there. NASA confirmed yesterday that its Europa Clipper mission will launch on schedule, following a scare that it might have to be significantly delayed owing to possibly faulty transistors installed on the US$5-billion spacecraft. “We are confident that our beautiful spacecraft and capable team are ready for launch operations and our full science mission at Europa,” Laurie Leshin, the director of NASA’s Jet Propulsion Laboratory (JPL) in Pasadena, California, said at a 9 September press conference. With a mass of more than 3.2 tonnes, a height of roughly 5 metres, and a width of more than 30 metres with its solar panels fully unfurled, Europa Clipper is the largest spacecraft that NASA has ever built for a planetary mission. Yesterday, the mission passed what’s known in NASA parlance as ‘key decision point E’ — the final review hurdle that needs to be cleared before proceeding towards launch. The spacecraft’s launch window opens on 10 October.

Continue Reading.

[ninjago-zine-of-elements]

Welcome to the Zine of Elements!

Zine Information Doc || FaQ || Updates

Hello, everyone, and welcome to the Zine of Elements! This fanzine project is centered around celebrating the LEGO Ninjago TV series’ various lesser-appreciated elemental masters through fanfiction and fanart.

Applications for the project are currently CLOSED, and the mods are reviewing submissions. Follow this blog and read on for more information!

What is the Zine of Elements?

The Zine of Elements (ZoE) is a free, digital SFW fanzine hosted by @21st-century-ninja (Fabro) and @curiositythecryptid (Lis). Over the course of three months, 25 artists and 6 writers will work together to bring the background elemental masters to life!

The ZoE is a canon-focused zine, which means that contributors will be asked to create works that fall beneath the canon umbrella (see the Zine Doc for more details). While the ninja are allowed to be background characters in any works created, they cannot be the subject matter, as this is a zine dedicated to the lesser-seen elemental masters.

Who can apply?

Anyone, regardless of age or skill, is welcome to apply for the ZoE. You must be able to use Discord to communicate, and you must be able to speak either English, Spanish, or Portuguese.

What does the schedule look like?

Applications: Nov 24, 2024 to Dec 14, 2024 Application results: by Dec 28, 2024 Creation period: Dec 28, 2024 to March 22, 2025 (12 weeks) Pitches due: Jan 11, 2025 Check in 1: Feb 1, 2025 Final dropout date: March 1, 2025 Check in 2: March 1, 2025 Due date: March 22, 2025 Zine publishing date: Mid April 2025, TBD

What if I have more questions?

If you have more questions, the Zine Doc has more detailed information on the project. Our ask box is always open, too!

I'm excited to apply! How do I do that?

In just three weeks, writer and artist applications will open via Google Form! In the meantime, though, you can be prepping your portfolios. Artists will be required to provide at least three pieces, at least one of them that must be Ninjago-focused, and writers will be required to provide three writing samples, at least one of which must be Ninjago-focused and under 2,000 words.

And that's that, everyone! Follow this blog for future updates on the project, and we'll see you Nov 24th!

@ninjago-events

[elysiaheaven]

𝐌𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐢𝐚𝐠𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐠𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐢𝐧-𝟑

Created by@𝓶𝓸𝓲𝓶𝓸𝓲𝓸𝓷𝓮

AN IM CRAYZ AHAHHAHAHAJANNANANANSNSNSN

WORDS:12341

TW:obssesive behaviour, unhealthy relationships/feelings,Clingy,Manipulation,Emotional manipulation,forcing of marriage...,mention of death,killing/Most TWS FOR YANDERE,suggestive!

The door closes behind Sunday, you exhale a sigh of relief, though the tension in your muscles persists. Every moment feels like a delicate balance between maintaining appearances and planning your next move toward freedom.

You sit down at the table where Sunday left the tray of food, but your appetite is gone. Instead, your mind races with thoughts of Robin, the birdcage, and the path to escape that lies hidden within the temple. You replay her instructions in your mind, reminding yourself of the need for caution and secrecy.

With a sense of urgency, you pull out your phone and review the photos you took in the temple and the ancient texts you managed to gather. They are your lifeline, your guide to understanding the symbols and rituals that might hold the key to your liberation.

As you immerse yourself in deciphering the ancient writings, a plan begins to take shape. You need more information, more clues that could aid your escape. The library in the palace holds many secrets, and perhaps there are more texts or maps that could reveal additional passages or hidden exits.

You glance around the room, ensuring no one is watching, before slipping out of your quarters once more. The palace is quiet, its grand halls echoing with the weight of centuries-old secrets. You make your way to the library, heart pounding with a mixture of anticipation and fear of being caught.

Inside, you quickly scan the shelves, pulling out books and scrolls that catch your eye. Each one could hold a piece of the puzzle, a clue that might lead you closer to unlocking the secrets of the temple and your path to freedom.

Hours pass as you pour over the texts, deciphering ancient languages and piecing together fragments of history. You uncover references to hidden passages, symbols of protection, and rituals that speak of liberation from confinement.

Just as you're about to delve deeper into a particularly promising tome, you hear footsteps approaching. Your heart skips a beat, and you quickly hide the book beneath your cloak, pretending to browse casually as Sunday enters the library.

He smiles warmly at you, his presence both reassuring and unsettling. "I thought I might find you here," he says, his tone gentle. "Did you find something interesting?"

You nod, trying to appear composed despite the racing of your heart. "Just exploring the history of this place," you reply, your voice steady. "There's so much to learn."

Sunday steps closer, his gaze lingering on you with an intensity that makes you uncomfortable. "You have a thirst for knowledge," he observes softly. "I admire that about you."

You force a smile, hiding the turmoil beneath the surface. "Thank you," you say, careful not to reveal too much.

He reaches out and gently touches your arm, his touch sending a shiver down your spine. "I want to show you something," he says quietly, his eyes searching yours.

Your mind races with possibilities, unsure of what Sunday has in mind. But you know you must tread carefully, maintaining your facade while continuing to search for any opportunity to further your escape.

Sunday leads you through the library, your heart races with both apprehension and determination. You maintain a facade of calm curiosity, nodding politely as he speaks of the palace's history and its hidden treasures. However, when Sunday suddenly stops and turns to you with a piercing gaze, you feel a surge of unease.

"Do you know someone named Robin?" he asks, his voice gentle yet probing.

You pause, taken aback by the directness of his question. Fear grips your heart momentarily, but you quickly gather your composure. You know that admitting any knowledge of Robin could jeopardize your escape plans.

"No," you reply firmly, meeting Sunday's gaze with feigned innocence. "I don't know anyone named Robin."

Sunday studies you intently for a moment, his expression unreadable. You hold your breath, praying that he believes your lie.

After what feels like an eternity, Sunday nods slowly. "I see," he says quietly, his voice tinged with a hint of disappointment. "I must have been mistaken."

Relief washes over you, but you remain cautious. "Is everything alright?" you ask, trying to divert his attention.

Sunday sighs softly, his gaze softening as he looks at you. "I worry about you," he admits, his voice filled with genuine concern. "I want to protect you."

You nod, offering a reassuring smile. "I appreciate that," you reply, keeping your voice steady despite the turmoil within.

He reaches out and gently touches your shoulder, his touch lingering briefly. "I care about you," he murmurs, his eyes searching yours.

You swallow hard, fighting the urge to pull away. "I know," you say softly, masking your discomfort with practiced ease.

Sunday's eyes darken with a mix of frustration and determination. Before you can react, he pushes you against the wall, his hands gripping your shoulders firmly but not painfully. The suddenness of his action leaves you breathless, and the intensity in his gaze sends a shiver down your spine.

"Are you sure you don't know anyone named Robin?" he asks again, his voice low and insistent.

Your heart pounds in your chest, but you force yourself to stay calm. You meet his gaze with as much steadiness as you can muster. "I already told you, I don't know anyone named Robin," you reply, your voice unwavering.

Sunday's eyes narrow, and he leans in closer, his breath warm against your skin. "You're lying," he whispers, his tone a mixture of accusation and curiosity. "I can see it in your eyes."

You swallow hard, trying to keep your fear from showing. "I'm not lying," you insist, your voice barely above a whisper. "I don't know her."

He studies you for what feels like an eternity, his gaze boring into yours as if searching for any crack in your facade. You can feel the tension in the air, the unspoken challenge between the two of you.

Finally, Sunday releases his grip on your shoulders and steps back, a resigned look on his face. "Fine," he says quietly. "If you say you don't know her, I'll let it go. But know this—if you are lying, and I find out, there will be consequences."

You nod, relief flooding through you as he steps away. "I understand," you say softly, hoping to appease him.

Sunday's expression softens slightly, and he reaches out to gently touch your cheek. "I don't want to hurt you," he murmurs. "But I need to know I can trust you."

You nod again, feeling a mixture of guilt and determination. "You can trust me," you say, hoping your words sound sincere.

He smiles faintly, though the tension between you remains. "Good," he says softly. "Then let's move on. There's still so much I want to show you."

You didn't know why you to joke.

"....How are you gonna show that you can trust me?"

Sunday's intense gaze holds you captive as he steps closer, his hands once again gripping your shoulders. This time, however, his movements are slower, more deliberate. He pushes you gently against the wall again, and you feel the solid surface cool against your back. His eyes never leave yours, a strange mix of desire and determination burning within them.

Before you can react, Sunday leans in and starts to kiss you. His lips brush against your neck, your collarbone, trailing down your shoulder with a feather-light touch. He avoids your face, focusing instead on the sensitive areas that make your heart race and your breath hitch. The sensation is overwhelming, and despite your best efforts to resist, you feel a small part of you responding to his touch, craving more.

Your mind battles against your body's reactions, the fear and anger you feel toward Sunday warring with the unexpected desire his touch elicits. Just as you begin to grapple with these conflicting emotions, your vision starts to blur. A wave of dizziness washes over you, and the room begins to spin.

"S-Sunday," you murmur weakly, trying to push him away, but your strength fails you. Your knees buckle, and you feel yourself slipping into unconsciousness.

The last thing you see before everything goes dark is Sunday's face, his expression a mixture of concern and satisfaction. You faint, your body going limp in his arms.

When you regain consciousness, you're no longer against the wall. Instead, you find yourself lying on a plush bed in a dimly lit room. Your head feels heavy, and you struggle to remember what happened. As you slowly sit up, you notice Sunday sitting in a chair nearby, watching you with an unreadable expression.

"You're awake," he says softly, his voice gentle but carrying an undercurrent of something more.

You nod, still feeling disoriented. "What... what happened?" you ask, your voice barely above a whisper.

"You fainted," Sunday replies, standing up and walking over to you. "I was worried about you."

You look at him, trying to read his intentions. "Why did you do that?" you ask, your voice shaking slightly.

Sunday sits on the edge of the bed, his hand reaching out to gently stroke your hair. "I didn't mean to scare you," he says softly. "I just... I wanted to show you how much I care about you. How much I need you to trust me."

His words send a shiver down your spine, and you pull back slightly, your mind racing with thoughts of escape. You know you need to be careful, to play along until you can find a way out of this twisted situation.

"I... I understand," you say slowly, forcing yourself to meet his gaze. "But you need to give me time. This is all so overwhelming."

Sunday nods, his eyes softening. "Of course," he says gently. "Take all the time you need. Just know that I'm here for you, and I will always protect you."

You force a smile, trying to appear grateful even as your mind works furiously to formulate a plan. You can't let Sunday know about Robin or your intentions to escape. You need to find a way to gather more information, to uncover the secrets of the temple, and to finally break free from his control.

As Sunday leaves the room to give you some space, you take a deep breath and just..sleep?

The next morning, you awaken to find a beautifully wrapped box at the foot of your bed. Its ornate ribbon and delicate paper signal that it's something special. As you sit up, the door creaks open, and Sunday enters, his face alight with a mix of anticipation and joy.

"I have a surprise for you," he says, walking over to the box and gently lifting the lid. Inside is a stunning wedding gown, intricately designed with delicate lace and shimmering embroidery. He holds it up for you to see, his eyes gleaming with excitement. "You'll be marrying me. Isn't this what you wanted?"

Your heart skips a beat, and a cold chill runs down your spine. The weight of his words crashes over you, and you feel a surge of fear and panic. But you know you must maintain your facade, to keep him from suspecting anything.

You force a smile, though your hands tremble slightly as you reach out to touch the gown. "It's beautiful," you say, your voice barely above a whisper. "Thank you, Sunday. I'm... happy."

Sunday's smile widens, and he steps closer, his gaze softening as he looks at you. "I'm glad you like it," he says, his voice filled with warmth. "I want our wedding to be perfect. You deserve nothing less."

You nod, your mind racing with thoughts of escape and the urgency of finding a way out before it's too late. "Of course," you reply, trying to sound genuine. "I appreciate everything you're doing for me."

He leans in and kisses your forehead, his touch both tender and possessive. "Tomorrow, we'll be together forever," he murmurs, his breath warm against your skin. "I'll make sure you're happy."

You manage a small nod, your heart pounding in your chest. As Sunday leaves the room to prepare for the day, you clutch the gown to your chest, feeling the weight of your predicament pressing down on you. The fear and uncertainty are almost overwhelming, but you know you can't give up now.

With trembling hands, you place the gown back in its box and take a deep breath. You need to find a way to escape, and you need to do it soon. The temple of Ena might hold the answers you seek, and you must find a way to visit it without arousing Sunday's suspicions.

As you get dressed, your mind races with plans and possibilities. You know that time is running out, and you must act quickly if you want to reclaim your freedom.

Determined, you leave your room and make your way through the palace, careful to avoid drawing attention to yourself. You head toward the library, hoping to find more information that might aid your escape. The library is vast and filled with ancient texts, and you know that somewhere within its shelves lies the knowledge you need.

As you search through the books, you come across an old map of the palace and its surrounding grounds. Your eyes widen as you spot a hidden passage leading from the palace to the temple of Ena. This could be your way out.

You carefully copy the map onto a piece of parchment, your hands shaking with a mix of fear and hope. You know that the risk is great, but you have no other choice. You must escape before the wedding, before it's too late.

As you slip the map into your pocket, you hear footsteps approaching. You quickly hide the book and turn to see Sunday entering the library, a concerned look on his face.

"Are you alright?" he asks, his eyes searching yours.

You force a smile, nodding. "Yes, I'm fine," you reply, trying to keep your voice steady. "Just doing some reading."

Sunday steps closer, his expression softening. "I just wanted to make sure," he says gently. "Remember, you can always talk to me."

You nod, feeling a pang of guilt for the lies you're telling. But you know it's necessary. "Thank you," you say softly. "I appreciate it."

He leans in and kisses your cheek, his touch lingering. "I'll see you soon," he murmurs, before turning to leave.

Sunday leaves the library, you exhale a sigh of relief, clutching the copied map tightly. The plan is forming in your mind, but the weight of the upcoming wedding still looms over you. You know you must act quickly, but you need a way to incapacitate Sunday without raising suspicion.

Just then, a familiar presence fills your thoughts. Robin's voice echoes in your mind, calm and guiding. "Make him a tea with the moonflower," she instructs. "It will make him sleep. Use this time wisely."

You nod to yourself, determination solidifying your resolve. The moonflower is rare, but you remember seeing it in the palace's garden, blooming under the cover of night. You just need to get it and prepare the tea without Sunday noticing.

With a renewed sense of purpose, you make your way to the garden, keeping to the shadows to avoid drawing attention. The moonflowers glow softly in the moonlight, their petals delicate and fragrant. You carefully pick a few, tucking them into your cloak before heading back inside.

In your room, you quickly prepare the tea, the scent of the moonflowers filling the air. As you work, you glance at the wedding gown, feeling a mix of fear and determination. This gown represents the cage Sunday wants to trap you in, but you won't let it hold you.

Dressed in the gown, you step out of your room, the fabric rustling softly with each step. You make your way to Sunday's chambers, the tray with the moonflower tea balanced carefully in your hands. You knock softly on the door, your heart pounding in your chest.

"Come in," Sunday calls from inside.

You enter, finding him adjusting his clothes in front of a mirror. He looks undeniably handsome, his attire immaculate and his demeanor confident. He turns to you, his eyes lighting up as he sees you in the gown.

"You look stunning," he says, stepping closer and taking your hand. "Tomorrow will be perfect."

You force a smile, feeling the weight of your deception. "I thought you might like some tea," you say, offering the tray.

Sunday's smile widens, and he takes the cup, inhaling the fragrant steam. "How thoughtful of you," he murmurs, raising the cup to his lips. "To us."

You watch as he takes a sip, your heart racing with anticipation. He drinks deeply, the warmth of the tea spreading through him. Within moments, his eyes begin to droop, and he sways slightly.

"Are you alright?" you ask, feigning concern as you step closer.

Sunday blinks, trying to stay awake, but the moonflower's effects are too strong. "I... I feel..." he mutters, before his eyes close and he collapses onto the bed.

You let out a breath you didn't realize you were holding, quickly moving to ensure he's deeply asleep. His breathing steadies, and you know you have precious little time.

With Sunday incapacitated, you rush to gather your things, grabbing the map and any other essentials. You slip out of the room, your heart pounding as you navigate the palace halls, heading toward the hidden passage leading to the temple of Ena.

As you move through the corridors, Robin's voice echoes in your mind once more. "Stay strong," she encourages. "Freedom is within your grasp."

You reach the hidden entrance, pushing open the concealed door and slipping inside. The passage is dark and musty, but you push forward, guided by the dim light of your torch and the hope of escape.

Finally, you emerge into the temple, the air heavy with the weight of ancient secrets. You move quickly, searching for any clues or tools that could aid your escape. The temple is vast and filled with relics, each one a piece of the puzzle that could lead to your freedom.

you delve deeper into the temple, you feel a surge of determination. The path to freedom is fraught with danger, but you won't let fear hold you back. You are stronger than the cage Sunday tried to trap you in, and you will find your way out, no matter the cost.

You began to navigate the temple, your mind races with thoughts of escape and the dangers that lie ahead. You pause briefly to steady yourself, your hand gripping the ancient map you had copied earlier. You know you must return to the palace before Sunday awakens, but the urgency of the situation weighs heavily on you.

Returning to the palace, you carefully retrace your steps to avoid suspicion. You slip back into your room, the gown still pristine, and quickly hide the map in a safe place. Your heart pounds as you consider your next move.

Sunday stirs as you enter his chambers again, his eyes fluttering open. He smiles groggily, clearly still affected by the moonflower tea but beginning to regain his senses.

"You look beautiful," he murmurs, reaching out to touch the delicate lace of your gown. "Is everything ready for tomorrow?"

You nod, trying to maintain your composure. "Almost. Can you help me tighten the lace at the back? It doesn't feel quite right."

Sunday stands, still a bit unsteady, but he moves behind you and begins to adjust the lace. His fingers work methodically, and you can feel the fabric tightening around your waist. The intimacy of the moment sends a shiver down your spine, and you fight to keep your emotions in check.

As he finishes, his hands linger on your shoulders, and he leans in close. "Perfect," he whispers, his breath warm against your ear.

You turn slightly, looking at your reflection in the mirror. The gown fits perfectly now, the intricate lace accentuating your figure. But the sight only serves to remind you of the cage you're trapped in.

Suddenly, Sunday pushes you gently against the mirror, his eyes darkening with desire. "You look so beautiful," he murmurs, his lips trailing along your neck and collarbone. "I can't wait for tomorrow."

His hands roam over your body, and you feel a mix of fear and unexpected desire. He kisses you deeply, his lips exploring every inch of your skin except for your face. The mirror's cold surface against your back contrasts sharply with the heat of his touch.

You gasp, trying to maintain control, but the intensity of the moment overwhelms you. Sunday pulls back slightly, his eyes locked onto yours. "Tell me you want this," he whispers, his voice filled with longing.

You hesitate, knowing that you need to play along to buy yourself more time. "I... I do," you say softly, your voice trembling.

Sunday's smile widens, and he kisses you again, more fervently this time. Your mind races, trying to find a way out even as your body betrays you. You know you need to escape before he fully regains his strength.

With a sudden burst of resolve, you push against him gently. "We should wait until tomorrow," you say, trying to sound convincing. "It will be more special then."

Sunday hesitates, his eyes searching yours. Finally, he nods, a satisfied smile on his face. "You're right," he agrees, stepping back. "Tomorrow will be perfect."

Relief washes over you, but you know the clock is ticking. You need to finalize your escape plan before the wedding. As Sunday settles back into bed, you quietly slip out of the room, your heart pounding with determination.

You head back to your room, the weight of the gown reminding you of the urgency of your situation. Robin's voice echoes in your mind, urging you to stay strong. You know that freedom is within your grasp, and you won't let anything stand in your way.

As you sit down, you take a deep breath and begin to strategize. The temple holds the key to your escape, and you must return there when the opportunity arises. With each passing moment, you grow more determined to break free from Sunday's grasp and reclaim your life.

As the plan continues to take shape in your mind, you know you need to act fast. The next step is to ensure Sunday remains unconscious long enough for you to finalize your escape. You head back to the kitchen, gathering the necessary ingredients to prepare another batch of the moonflower tea.

Once the tea is ready, you carefully carry it back to Sunday's chambers. The door creaks softly as you enter, and Sunday looks up, a smile spreading across his face as he sees you.

"More tea?" he asks, his voice still groggy from the earlier dose.

You nod, offering the cup. "I thought it might help you relax," you say, forcing a smile. "You need your rest for tomorrow."

Sunday takes the cup from your hands, his eyes softening as he looks at you. "You're so thoughtful," he murmurs, taking a sip. "I don't deserve you."

You watch as he drinks, the effects of the moonflower beginning to take hold. He finishes the tea and sets the cup aside, his eyelids growing heavy. He reaches out, taking your hand in his, and kisses it gently.

"I'll see you tomorrow," he whispers, his voice fading as he drifts into sleep.

You wait until you're sure he's deeply asleep, then carefully extricate your hand from his grasp. Your heart pounds as you stand up, making sure he remains undisturbed. You have no time to lose.

You quickly made sure if your wedding gown wasn't a problem..You gather your essentials, including the map, and take a deep breath. The palace is quiet, the only sound being your own footsteps as you make your way toward the hidden passage.

You navigate the dark corridors, the weight of your situation pressing down on you. Robin's voice echoes in your mind, urging you to stay strong and focused. You reach the hidden door, pushing it open and slipping inside.

The passage is as dark and musty as before, but you push forward, your resolve unwavering. The temple looms ahead, its ancient walls holding the secrets you need to uncover. You move quickly, determined to find the information that will lead to your freedom.

As you enter the temple, you feel a strange sense of calm. The air is heavy with the weight of history, and you know that this place holds the key to your escape. You move through the corridors, searching for anything that might help you.

Finally, you come across a small, hidden chamber. Inside, you find an old book, its pages filled with detailed instructions and ancient spells. You carefully read through it, your heart racing as you realize the power it holds.

You take the book and slip it into your bag, knowing that it could be your ticket to freedom. You head back toward the passage, your mind racing with thoughts of the future.

As you make your way back to the palace, you feel a renewed sense of determination. You know that the path ahead is fraught with danger, but you are ready to face it. You will escape from Sunday's grasp, no matter what it takes.

Because somewhere beyond these walls lies the life you deserve, and you won't stop until you've claimed it for yourself. The journey ahead may be perilous, but you are ready to face it head-on, no matter the cost.

Returning to the hidden passage, you move with a sense of urgency, your determination growing with each step. The weight of the ancient book in your bag reassures you that you have the means to escape. As you navigate the dark corridors, you feel a strange pull guiding you deeper into the temple.

You soon find yourself back at the small birdcage you had seen earlier, the one that held Robin. The small bird chirps softly as you approach, her eyes filled with a mixture of hope and curiosity.

You carefully unlatch the cage, gently lifting Robin out. She flutters her wings, stretching them for the first time in what seems like ages. "Thank you," she chirps, her voice filled with gratitude. "But what were you doing here?"

You take a deep breath, explaining quickly. "I'm trying to escape. I found an old book with spells and instructions. I need to get away from Sunday before the wedding."

Robin tilts her head, understanding dawning in her eyes. "The moonflower tea worked, then? He's asleep?"

You nod. "For now. But I don't have much time. Do you know any safe routes out of here?"

Robin flutters closer, her small form hovering in front of you. "There's a hidden exit in the temple that leads to the forest. Follow me."

You follow Robin through the winding passages of the temple, her small form darting ahead and guiding you through the dark corridors. You move quickly, the urgency of your situation driving you forward. The air grows cooler as you descend, the walls closing in around you.

Finally, Robin stops at a seemingly solid wall. "Here," she chirps, pressing a small, hidden stone. The wall shifts, revealing a narrow passage leading to the outside. The fresh scent of the forest filters in, a stark contrast to the musty air of the temple.

You step through the passage, the forest opening up before you. The moonlight filters through the trees, casting a silvery glow over everything. Robin lands on your shoulder, her presence a comforting weight.

"Thank you," you whisper, your voice filled with gratitude. "I wouldn't have made it without you."

Robin chirps softly. "We're not out of danger yet. We need to move quickly. Sunday will realize you're gone soon."

You nod, determination hardening your resolve. "Let's go."

You move through the forest, the ancient book clutched tightly in your hands. The journey is far from over, but for the first time, you feel a glimmer of hope. You will find a way to break free from Sunday's grasp and reclaim your life.

As you navigate the forest, Robin's guidance leads you through hidden paths and away from any potential dangers. The night is filled with the sounds of the forest, but you move with a purpose, each step bringing you closer to freedom.

Hours pass, and the first light of dawn begins to filter through the trees. You find a small clearing and decide to rest for a moment, catching your breath and gathering your thoughts. Robin perches nearby, her eyes watchful and alert.

"There's one more thing you should know," Robin says, her voice tinged with regret. "If you get caught, take a wine bottle and the white roses. It's important."

You furrow your brow, confused. "Why? What do the wine bottle and white roses do?"

"...If we get caught..I.."

"We won't! Robin!"

You clutch the bag tightly, knowing that within it lies your chance at freedom.

Hours pass, and the sun rises higher in the sky. You find another clearing and decide to rest for a moment, catching your breath and checking your surroundings.

"We're getting closer," Robin says softly. "We can find shelter and plan our next move."

You nod, exhaustion beginning to set in. "Thank you, Robin. I don't know what I would've done without you."

Robin perches on your shoulder, her small form radiating warmth and comfort. "We're in this together," she says. "We'll find a way to keep you safe."

"!!!!!" Robin was suddenly uneasy.

"We need to find a safe place to hide," Robin whispers urgently, her wings fluttering with agitation.

You nod in agreement, scanning the surroundings for any sign of danger. Just as you're about to move towards a promising alleyway, a sudden dizziness overwhelms you. The ground tilts beneath your feet, and you stumble forward, clutching your head in pain.

"Robin," you manage to gasp, before darkness consumes your vision.

When you awaken, the world around you is dim and unfamiliar. You find yourself lying on a cold stone floor, the air heavy with the scent of ancient dust and incense. As your senses gradually sharpen, you realize you're inside a dimly lit chamber adorned with intricate runes and flickering torches.

"Robin?" you call out weakly, your voice echoing in the eerie silence.

There's no response. Panic grips you as you struggle to your feet, the memories of your journey and the urgency of your mission flooding back. You stagger towards a nearby ornate mirror, hoping to catch a glimpse of your surroundings and perhaps find a clue to your whereabouts.

Before you can reach the mirror, a voice cuts through the silence from the shadows.

"Well, well, what do we have here?" The voice is smooth yet chilling, sending a shiver down your spine. Emerging from the darkness steps a figure cloaked in midnight black, his eyes glinting with malevolent amusement.

"S-Sunday," you stammer, recognizing him despite the years that have passed since you last saw his face. His presence fills the chamber with an oppressive aura, his every movement calculated and unnerving.

"You've come far, my dear," Sunday murmurs, his voice dripping with honeyed menace. "But not far enough."

Robin's absence weighs heavily on your mind as you struggle to maintain composure in the face of Sunday's eerie confidence. His smile is as cold as the stone around you, a stark reminder of the danger that has followed you relentlessly.

"What have you done with Robin?" you demand, your voice trembling with a mixture of fear and defiance.

Sunday's laughter rings out, echoing off the ancient walls. "Oh, Robin is quite safe," he replies cryptically. "But you, my dear, are exactly where I want you."

As Sunday closes the distance between you with unsettling grace, you realize with sinking dread that escaping his grasp will require more than just cunning and bravery. With Robin's fate hanging in the balance and the ancient book's protection spell seemingly undone, you steel yourself for the confrontation ahead.

The game of cat and mouse has reached its climax.

Sunday approached, his presence looms over you like a specter of doom. You stand your ground, despite the tremors of fear threatening to overtake you. His eyes gleam with a mixture of amusement and malice, his every step echoing in the quiet chamber.

You glance around, taking in the unsettling scene. The chamber, dimly lit by flickering torches, is indeed filled with white roses arranged meticulously as though for a solemn ceremony. Their fragrance mingles with the heavy incense, creating an atmosphere both intoxicating and suffocating.

In your hand, you clutch the bouquet of white roses tightly, their delicate petals a stark contrast to the dire situation unfolding before you. Beside you, almost forgotten in the rush of events, is the wine bottle Robin mentioned—a potent sleeping potion that could provide a desperate escape if the need arose.

Sunday's gaze flickers briefly to the bouquet in your hand, a glimmer of recognition crossing his features. "Ah, the white roses," he muses, his voice smooth yet tinged with a hint of curiosity. "A symbol of purity and peace, but in this place, they serve a different purpose."

You swallow hard, uncertainty clawing at your resolve. "What do you want from me, Sunday?" you manage to ask, trying to buy time to formulate a plan.

He smiles knowingly, his demeanor shifting from amusement to something more insidious. "You've always had a knack for escaping, my dear," he murmurs, circling you like a predator to its prey. "But this time, you won't slip through my fingers."

With a sudden, swift movement, Sunday reaches out, his hand brushing against your arm. Fear surges through you as you instinctively step back, clutching the bouquet tighter. His touch sends a chill down your spine, a reminder of his power and your vulnerability in this strange and treacherous place.

"Where is Robin?" you demand again, your voice trembling despite your efforts to remain composed.

Sunday's smile widens, his eyes alight with a cruel glint. "Patience, my dear," he replies silkily. "All in good time."

As he continues to circle you, his movements fluid and unsettlingly calm, you weigh your options. The protective spell from the ancient book lies dormant, its potency diminished or perhaps manipulated by Sunday's dark magic. The white roses in your hand could potentially buy you time or sway Sunday's intentions, if only you could discern his motives.

Before you can decide on a course of action, a distant sound breaks the oppressive silence—a faint rustling, like the fluttering of wings. You glance towards the source, a sliver of hope igniting within you.

Robin appears, her small form darting through the shadows towards you. Relief floods your senses as she lands gracefully on your shoulder, her presence a beacon of solidarity in the face of Sunday's malevolence.

"Robin," you whisper gratefully, feeling a surge of courage bolstered by her unwavering loyalty.

Robin's declaration hangs heavy in the air, her voice resonating with both defiance and a hint of sorrow. "Brother," she says, her wings quivering with emotion, "please, don't do this."

Sunday's expression softens momentarily, a flicker of conflict crossing his features. "Robin," he replies, his voice betraying a trace of hesitation, "you know the rules."

Before Robin can protest further, Sunday gestures with a swift motion of his hand. Dark tendrils of magic coil around Robin, ensnaring her in an invisible cage. She struggles against the magical bonds, her cries echoing in the chamber, but the more she fights, the tighter the grip becomes.

"No!" you cry out, a surge of desperation propelling you forward. You reach out towards Robin, but a barrier of dark energy repels your touch, leaving you helpless to intervene.

Sunday watches impassively as Robin's struggles subside, her wings drooping with defeat. "I'm sorry, sister," he murmurs, his voice laced with regret, though his eyes betray no hint of remorse.

Robin meets his gaze, tears glistening in her eyes. "Why?" she whispers, her voice filled with anguish. "Who even are you?"

Sunday's expression hardens once more, the mask of indifference settling back into place. "It's our destiny," he replies cryptically. "You know the price of defiance"

With a final glance towards you, a mix of warning and challenge in his eyes, Sunday turns away, leaving you alone with Robin trapped in her magical prison. The chamber grows colder, the torches flickering ominously as though mourning the loss of hope that once burned brightly within its walls.

You grasp the bouquet of white roses tightly, the soft petals a stark contrast to the harsh reality closing in around you. The wine bottle remains in your other hand, its weight a reminder of the potential escape it offers—a fleeting hope in the face of overwhelming darkness.

Without breaking eye contact, you carefully uncork the wine bottle, pouring its contents over the delicate petals of the white roses. The rich scent of the potion mingles with the sweet fragrance of the flowers, creating a potent aroma that hangs heavy in the chamber.

Sunday's lips curl into a cruel smile as he watches you complete the ritual. "You are resourceful," he comments, his voice carrying a tone of begrudging admiration. With a flick of his finger, the dark magic surrounding Robin's cage dissipates, releasing her from her magical prison.

Robin emerges cautiously, her wings trembling with exhaustion and relief. She lands softly beside you, her gaze flickering between you and Sunday with wary apprehension. "Thank you," she whispers to you, her voice filled with gratitude despite the dire circumstances.

Sunday's smile widens as he approaches, his gaze fixed upon you with unnerving intensity. "Now that we have settled that," he says smoothly, his voice laced with dark amusement, "let's discuss the terms of our arrangement."

You feel a knot tighten in your stomach as Sunday's words hang in the air, heavy with implication. His proposal hangs in the balance, a dangerous game of negotiation and survival unfolding before you. Robin's presence beside you is a silent reminder of the stakes—her safety and your own freedom precariously balanced on the edge of Sunday's whims.

"You want to save Robin," Sunday continues, his eyes boring into yours with a chilling clarity. "And I can ensure her safety, but only if you agree to one condition."

Helplessness washes over you like a wave crashing upon the shore. You glance at Robin, her expression a mixture of concern and silent encouragement. Despite Sunday's dark nature, Robin's kindness and unwavering support throughout your journey resonate within you, a stark contrast to the cruelty and manipulation personified by her brother.

Nodding slowly, you swallow your pride and resign yourself to the bitter truth of your situation. "What do you want?" you ask quietly, your voice barely above a whisper.

Sunday's smile twists into a smirk of triumph. "Marry me," he declares, his voice echoing through the chamber with finality. "If you want to ensure Robin's safety, you will become my wife."

The weight of his words settles upon you like a heavy cloak. You meet Sunday's gaze with a mix of defiance and resignation, knowing that this twisted bargain is the only path forward—a sacrifice to protect the one beacon of light in this dark and treacherous world.

"Fine," you concede, your voice steady despite the turmoil raging within you. "I'll marry you."

With a flick of his hand, he gestures for Robin to be escorted away by shadowy figures that materialize from the dim recesses of the chamber. Robin casts a pleading glance over her shoulder, her wings fluttering nervously, but she obeys silently, knowing her defiance could only lead to further harm.

As Robin disappears into the shadows, your heart sinks with the weight of her departure. You're left alone with Sunday, his gaze fixed upon you like a predator closing in on its prey. Instinctively, you back away, your mind racing with fear and uncertainty.

But Sunday moves swiftly, closing the distance between you with unnerving grace. He reaches out, his touch firm yet strangely gentle as he pulls you closer to him. His presence overwhelms you—his scent, a mix of darkness and intrigue, envelops you as he leans in, his lips dangerously close to your ear.

"All white, with a slight touch of red," he murmurs, his breath hot against your skin. His words send a shiver down your spine, a mixture of revulsion and resignation washing over you.

You hold the bouquet of white roses tightly, its delicate petals a stark contrast to the dark intentions swirling around you. Sunday's grip tightens around your arm, his other hand caressing the flowers in your hand with an unsettling familiarity.

"You will learn to appreciate the elegance of contrasts," he continues, his voice low and possessive. "Just as you will learn to appreciate the intricacies of our arrangement."

His words hang in the air, heavy with implication. You feel trapped, ensnared in a web of obligation and coercion. Despite the facade of civility, you sense the underlying threat beneath Sunday's smooth demeanor—a reminder of the power he wields over your fate and the fragility of your newfound alliance.

With a final, chilling smile, Sunday releases you, stepping back to survey you with a calculated gaze. "Prepare yourself.."

The air in the chamber grows colder as dawn approaches, casting long shadows that dance eerily across the stone walls. Sunday stands before you, his presence commanding and unsettling in the pale moonlight filtering through the chamber's high windows. His eyes gleam with a mixture of triumph and anticipation as he prepares to bind you to him in a marriage of his own making.

"We will not waste time with unnecessary formalities," Sunday declares, his voice cutting through the silence like a knife. He steps closer, holding out a ring—a simple band of dark metal adorned with intricate runes that shimmer faintly in the moonlight. "This ring," he continues, his tone authoritative, "will signify your allegiance to me."

You hesitate, torn between defiance and resignation. The weight of Robin's safety presses upon you, urging you to comply despite the dread coiling in the pit of your stomach. Slowly, reluctantly, you extend your hand, allowing Sunday to slide the ring onto your finger. As the metal touches your skin, a chill seeps into your bones, a physical reminder of the bond you've just accepted.

"And these," Sunday adds, producing a pair of ornate handcuffs from the folds of his cloak, "will ensure your compliance."

The handcuffs gleam dully in the moonlight, their intricate designs hinting at their arcane purpose. Without another word, Sunday secures them around your wrists, the cold metal biting into your flesh. They tighten with a faint click, locking you in place, both physically and metaphorically, as his prisoner.

"You will accompany me willingly," Sunday states firmly, his eyes boring into yours with a

The journey through Sunday's realm is fraught with tension and uncertainty, each step echoing with the weight of the vows you've reluctantly accepted. As you follow him through winding corridors and shadowed passageways, Sunday's presence looms over you like a specter, a constant reminder of the bargain that binds you to him.

Finally, you arrive at a grand temple bathed in the silvery glow of moonlight filtering through stained glass windows. The air is heavy with the scent of ancient incense, and the stillness of the sacred space adds to the solemnity of the moment.

Sunday gestures towards an altar adorned with symbols of his arcane power—a place where rituals of both light and dark have been performed for centuries. "Place the ring here," he commands, his voice echoing through the chamber with a chilling finality.

With trembling hands, you comply, placing the ring upon the stone altar. Its dark metal gleams faintly in the moonlight, a stark contrast against the ancient stones worn smooth by the passage of time. As you step back, a sense of resignation settles over you, knowing that this act solidifies your entanglement in Sunday's web of influence.

"The husband may now kiss the bride," Sunday declares, his tone carrying a mocking edge as he approaches you.

You feel a knot tighten in your chest, a mixture of dread and helplessness welling up within you. Sunday's lips meet yours with a cold intensity, his kiss a stark reminder of the power he wields over you. Tears well up in your eyes, silent witnesses to the turmoil raging within your soul—the betrayal of your freedom, the sacrifice for Robin's safety, and the bitter taste of submission to a fate not of your choosing.

As Sunday pulls away, a faint smile plays upon his lips, satisfaction gleaming in his eyes. "Welcome to your new life," he murmurs, his voice laced with a cruel tenderness that sends a shiver down your spine.

You stand there, trembling in the aftermath of his touch, the weight of your decisions settling heavily upon your shoulders. The temple around you remains silent, its ancient walls bearing witness to the unholy union forged in moonlight—a marriage bound by obligation rather than love, and a journey into darkness where every breath taken is a reminder of the choices made and the sacrifices endured.

Sunday stands before you in the moonlit temple, his eyes flicker with a mixture of amusement and something darker. His grip on your wrist remains firm, a silent reminder of your newfound captivity under his command. The air is thick with tension as he leans closer, his lips dangerously close to yours.

"You're a cute liar," he murmurs, his voice a low whisper that sends a shiver down your spine. "Pretending not to enjoy this."

Before you can protest, Sunday's lips capture yours in a kiss that ignites a conflicted storm within you. His touch is possessive, demanding, and despite your inner turmoil, a strange sensation stirs—a desire that feels alien yet undeniable, as if someone else within you is compelling you to respond.

You find yourself responding to his kiss, your body betraying your mind's resistance. It's as though a force beyond your control is pushing you forward, urging you to surrender to the allure of Sunday's power and the twisted dance of dominance and submission that now defines your existence.

The kiss deepens, the moonlight casting shadows upon the temple floor as you lose yourself in the sensation. For a brief moment, you forget the fear and regret that gnaw at your conscience. Instead, a dangerous thrill courses through you—an intoxicating blend of fear and forbidden desire that clouds your judgment and muddles your thoughts.

As Sunday pulls away, a self-satisfied smirk plays upon his lips. "You see?" he says softly, his voice dripping with triumph. "You belong to me now, body and soul."

A chill runs down your spine, a realization settling in that you are no longer merely a captive of circumstance but a willing participant in a game where every move brings you deeper into Sunday's web of control. The tears you shed earlier seem distant now, lost in the haze of conflicting emotions that swirl around you like the shadows in the temple.

You stand before him, breathless and uncertain, caught between the repulsion you feel towards him and the inexplicable pull he exerts over you. The moonlight continues to bathe the temple in its silvery glow.

Sunday's demeanor shifts once more. His gaze hardens, the cruel smile fading from his lips as he assesses you with a calculating stare. Without a word, he gestures towards a corner of the chamber where a small, ornate cage sits nestled amidst shadows.

"You've proven to be quite the challenge," he remarks coolly, his voice cutting through the silence like a knife. "But challenges only make victory sweeter."

A sense of dread washes over you as realization dawns—the fleeting moment of compliance and the kiss shared under the moonlight were merely tools in Sunday's arsenal, designed to reaffirm his dominance and your submission. You step back instinctively, but Sunday's grip on your wrist tightens once more, preventing any escape.

Before you can protest or resist, dark tendrils of magic coil around you, wrapping you in an invisible vice that pulls you towards the waiting cage. The cold metal bites into your skin as you're forced inside, the door swinging shut with a resounding clang that reverberates through the chamber.

Inside the cage, the air is stale and suffocating, a stark contrast to the moonlit expanse beyond its confines. You grasp the bars, your heart pounding with a mixture of fear and anger. How could you have been so foolish to let your guard down, to momentarily forget the darkness that lurks within Sunday's heart?

Sunday watches impassively as you struggle against the magical bonds that hold you prisoner. "This is where you belong," he declares coldly, his voice echoing off the stone walls. "Until you learn your place."

You glare at him through the bars, defiance burning brightly despite the helplessness of your situation. "You can't keep me here forever," you retort, your voice trembling with suppressed fury. "Robin won't rest until she finds a way to free me."

Sunday's smile returns, a mocking twist of his lips. "Oh, I have plans for dear Robin," he muses, his tone laced with malice. "But for now, you will remain here, a reminder of the consequences of defiance."

As you plead with Sunday from within the confines of the cage, desperation colors your voice. The darkness around you seems to press closer, amplifying the hopelessness of your situation. You know the dreams he speaks of—twisted illusions meant to erode your will, to bend your mind to his desires. Fear clenches your heart as you contemplate the horror of reliving those nightmares.

"Please," you implore, your voice trembling with a mix of fear and defiance. "Don't do this. There must be another way."

Sunday regards you with a cold detachment, his eyes narrowing slightly as he considers your plea. The flickering torchlight casts shadows across his face, accentuating the hardness of his features. His silence stretches, the weight of his judgment hanging heavily in the air.

Finally, he speaks, his voice cutting through the silence like a blade. "Prove to me that you are ready to submit," he commands, his tone brooking no argument. "Prove to me that you are willing to forget yourself, to embrace what I offer."

You feel a surge of indignation and dread rise within you. How could you prove such a thing, when every fiber of your being rebels against the thought of surrendering to Sunday's dark influence? Yet, the alternative—facing the nightmares that haunt your sleep—is a terror you cannot bear to contemplate.

Desperation drives you to search for a response, for some shred of hope or strategy that might sway him. "I... I can show you," you stammer, grasping for words. "I can... I can act as though... as though I accept your terms. I can... comply."

Sunday's gaze sharpens, a calculating gleam entering his eyes. "Actions speak louder than words," he observes, his voice a whisper of challenge. "If you can convince me, perhaps I will reconsider."

Sunday left.

...SOME TIME LATER.....

As Sunday returns to the cage, his footsteps echoing softly against the stone floor, a chill settles in the air around you. The torchlight casts shifting shadows that dance across his face, highlighting the sharpness of his features and the darkness that lurks behind his eyes. You shrink back instinctively, the cold bars of the cage pressing against your trembling form.

He stops just outside the cage, his gaze fixed upon you with an unsettling intensity. "You misunderstand me," he says calmly, his voice smooth yet laced with an undercurrent of menace. "I have been nothing but kind to you, given you every opportunity to accept your fate gracefully."

You shake your head, defiance warring with fear as you stare back at him. "Your kindness is a lie," you retort, your voice wavering but defiant. "You manipulate and control, using whatever means necessary to bend others to your will."

Sunday's laughter fills the chamber, a hollow sound that reverberates off the stone walls. "Ah, my dear," he says, amusement dancing in his eyes. "Kindness, manipulation—what does it matter in the grand scheme of things? In the end, power is all that matters."

With a sudden movement, Sunday reaches through the bars of the cage, his hand brushing against your cheek with a deceptive gentleness. You flinch at his touch, unable to suppress a shiver of revulsion despite the warmth of his hand against your skin.

"You cannot escape me," he murmurs, his voice low and intimate. "Not now, not ever."

You pull away from his touch, the bars of the cage a barrier between you and the darkness that threatens to consume you. Fear and anger churn within you, a potent mix that fuels your resolve to resist, to find a way out of this nightmarish captivity.

"You underestimate me," you whisper defiantly, your voice barely audible above the crackling torches. "I will find a way to break free from you, to undo the web of deceit and cruelty you've spun around me."

Sunday's smile fades, replaced by a glimmer of something darker in his eyes. "We shall see," he replies cryptically, withdrawing his hand from the cage. "For now, enjoy your solitude. It may be the last peace you experience for a long time."

As the echoes of Sunday's departure fade into the stillness of the chamber, a heavy weariness settles upon you. The torchlight flickers dimly, casting a soft, wavering glow that dances across the stone walls of your cage. Despite your best efforts to stay alert and defiant, the events of the day weigh heavily upon your mind and body.

A creeping drowsiness begins to cloud your thoughts, your eyelids growing heavy with each passing moment. The cage, once a symbol of confinement and defiance, now feels like a sanctuary—a small haven where you can surrender momentarily to the relentless exhaustion that grips you.

Before long, Sunday returns, his footsteps echoing softly against the cold stone floor. He stands before the cage, watching you with a calculating gaze that betrays no hint of the darkness that resides within him. Without a word, he unlocks the cage door and enters cautiously, his movements careful yet purposeful.

Gently, almost tenderly, he gathers you into his arms and carries you to the makeshift bed within the cage—a small cot draped with blankets woven from shadows and moonlight. The torchlight flickers overhead, casting a warm glow that softens the harsh edges of Sunday's features as he lays you down with surprising gentleness.

Suddenly you felt..weird

The creeping drowsiness overwhelms you, and as the weight of exhaustion pulls you under, you faint, your body going limp within the confines of the cage. The darkness engulfs you, a soft, quiet void where time seems to stretch and compress all at once.

Suddenly, you feel yourself being lifted, the sensation of strong arms cradling you as Sunday carefully opens the cage door. His touch is unexpectedly gentle as he carries you, his voice a soft murmur against the silence of the temple.

"My angel," he whispers, his words a haunting lullaby. "Won't you be mine again?"

Through the haze of near-unconsciousness, you struggle to respond, the words slipping from your lips in a barely audible whisper. "Yes," you breathe, your voice fragile and faint. The acceptance, borne of weariness and a desperate desire to end the torment, slips out before you can grasp its full meaning.

Sunday's gaze softens, a strange blend of triumph and tenderness in his eyes as he gazes down at you. "Good," he murmurs, brushing a strand of hair from your face. "Rest now, my angel. We have much to do."

With that, the darkness claims you fully, your mind descending into the depths of unconsciousness. The world around you fades, replaced by a void where only the echoes of Sunday's voice and the weight of your reluctant consent linger.

As you sleep, the temple remains silent, the moonlight casting long shadows across the ancient stone floor. The night stretches on, filled with dreams and nightmares that blur the line between reality and illusion. Somewhere in the depths of your slumber, a part of you clings to hope, to the faint glimmer of light that persists even in the darkest corners of Sunday's domain.

You awaken sometime later, the memories of your fainting spell and Sunday's words swirling in your mind. The soft, dim light of dawn filters into the temple, casting a pale glow over your surroundings. The cage door stands open, a reminder of the choice you made in a moment of vulnerability.

You wake up with a jolt, your body aching and your mind foggy. The memory of fainting and Sunday's words linger at the edge of your consciousness. As you shift to sit up, a sharp pain shoots through you, radiating from behind your ears. Groaning, you reach up to touch the source of the discomfort.

Your fingers brush against something soft and feathery. Panic surges through you as you explore further, discovering that wings—delicate and painful—are now attached behind your ears. Your heart races, and a scream tears from your throat, echoing through the temple.

The sound of your own voice startles you, and you scramble to your feet, rushing to a reflective surface. The sight that greets you is both horrifying and surreal: wings stitched onto your skin, the wounds fresh and raw. Your breath comes in ragged gasps as you try to comprehend the impossible.

As you stand there, trembling, a familiar glow catches your eye. A halo, faint at first, gradually brightens above your head. The sight of it fills you with dread and confusion. How can this be? You gave up your halo long ago, choosing to become mortal for the sake of your daughter.

The realization hits you like a thunderclap: somehow, Sunday has not only manipulated your body but also tampered with the very essence of your being.

"No," you whisper, tears streaming down your face. "This can't be happening."

The sound of footsteps draws your attention, and you turn to see Sunday standing at the entrance of the chamber, a look of satisfaction on his face.

"Welcome back, my angel," he says softly, his voice filled with a chilling warmth. "I told you, you belong to me now."

"How could you do this?" you demand, your voice breaking with a mix of pain and anger. "I gave up my wings, my halo—everything! For a new purpose! How can you bring them back?"

Sunday's smile widens, a dark glint in his eyes. "Power, my dear," he replies. "The kind of power that transcends mortal limitations. I have given you back what you forsook, and now, you are bound to me more intimately than ever before."

You clutch at the halo, feeling its weight and warmth, a physical manifestation of the chains that now bind you to Sunday's will. Desperation claws at your mind as you struggle to find a way out, to reclaim the freedom that feels more distant than ever.

"Why?" you whisper, the question slipping out in a moment of raw vulnerability. "Why do this to me?"

Sunday steps closer, his expression softening as he reaches out to gently touch your face. "Because, my angel," he says, his voice almost tender, "I want you by my side. Forever."

As his words sink in, the reality of your situation presses down upon you with crushing force. The temple, once a place of ancient secrets and eerie beauty, now feels like a prison—a cage where your own power and identity have been twisted to serve Sunday's dark desires.

With a deep breath, you steel yourself, determination flickering to life within your heart. You may be trapped, your wings and halo restored against your will, but you are not defeated. Somewhere within the labyrinth of Sunday's realm lies the key to your freedom, and you will find it, no matter the cost.

Sunday's grip tightens around your arm as he pulls you close, his eyes blazing with a mixture of frustration and dark determination. With a swift motion, he pushes you down onto the bed, his weight pinning you beneath him. The feathers of your new wings rustle against the sheets, the pain of the stitches a constant reminder of your altered state.

"You are the delusional one," Sunday snarls, his voice low and menacing. "You gave up everything that made you special, everything that made you mine. I simply restored what you foolishly cast aside."

His words cut deep, the weight of his accusation pressing heavily upon you. But as you lie there, staring up at him, a sudden clarity pierces through the haze of fear and confusion. Memories, long buried and painful, surge to the surface, and you remember why you hate him—why you could never truly be his.

He was the one who killed your father.

The realization hits you with the force of a tidal wave, the raw emotion nearly overwhelming. The image of your father's lifeless body, the cruelty of Sunday's betrayal, floods your mind, igniting a fierce and unyielding rage within you.

"You!" you scream, the accusation tearing from your throat. "You killed my father! How could you do that? How could you take him from me?"

Sunday's expression shifts, a flicker of something almost like regret passing over his features before it is replaced by cold indifference. "Your father was a threat to my plans," he says dismissively. "He had to be eliminated for the greater good. For our future."

His words only fuel the fire of your anger, your hands balling into fists as you struggle beneath him. "There is no 'our future,' Sunday! You stole everything from me, and I will never forgive you for that."

A dark smile curls at the corners of his lips as he leans closer, his breath hot against your skin. "You can hate me all you want, but it won't change anything. You are mine now, my angel. Forever."

Sunday's grip remains firm as he leans in, his lips pressing against yours in a kiss that is both possessive and demanding. You try to resist, but the power that emanates from him, the dark enchantment he wields, begins to cloud your mind. The rage and clarity you felt moments ago start to blur, memories of your father slipping away like grains of sand through your fingers.

Tears well up in your eyes as you fight to hold on, to remember why you must resist. But Sunday's kiss deepens, and the enchantment intensifies, erasing the edges of your thoughts. Your anger turns to confusion, the reasons behind your hatred dissolving into a foggy haze.

You cry out, the sound a raw expression of pain and helplessness, but the reason for your tears becomes increasingly elusive. Why are you crying? What is it that you are mourning? The answers elude you, hidden behind the fog that clouds your mind.

Sunday pulls back, his eyes searching yours with a twisted satisfaction. "Shh," he whispers, brushing away your tears with a gentle touch that contrasts sharply with the darkness of his intentions. "There is no need for tears, my angel. Everything will be alright."

You look up at him, the confusion in your gaze clear as you struggle to grasp the fragments of your lost memories. "Why... why am I crying?" you whisper, your voice trembling with uncertainty.

Sunday smiles, a cruel yet comforting expression. "You are simply overwhelmed," he says softly. "The past is behind us now. What matters is our future together."

His words seep into your mind, and the more you try to remember the reasons for your sorrow, the further they slip away. The image of your father, once so vivid, becomes a distant shadow, and the burning rage that fueled your defiance dissipates into a hollow ache.

You feel a deep sense of loss, but you cannot pinpoint its source. The tears continue to fall, and you clutch at the remnants of your memories, desperate to hold onto something, anything, that can anchor you to your former self.

Sunday's hands are gentle as he cradles your face, his touch paradoxically comforting and oppressive. "You are mine," he murmurs, his voice weaving a spell of compliance and acceptance around you. "And I will take care of you, always."

Sunday's fingers trace gently along your tear-streaked cheek, his touch deceptively tender. His eyes, however, gleam with a predatory hunger that sends a shiver down your spine. He leans in closer, his breath warm against your skin as he speaks.

"Will you let me take you, my angel?" he whispers, his voice a silken promise of possession. "Will you become one with me, body and soul?"

The question hangs in the air, thick with the weight of his dark intentions. Your mind is still foggy, the memories of your father and the reasons for your defiance slipping away like a distant dream. Yet, somewhere deep within you, a small, stubborn spark of resistance flickers, refusing to be extinguished.

You swallow hard, your voice barely a whisper as you respond. "What do you mean, Sunday? What do you want from me?"

Sunday's smile widens, a chillingly serene expression that belies the sinister nature of his desires. "I want your complete submission," he replies, his tone both commanding and coaxing. "I want you to surrender yourself to me entirely, to let me envelop you in my embrace and become part of my very being."

Your heart races, fear and confusion warring within you. The enchantment that clouds your mind makes it difficult to think clearly, to remember why you must resist. But the small spark of defiance refuses to be snuffed out, and you cling to it desperately.

"Why?" you manage to ask, your voice trembling. "Why do you want this?"

Sunday's expression softens, his gaze almost tender as he strokes your hair. "Because you are mine, and I am yours," he murmurs. "Together, we can be powerful, unstoppable. But you must trust me, my angel. You must let go of the past and embrace our future."

As he speaks, a strange warmth begins to spread through your body, dulling the edges of your fear and uncertainty. The enchantment wraps around you like a comforting blanket, urging you to surrender, to accept his touch and his words as truth.

But deep down, the spark of defiance burns brighter, reminding you of the person you once were and the promises you made. With every ounce of willpower you can muster, you cling to that spark, refusing to let it go.

"I... I need time," you whisper, hoping to buy yourself a moment of clarity. "I need to understand."

Sunday's smile tightens, but he nods, his eyes still locked onto yours. "Very well," he says softly. "But remember, my angel, time is a luxury you do not have in abundance."

You gather your strength, your voice wavering as you speak. "My mom never came to save me," you say, the words heavy with sorrow and confusion. "Why didn't she come for me?"

Sunday's expression shifts, a dark satisfaction flickering in his eyes. He takes a step closer, his presence looming over you as he reveals the bitter truth. "Your stepmother never intended to save you, my angel. She gave you away to me in exchange for Penacony's land."

The revelation strikes you like a physical blow, your breath catching in your throat. The woman who was supposed to care for you, to protect you, had sold you off for her own gain. The fear that had been a constant companion now deepens into a gnawing dread, the realization of your betrayal settling heavily upon you.

"No," you whisper, shaking your head in disbelief. "She wouldn't... she couldn't..."

The weight of the revelation crushes you, leaving you feeling shattered and hollow. Your legs feel weak, but you force yourself to stand, each step a struggle against the pain and despair that threaten to overwhelm you. You walk slowly, almost mechanically, towards the window, seeking some semblance of solace in the world outside.

As you reach the window, the cold moonlight spills through the bars, casting long, ethereal shadows across the floor. You gaze out, the beauty of the night contrasting sharply with the turmoil inside you. The moon, full and luminous, bathes the landscape in a silver glow, a silent witness to your suffering.

You press your hand against the cool glass, the stark reality of your situation pressing in on you from all sides. The betrayal by your stepmother, the dark enchantment that binds you, and Sunday's possessive control—all these things conspire to break you. The moonlight, once a symbol of hope and guidance, now feels like a cruel reminder of your captivity and isolation.

Tears well up in your eyes, spilling over as you stand there, bathed in the cold light. The wings stitched to your skin ache with each breath, and the halo feels like a mockery of your lost freedom. The moonlight reflects off the tears on your cheeks, making them glisten like fragile shards of broken dreams.

You feel utterly alone, the vast expanse of the night sky beyond the window a stark contrast to the confines of your cage. The sense of being trapped, both physically and emotionally, presses down on you with unbearable weight. The moonlight illuminates your sorrow, highlighting the depth of your despair.

you stand by the window, lost in your despair, you feel a pair of arms encircle you from behind. Sunday's embrace is both tender and suffocating, his presence overwhelming. His touch, though deceptively gentle, feels like a cage tightening around you.

Tears stream down your face, and a sob escapes your lips. "Just kill me, Sunday," you plead, your voice breaking. "I can't take this anymore. I can't be broken any more than I already am."

Sunday tightens his hold, resting his chin on your shoulder. His breath is warm against your neck as he speaks, his voice soft but firm. "I won't kill you, my angel. I care about you too much for that. Why should you waste your tears on people who never cared for you? Your mother, Your friends—they left you. But I am here. I care about you."

You shake your head, the pain and confusion swirling within you like a storm. "They were my family," you whisper, the words a raw confession of your grief and loss. "I loved them."

Sunday's grip remains steady, his tone soothing yet insistent. "They betrayed you, abandoned you. I am the one who has always been here for you, who will always be here. Don't cry for those who never truly cared. Be with someone who does."

His words are a twisted comfort, a dark promise of belonging that tugs at the edges of your broken heart. The enchantment he wields seeps into your mind, urging you to accept his version of reality, to find solace in his embrace.

You close your eyes, the tears continuing to fall. "I don't know what to do," you admit, your voice barely a whisper. The weight of your sorrow and the relentless pressure of Sunday's influence make it hard to think, to hold onto the small spark of defiance within you.

Sunday turns you around gently, his eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that is both captivating and terrifying. "Let me take care of you," he murmurs, brushing a tear from your cheek with his thumb. "Let me show you that you are not alone. You don't have to fight this battle by yourself."

The darkness in his gaze is tempered by a genuine longing, a desire to possess and protect you in equal measure. You feel your resolve weakening, the fight draining out of you as his words weave their insidious magic.

But even as you stand there, teetering on the edge of surrender, a tiny voice within you cries out for freedom, for the life you once knew. It is faint, almost drowned out by the storm of emotions and enchantments, but it is there, refusing to be silenced.

You take a deep breath, trying to steady yourself. "I need time," you repeat, your voice firmer this time. "Time to think, to understand."

Sunday's expression softens, a rare moment of patience and understanding crossing his features. "Of course, my angel," he says, his voice a soothing balm to your frayed nerves. "Take all the time you need. I will be here, waiting for you, whenever you're ready."

He releases you slowly, his hands lingering on your arms as if reluctant to let go. You step back, feeling a mixture of relief and trepidation. The path ahead is uncertain, but you cling to the hope that somewhere within you lies the strength to break free.

As you look up at Sunday, you see a softness in his eyes that makes you pause. His expression is so loving, so tender, that it stirs something deep within you. For a moment, the pain and confusion recede, replaced by a fragile sense of safety. His affection feels genuine, and despite everything, you find yourself longing for that warmth, that assurance of care.

You realize that you are tired of fighting, tired of the constant struggle and heartbreak. Sunday has always asked for your consent, has always framed his actions as being for your own good. In this moment of vulnerability, you begin to question your resistance. Perhaps he truly does care for you. Perhaps it is okay to let yourself be loved, even if that love comes with dark strings attached.

Slowly, you allow yourself to be manipulated by these comforting thoughts. You lean into the idea that being with someone who loves you is what you need, what you deserve. After all, isn't that what everyone wants? To be loved, to be cherished?

You look back at Sunday, your resolve softening. "Maybe... maybe you're right," you whisper, your voice barely audible. "Maybe I should just... let go."

Sunday's eyes light up with a mix of triumph and genuine affection. He steps closer, his hands gently cupping your face. "That's it, my angel," he murmurs, his voice soothing and persuasive. "Just let go. Let me take care of you. You deserve to be loved, to be cherished."

You nod slowly, the last remnants of your resistance crumbling. "Yes," you say, your voice steadying. "I want to be with someone who loves me."

Sunday's smile is radiant, his joy almost palpable. He pulls you into his arms, holding you close as if you were the most precious thing in the world. "You've made the right choice," he whispers, his lips brushing against your hair. "I will take care of you, always."

In his embrace, you feel a strange mixture of peace and surrender. The battles you fought, the resistance you held onto, all seem distant and unnecessary now. You let yourself relax, let yourself be enveloped by the warmth of his affection.

For now, you are content to be held, to be loved. It is a relief to let go of the constant struggle, to give in to the comfort of his arms. And as Sunday holds you close, you tell yourself that it is okay. It is okay to be loved, to be cherished, even if it comes at a cost.

The moonlight continues to shine through the window, casting a serene glow over the two of you. In this moment, you allow yourself to believe that you have found what you were searching for: a place where you are wanted, a place where you are loved.

And for now, that is enough.

"Y/n..I'll wait for you to accept me..So don't worry..We won't have to do anything..uncomfortable to you..Tho, Kissing is quite normal to us nowdays.."

"....Thank you.."

[alexanderwales]

Game Review: Factorio: Space Age (pt 2)

This is the second part of my review of Factorio: Space Age, covering the planets. This will have more spoilers than the previous section, but also include more cohesive thoughts on the expansion as a whole.

Vulcanus

Once you've built a spaceship, you have a choice of three planets to go to, and you can do them in any order you'd like. Each planet comes with its own researchable rewards, which require you to build up a base on the planet capable of making a science pack and shipping it into space (or alternately, to remake all sciences on the planet, but this is stupid and pointless given what lies further down the tech tree).

I chose Vulcanus first. There are five resources here, three of which can't be found anywhere else: coal, sulfuric acid, calcite, tungsten ore, and lava. Lava gets used to make anything having to do with copper and iron using the foundry, which is most of the things in Factorio. Sulfuric acid gets used with calcite to make water, which is one of the notable things missing from Vulcanus, along with oil. Plastic requires a long chain to make: coal liquefaction into heavy oil into light oil into petroleum into plastic. Because rockets require plastic twice (LDS and blue chips), you eventually need to set up a fairly sizeable build for this.

I didn't find any of this to be too interesting. Infinite resources are at least different, but there was nothing that fundamentally changed how I view the game, and I ended up setting up a bus with more fluids than usual, mostly making on-site plates, pipes, steel, etc. The art for it is cool, and impassable lava is at least a little constraining, but I didn't feel like it was all that great.

Tungsten ore is the main material from Vulcanus, and it's defended by the other major thing that makes the place unique, the worms. Each worm has a territory, and until you've killed your first worm, you don't have access to a tungsten ore patch, only loose scraps that have been laying around.

The worms are long and segmented, very distinct from the biters. They disable electronics with their attacks, making fountains of lava beneath you, and overall I think they're cool ... except that they're a little too easy to defeat. I set up a grid of 50 turrets with armor-piercing ammo, and that proved sufficient.

This is a boring solution. I wish it didn't work. It was the first thing I tried, and afterward I thought ... well, what was the point of that? I don't have a good solution to what you'd want to do to stop this from working, but I do think this is sort of bad design, since it's a "more dakka" solution. I've also seen that you can build a tank and take one out with a single uranium shell, which is even worse design. What I wanted was a fight were I needed to use poison capsules, land mines, strategically placed turrets, etc., some kind of mixed-asset offensive package, and what I got was fifty turrets in a stupid grid. I really do try to not be one of those players that optimizes myself out of having fun, but it's hard to motivate myself to do something the pointlessly hard way when there's something simple, easy, and foolproof.

The other thing about demolishers is that they have their own territory, and that territory never changes. This means that if you want to expand beyond a relatively modest starting patch, you need to kill them ... but unless you're going for a megabase, you don't need to kill more than three or four of them across the entire time playing the game, and since they only attack if you build in their territory, those worm encounters become like 1% of the Vulcanus experience.

I would have liked if the worm territories changed. I think it would have been cool if they fought each other for dominance over an area in a way you could capitalize on, or if they would expand into places that no one had claimed, or places a dead rival had left behind. It would have been cool to require the player to build up some do-nothing machines or other infrastructure to keep the worms back, like a sort of "build this at the edge of your territory to be in constant motion to convince the worms that it's occupied" type of thing. But instead, you just kill the worms and that's that, you never see them again unless you go hunting them. According to my end-of-game statistics, I killed 8 small demolishers and 2 medium demolishers, which was probably 5 more worms than I needed to kill, since I ended up with a lot of empty space I didn't do anything with.

So overall, Vulcanus is the weakest of the planets for me, and I think that's at least partly down to the under-use of the worms and the simplicity of the "new" mechanics.

Fulgora

Fulgora contains the ruins of a vast civilization, and there are no resources except the heavy oil between islands and the scrap that's left behind. Solar is terrible on Fulgora, but there are lightning storms at night, and lightning towers can collect it into accumulators to power your base.

Scrap gets "recycled" into a bunch of different things, and so it quickly because a nightmare of sorting things out, dealing with excess products, and turning complex materials into simple ones. There are no iron plates, those need to be recycled from iron gears. There are no copper platers, those need to be recycled from copper wire. Blue chips, which in any other circumstance need to be jealously guarded, are found in abundance.

I found this to be great fun. The challenge is certainly unique, turning the production chain on its head, but it has a nice "ramp" to it, as first you get a pile of crap, then you turn it into things, then you uncover excesses that are gumming it up, and the problems keep coming, but they usually come after you've solved some other problem.

When I started, I did a sushi belt (ed. - a sushi belt is a belt that contains multiple unsorted good, controlled by circuit conditions which allow certain limits of each item to go by, named after conveyor belt sushi restuarants), which was good enough for the short term and got me all the basic technologies, but ran into all the problems that come with a sushi belt, and switched over to a belt-based sorting system of splitters that could handle two full green belts of scrap input.

There is, for me, one big miss on Fulgora, which is that the lightning storms are basically not a challenge at all. You set up a grid of substations, each with a lightning rod, and that protects your base. You set up accumulator fields on one tip of the island, and this is a pretty boring solution. If you went to Gleba first, you can instead set up heating towers that burn the fuel you get from scrap, but this doesn't seem like it saves terribly much more space, and either way you need the lightning towers, so I'm not sure it's worth anything, and I never implemented that plan.

One of the other big challenges of Fulgora is that it's a set of islands, and there's no way to place anything on the oil sands. Additionally, there are two types of islands, one with a fair amount of space and minimal scrap, the other with tons of scrap and almost no room. In theory, this encourages a rail world, but in practice, the first island I plopped down on was the one I stayed on the entire time, and my rail network, such as it was, extended to only two of the smaller islands to guarantee all the scrap I would ever need. I think I rolled high on one of those islands: 63M scrap is a ton, but that's what I ended up with on default settings. With the drills from Vulcanus, expected output is double that, and with the legendary drills I can now produce, it would be 787M. There's simply not a need to place rails elsewhere.

I do feel that Fulgora would have benefitted from some enemies of some kind, either those that lived on the oil fields, so you'd have to build defenses on the edges of the islands, or some kind of robot enemy that you needed to kill to take islands from. Given the setup of an abandoned high-tech planet, and the electrical weapons you unlock there, it would have been nice to have some reason or chance to use them. I've definitely played Factorio scenarios with bot opponents and buildings that can be captured after the AI's defenses have been breached.

Still, the scrap sorting puzzle was a good one, with many solutions, and Fulgora was a ton of fun.

Gleba

Gleba is a swampy fungi planet. There are no conventional resources except for stone, and pretty much everything else is derived from two plants, jellynut and yamako, that get broken down.

The main mechanic of the planet is spoilage, where materials break down over time. Jellynut and yamako last for about an hour, the products you get from them are much less, a material made from both of them, bioflux, lasts a lot longer, and nutrients, which are fed to the new building, the biochamber, last hardly any time at all.

Spoilage is cool because it requires a very different mindset. Normally in Factorio, you're building up big buffers to minimize downtime. On Gleba, you want as little buffer as possible, just constant rivers of materials flowing by to be as fresh as possible, because if anything stays still for too long, there's a chance it'll spoil, which will stop the machine trying to take the ingredient, which can create a spoilage cascade.

My initial plan was to have some kind of circuit-based just-in-time system, where every machine would be monitored in order to see what ingredients it needed, and everything would be made fresh-to-order.

I ended up not doing this, mostly because demand stays relatively constant, and where it doesn't stay constant, you can just eat the spoilage costs. There's so much abundance that you really don't need to care about half your crops going to waste.

The other reason I didn't end up going with this is because unfortunately, the "river of goods" solution has essentially no complications to it, and you can simply dump everything into a recycler/incinerator at the end. In some of the Factorio overhaul mods, this concept is called "voiding", a way of dealing with byproducts, and if you make voiding easy, you essentially remove a logistical challenge, which means less gameplay. I kind of get why they made this easy, but ... I don't know. I did kind of want something that would require a big, complicated solution, a factory that dances on the edge of clogging itself up.

I ended up with a completely belt-based system, with a belt of jelly and mash, then a belt of bioflux, all nutrients made on demand, and production lines in defined blocks. The final build does 520 science/minute, which becomes 2Ks/m with full-prod biolabs, most of which goes into the trash, since it's not actually consumed all the time.

One of my favorite little puzzles of Gleba was the metals, which are produced with bacteria that spoil in a minute, becoming ore. There's a process, with bioflux, of having bacteria make more bacteria, but if the bacteria ever stop flowing (if, for example, you have enough ore), then they spoil and die, and the whole production line stops. So you need to build in a little kickstart system that will inject new bacteria if it's needed, and I found that to be delightful to work on.

The other major thing on Gleba are the enemies, which are pentapods. Pentapod eggs are necessary to make biochambers and science, but after you have one, you can set up breeding, which is dangerous given they can make more of themselves, but definitely the way to go. There are three forms of pentapod, all with their own weaknesses, and ...

Look, I went to Gleba last, but I put up a defensive wall fairly early on using only materials that I had gotten from Gleba, and then basically never had any cause to think about the pentapods again. Because I slapped this down with blueprints, it took all of ten minutes, most of which was spent fixing the kind of scuffed corners (skill issue). So I would say the amount that I actually got to experience the pentapods was pretty minimal. I also shipped in four artillery turrets that are crowded around a box of ammo, supplied by site-made shells using imported tungsten, and the circle almost entirely contains my pollution cloud, so in theory it's just an easily solved problem.

It might have been different if I had gone to Gleba first, I don't know and can't say without actually doing that, but I would have liked a little more of a challenge, and this might be where being a veteran hinders me.

Overall, I really enjoyed Gleba, the mechanics were new and unique, the little puzzles inherent in design were interesting, and I thought that overall it had the best art direction of the four planets, which is saying something, because I think they're all great on the front.

Aquilo

On every other planet, a "cold start" is possible, building up from just what you find laying around. Aquilo is different: it's a planet with ammonia oceans and some scattered liquid vents, and part of the point of it is that you need materials from outside, including anything made from iron, copper, or stone. You can't softlock on other planets, but you can softlock on Aquilo.

Aside from requiring pretty solid planetary logistics, Aquilo's main mechanic is heat. It's cold enough there that bots don't work very well, and everything has to have a heat pipe near it for it to function, including pipes and belts. To heat up a heat pipe takes either nuclear, fusion, or the heat towers that burn up fuel, and if the heat ever stops flowing, everything will seize up, requiring heroic efforts to get running again.

There's not all that much to Aquilo. You pull up slurry from the ocean, split it into ammonia and ice, use them together to make ice platforms, import concrete, and then combine oil and ammonia to make rocket fuel, which is used to both launch rockets and to toss into heating towers for power and heat to keep everything running.

The science pack is easy, though it require imported holmium plate, and my entire 200 science per minute production line was run off a tiny cluster of buildings that would have been pretty trivial to expand.

It seems to me that Aquilo is at least partly inspired by Seablock, an infamous mod where you start with almost nothing on a tiny island that you have to expand with the mineral sludge you dredge up with an offshore pump. But Seablock is a very long mod, one that typically takes hundreds of hours, and here ... well, there are a handful of challenges, and they're not all that challenging. I think I could probably list them out now.

Making ammonia also makes ice. You can void excess ice through repeated recycling, but ammonia can't be voided except by combining it with crude oil to make solid fuel, which can then be put in an incinerator. I solved this problem with a simple circuit condition.

Science and some crafting uses coolant, which must be cooled back down after use. If you just keep making coolant, eventually the system will seize up, since you won't be able to put more hot coolant into the system. But because this is a lossy cycle (you lose half the coolant) you can just hook a pump up to a tank and only inject more hot coolant into the system when below a threshold.

Outposts need their own heating for the pumps to work, and those outposts are, on default settings, quite far away. This requires setting up a self-sufficient little heating module that's either serviced by train or which runs entirely with materials found at the outpost. I ended up doing two different modules, one for oil outposts and the other for everywhere else ... but I never actually had to use them, because there were sufficient resources for tens of thousands of resources right next to the starting area.

As the "final boss", I am underwhelmed, and even as one of four planets I find myself a little underwhelmed. I don't know how much postgame stuff I'm going to do, but I can't see that there's going to be much challenge in going large on Aquilo, except that I might have to build another ship for moving in materials (as currently I have a single ship that makes a circuit of the solar system for materials and also handles shipments of science).

There is also, again, a lack of enemy. Once the rocket fuel setup was done, I had a single scare when ammonia backed up and stopped ice production, which shut down the water chem plant, which killed the turbines and stopped power to the entire base. But that didn't even freeze anything out, and it was fixed pretty easily from a restart module I'd built earlier, and after that, the ammonia issue was fixed to never have that problem again. If the cold is the enemy, it's not enough of one for my tastes.

Integration

With each planet you conquer, you get a new science pack, which opens up new technologies, and in theory you, can use them on other planets. These buildings are very powerful, and so there's some incentive to return to old factories, rip up old designs, and install new ones using the better buildings.

I did eventually do this, but I'm not sure how much I actually needed to. My furnace stacks were replaced by the foundries from Vulcanus, supplies by a hauler ship exclusively for calcite, though I did make an abortive attempt to just harvest calcite from space using a stationary space platform.

(I made four of them before giving up on the project, and found out only later that asteroid spawn rates depend on how many chunks large the ship is, so the ideal build has asteroid collectors on very long arms, and there's nothing in the game that tells you about the asteroid spawning thing, so ... whatever, it's opaque and very gamey hidden stuff, of the kind that I hate.)

I replaced my circuit production areas with the EMP, which saved vast quantities of resources and also made more circuits at a much faster rate within the same blueprint. I upgraded most belts to green.

I didn't end up using the biochambers much, in part because they need nutrients to run, and 50% prod with more module slots is great, but not so great that I wanted to set up a biter egg farm that could potentially blow up in my face.

Cryochambers just came too late for me to implement them anywhere, though I probably would if I kept playing to the megabase stage, or if I'm gunning for an achievement that requires updating Nauvis.

So I think, strangely, when considering how the planets impact each other, they ... kind of don't all that much? Yes, having foundries on Gleba means that you can make all your belts and things at a fraction of the cost, but how much doesn't that really impact anything? It meant that my ore production areas could be smaller, I guess. Is that worth anything? I kind of don't think so, if I'm considering the main gameplay to be in terms of design and decisions. Foundries saved me from having to lay down a furnace stack. EMPs saved me from having to have expansive red circuit lines to get the blue chips necessary for rocket launches.

Ideally, I would have liked one or two killer techs that mostly work through combining each planet's "thing". Like imagine that there was a combination recycler and foundry that melted down whatever was put into it, giving you molten copper and iron in exchange, creating a whole new kind of problem in exchange for ... I don't know, much much faster recycling, or less loss from recycling, or maybe a recipe that allowed true voiding. Or if you went to Gleba and then Vulcanus, and were able to bring biochambers that would allow the cultivation of some new specimen specific to that environment, maybe something that would allow better plastic production, or could pull water out of the air, both of which are kind of a pain in the ass on Vulcanus. Couldn't there be some kind of new bacteria swimming in the oil sands of Fulgora? Not something that would trivialize any challenge, something that would be a reward for having two flavors of research from two different planets. Ideally, there'd be six of these in total, allowing for each pair to benefit each other pair, but at that point I start to feel like I'm just asking for new content.

I cracked my game back open to check the tech tree, and all the Aquilo techs require all three planets. The are two techs that require mixed packs: Rail Support Foundations, which simplify rails for Fulgora, and Railgun Damage, which increases the power of the railgun. That's it. This screams missed opportunity to me.

So in terms of how the planets and their mechanics interact with each other ... I would say that they mostly don't, which is a bit of a shame. The biochamber in particular requires nutrients, which makes it effectively unusable on Vulcanus and Fulgora ... unless you're shipping in heroic quantities of bioflux, I guess, though I don't think that I could ever see myself doing that. I guess maybe on Vulcanus, which has the aforementioned plastics problem? But it feels like the kind of thing that would mostly be done for a stunt rather than because it was actually the right thing to do. And potentially on Nauvis, but it does seem like a megabase thing to do, rather than normal play. I will have to do the math, this too might be a skill issue.

(Real quick: 1 Bioflux makes 8 nutrients in a standard biochamber, which is 12 with prod, which is 24 MJ. A biochamber consumes 500kW, so with no spoilage nutrients allow 2 crafts of the 2 second oil cracking recipes, which means that every Bioflux can, at most, turn 960 heavy oil into 1080 light oil rather than the 720 light oil it would normally crack into. But obviously since the Bioflux has to be shipped in, it ends up being less than that. This is obviously more effective than shipping over oil itself, but ... man, I don't know, this seems very weak, even with adding in productivity to other steps. I guess the use case in Nauvis, where you're in theory shipping Bioflux anyway in order to feed captive biters, but that's still premised on an oil shortage that I never actually experienced.)

I do also want to say that quality had very little impact on my play. I tended to carry around some high quality quality modules and use them when crafting infrastructure, but in most cases it just wasn't much to write home about. It's most important for the ships, and for personal stuff, but it never felt that important.

And finally, I do want to give a shoutout to how easy and effective remote viewing was. One of the things I'm going to eventually do, after a Factorio break, is the 40 hour achievement run, and I have to imagine that a lot of that is just landing on a planet, doing the unlocks, building a rocket to get back, then having starter bots do all the actual base building for me, which is pretty cool.

Conclusion

Space Age took me about 140 hours, and I would say that about 10 of that was idle time while I was waiting for legendary ship parts or for a buildup of materials. The Jacknape-class ships have an issue with ammo production where they can more or less keep up with rockets, but the belt buffer goes from the front of the ship to the back, meaning that it empties from where it's needed most, rather than emptying where it's needed least, and yeah, having a fully stacked buffer takes a hot minute of waiting. Similarly, the quality module I made works over sufficient time scales, but especially while waiting on quality quality modules, there's a real temptation to just leave it running rather than actively playing.

130 hours for a veteran player is a long time for an expansion, much longer than I would have expected, even knowing what I knew about the expansion going in. Some of that time I don't count as expansion time, like all the parts where I was just doing normal Factorio stuff, and I did end up building adapted malls on each of the planets, which added on more time that could have been cut out by making an effective blueprint the first go-around, and which I don't really count as expansion time, because there's not much that's unique about making the new malls. But even if I'm arbitrarily cutting things out, that's still a ton of time.

Overall, I'm extremely happy with it, and I think I'll be more happy with it once there's another round of iteration, QoL, changes based on feedback, and modding. The modding scene for Factorio is really really good, and I have to imagine that the expansion is only going to make it better, particularly some of the changes that were made to implementation.

But I do think that it could have been more, and maybe this is just coming from a guy with more than a thousand hours in this game and multiple overhaul mods under his belt. It's very possible I would have had a better time with it if I'd chosen a higher difficulty, though of course that's very hard to know ahead of time. Certainly there were some design misses for me, and at least some of that is because I have enough experience that I can fix things with circuitry, plan a base that doesn't immediately become spaghetti, and see the deadlocks coming. I'm not saying that it wasn't hard, because parts of it certainly were, and I'm not saying that I made a bunch of perfect bases with no major flaws, because there were designs that needed to be ripped out and belts that needed to squeak through. But I think I would have preferred more complexity, more problems, more more more, and I'll have to hope that mods can give it to me.

All that said, this is the best expansion I've ever played, they put a ton of work into making sure that every planet was truly different from the others artistically and mechanically, and it's a 10/10 from me.

(I do plan on getting all achievements ... eventually. The "win in 40 hour" achievement seems very doable, and that's the hardest of the lot, though the others might take some significant time. It took me multiple years to finally getting around to doing the last green chip achievement, so I'm in no rush.)

[theragethatisdesire]

CONGRATS ON THE 1K DKFJSKDJF

can i get levi with the stay with me tonight prompt o.o (#8 i think :3)

HEY KAT HEY!!!! thank you so much jdkfaljdl i remember when you hit 1k and i was just so immensely proud of you and so happy to be moots and i still am!!! so thrilled to see you here<333

yeah you absoLUTELY can you are officially the first person to get me to write a levi drabble/fic and ofc it would be you that pulls it out of me

-

Reluctantly, you sit up, grimacing slightly at the scratch of the Survey Corp-issued sheets against your bare, oversensitive skin, at the ache deep in your bones and beneath your legs from a long day of training and a long night with him.

He's your Captain, you're his subordinate. It's inappropriate beyond measure, could easily ruin his career, but at this rate, you're not sure who needs this arrangement more. You aren't sure when it started, whether that be during sparring practice, pinned underneath him in full view of your comrades, on those long missions outside the walls watching each other be illuminated by a campfire, the one time you snapped back at him to the chagrin of everyone else around.

It started at some point, but you only know where it ended up, with you continuously sneaking out of your barracks and into his private captain's quarters, sliding beneath the sheets and letting him work sounds out of you that would make a prostitute blush.

You jump at the light pressure of a hand on your spine, not pressing, but a feather-light touch.

"What time is it?" Levi grumbles in that tousled, unbuttoned tone he gets only in moments like these. You relish it, love that for now, that voice is only for you, not for anyone else.

"Close to 1:00," you answer, eyes flicking over to the clock on the wall, "long day tomorrow?"

"Moreso for you than me," Levi props up on his elbows, and you make the mistake of turning over your shoulder to look at him, look at the way his muscles ripple under porcelain skin.

Your eyes draw to a particular scar on his ribs, the one you had hesitantly asked about on your first night together, the one you now know makes him shudder if you run your tongue over it. You avert your eyes instantly when a slow throb starts to build between your legs, despite the wreckage that already lies there.

"Why is that?"

"ODM review," Levi's eyes soften ever so slightly, an apology, "I have meetings with the Commander most of the day, so I need you and the squad to head over to the training area and teach the cadets how to check their ODM gear properly. There's been too many close calls during their training. Commander Erwin suspects that they weren't properly taught how to check their gear before heading up."

You groan, rubbing at your tired eyes. "I wish you would have told me that before I came over here. I'm exhausted."

"I'm sorry," Levi's voice is quiet, a little wounded. You can only sigh, knowing that trying to assure him that it was worth it, that you'd go weeks without sleep, without food, if it meant you could lay here with him only a few hours longer is fruitless.

"It's okay," you find yourself leaning over, pressing a tender kiss to his cheek. It shocks both of you, you pulling back with wide eyes, a blush rising to the tips of Levi's ears. "Um, okay, well...I'll head out then. Sounds like we both need the rest."

Levi's lips tighten into a thin line, and he nods curtly. This is the pitfall of your arrangement with the Captain; eventually, the sun has to rise, and the moment has to be end. With certain death looming over your shoulder at the start of each day, you don't have the guts to tell him how you really feel, that it's all so much more than a stress-relieving hookup for you, especially when you doubt the Captain feels that way for you in return.

You slide out of his sheets, feeling incredibly exposed, and scrounge around on the floor for your uniform. Just as you're sliding the unbelievably un-sexy standard-issued underwear over your legs, Levi speaks again, rattles you to your core.

"Wait."

"Wait?" You turn to him, nose scrunched in confusion. Levi's eyes flit around the room, searching for anything that isn't your confused, naked form.

"Stay with me tonight." Even his posture as he says it is anxious, uncomfortable in a way you've never seen.

"Stay with you," you repeat slowly, "here?"

"Yes, here," Levi can't help but roll his eyes, "you need to catch up on your sleep. I wake up before everyone else on base, I can make sure you get back to your quarters without being seen. Stay with me."

"Why do you say it like it's an order?" You're stunned initially, your surprise eventually winding down into suspicion.

"You don't have to, I just- I- I want you to. Get some rest, I mean." Levi's face is hard, but his eyes are pleading. That same little flush is rising from his cheeks to his ears, betraying him. You raise an eyebrow at your Captain, trying to shove off the prickly, exciting feeling erupting all over your body.

"Okay."

"Okay?" Levi eyes you, eyebrows lifting in just the smallest admission of astonishment.

"I'll stay with you," you let your underwear fall back down your legs, clamber back into the bed with him, "for tonight."

Levi lets an arm fall around your waist, curls his body around yours, makes you shiver at the intimate nature of your position together. Just as your eyes begin to flutter closed, you feel the lightest little kiss on the nape of your neck.

[unscryptedscribbles]

Posting this on main in hopes someone sees this and spreads the word, because I think it's important.

I just got an ad on Youtube, for what seems like a legitimate documentary, published by Epoch TV. It's a docudrama.

The ad topic? "Transgenderism". The trailer for this documentary presents the "Transgender Movement" as an agenda created by social media, corporations, the government, social media, etc. as a means to create a division between Parents and their Children.

This advertisement, EXPLICITLY says that. It says "They're turning our children against us [parents]". It says "'You should let your child transition. Or else their chance of suicide increases.' Therapists are trained to say that."

This so-called truth-revealing documentary presents the "Transgender Movement" as a war against Parents. It is FEAR MONGERING and MISINFORMATION. It is TRANSPHOBIA.

It's blatant lies if you're educated enough about trans people. It's not blatant lies if you're uneducated about trans people. It's an advertisement directed at anyone who isn't educated about trans people, who don't have the time, or energy, or education to look up real research studies.

It's an ADVERTISEMENT, directed at PARENTS. On YouTube. YOUTUBE. This is an advertisement I got on a video that was an anime song quiz. Anyone can get this ad.

Really YouTube? You're going to force everyone to stop using adblock, and then play this shit? This passed your advertisement standards?

This is what the website looks like. There is an embedded trailer if you scroll down.

Beneath the trailer, there are 14 featured guests. Most of them are labeled as anti-trans activists or "investigating the roots of the transgender movement", or something similar, on a quick google search. They have "patriotic", conservative, and/or religious beliefs.

Beneath that, there are three reviews.

All three of these reviewers are in the movie. And profiting from the movie.

Pamela Garfield is a known anti-vaccination, anti-trans activist. More information can be found at this link.

Walt Heyer is a detransitioner. I do not know much about him other than the fact that he is also an anti-trans activist. More information can be found at this link.

I'm fucking pissed about this. There is already a lack of media literacy. There is already a lack of critical thinking skills, fact checking, etc.. There is already enough hate towards trans people.

It should be ILLEGAL to present your propaganda as fact and scientific research. It should be ILLEGAL to intentionally spread misinformation, advertised not only as "the real truth" , but also using it as a means to make money. It costs you $5 to watch the documentary. That is evil, preying on people who are uneducated or who won't google a researched statistic, and then manipulating them to parrot your beliefs.

[brenayla]

I really enjoyed your Midnight piece! Can I request more of Julie’s perspective, especially as mulder and Scully’s relationship evolves into romantic, a baby, etc.? Idk how far you’d be willing to follow them, but I really enjoyed it and would definitely tune in to see this perspective all the way thru post-revival even

hi! thanks for tuning in. sorry this took a bit.

---

Little Amber Lynn’s mama will only speak to Mulder.

In the second floor bedroom, Julie watches him take her statement from a distance, hyper-aware that Scully is lurking somewhere beneath their feet.

To say that he inspires trust would not be completely accurate. He wraps a silk hand around your neck, looks at you with his black hole eyes, and compels information from the back of your throat.

They inspire admiration, even from those that try to cover it up with silly nicknames.

They inspire a dread like anaphylaxis settling in.

Even Skinner seems to feel it today, having apparently done something to piss off Scully. As everyone mills around outside the house, preparing to head out, she snaps with staticky irritability.

Now, Julie is no gossip but she finds herself eavesdropping on them, pretending to review her notes as she waits for her carpool. She has always held a curiosity for Skinner.

“Did you get the keys?” Scully asks.

“Yes.” Skinner offers her two sets, each dangling with the evergreen motel tag that’s looped onto Julie's own room keys.

In Julie’s peripheral vision, Scully stares down their boss and swipes one set of keys from his hand. She turns and crisply walks to her car in a swarm of black ice shards, dripping liquid mercury.

That is one mystery solved; a drop in the ocean.

Quietly, Skinner slips the leftover set into his pocket.

Mulder turns up in the Oregonian woods, smack dab in the middle of a crater that didn’t used to be there. At least that’s what Skinner tells Julie when he calls.

It all sounds like something that is not her problem but she’s smarter than to word it like that. “I’m sorry, Sir,” she tries instead, “but has a crime been committed?”

“It’s violent, Agent,” he snaps. “Get your ass on a plane.”

Julie does.

With white gloved fingers, she collects the burnt tatters of Mulder’s old clothes into evidence bags. When she goes to see him in the hospital, he is bright and freezer cold. There is not a scratch on his incandescent skin.

She is here, too. Suited up, thousand-watt Scully. She runs her crystalline talons through Mulder’s hair under the guise of checking for injuries and Julie has to turn away for air.

“What’s the last thing you remember?” Julie asks him, Scully looming in the doorway and picking at Julie’s training to scan for an alternative exit.

“You mean before I woke up in the woods in my birthday suit?” Mulder asks.

“Yes,” Julie says, her hindbrain blaring at her to turn around, there’s something behind you. “Before that.”

“Aside from the ship and damn near getting abducted, not much. Skinner can confirm that, he was there.”

Julie relents and glances to the doorway, but it’s just Scully. Arms crossed, masked up.

“Scully,” Mulder says, and she reluctantly steps out into the hallway, halving the clamor of Julie’s fight-or-flight.

It has been years since she interacted with one of them without the other; she’d almost forgotten that they are more palatable alone.

“Sorry about that.” Mulder gives a playful smile, showing off iridescent teeth. For a flash, his fangs drip with ripe cherry blood. Julie blinks. “She’s a little on edge,” he explains.

She wants to lean in; she wants to run away.

“Agent Mulder. How did that crater get there?”

Mulder lies to her. “I don’t know.”

It’s been an exhausting fall and Julie has already attended far too many of these obligatory charity events. American flag pins abound; teary late night talk show hosts. There is a curdling thirst for vengeance in Congress and a frenetic unease in the public.

She and Kramer camp out near the snack table, gorging themselves on free candy to make up for skipping lunch.

“Am I going to Hell if I say I’m getting tired of these?” Kramer asks, setting his carefully folded KitKat wrapper down. It springs back into its old form.

“If you do, I’ll be down there with you.” She watches him reach for a Snickers.

He continues quietly, tearing off a neat slice of flag-colored foil. “I just– There’s only so many times I can listen to these speakers. I get that it’s…”

Over his shoulder, she spots Skinner and – yes, it is him; they are easier to tell apart once they start speaking – Mulder in a black dress shirt, a baby strapped to his chest.

“…but it’s fucking depressing, and–”

“Hey,” Julie whispers. “Your favorite former coworker is here.”

Mouth sticky with caramel and nougat, Kramer asks, “Huh?”

She tilts her head towards Mulder; she cannot look at him for too long, having gone soft from lack of exposure to them. He’s giving her blue and purple echoes, like she’s been staring at the sun.

“Oh yeah, I saw Scully earlier with the…,” Kramer says, gesturing to his torso where a BabyBjorn would sit.

Ah but are you sure it was Scully?

Quickly moving on, Kramer says, “I didn’t think he was so progressive.”

“What did you think then? Scully, barefoot and pregnant?”

He nods thoughtfully, conceding. “I guess you got a point there.”

Julie digs into the sweets bowl until she finds a rare leftover KitKat. “Did you see their kid?”

“Yeah,” Kramer says, popping the rest of his Snickers into his mouth. “Little boy.”

She holds back her real question. They still dance around this, like verbalizing it would make it Real.

But did you see his face?

[bluecloudsandpinksnow]

strawberry milk (akabane karma x reader)

summary:

He likes it. It’s his favorite brand and you are so good at this ‘communicating’ thing. You’re pretty sure Karma said something after that, but currently, you are on cloud nine and you can barely process the words over your feelings of success.

You would have fist pumped and yelled ‘sublime’ too, had he not waved a hand in front of your face in concern.

“Hey, are you okay? You’re acting kinda- weird?”

Okay, you did not respond fast enough, what did he even say before that? You shake your head and prepare the fastest, most soundproof response you can muster.

“Sorry, I fell down the stairs this morning.” fandom: Assassination Classroom by Yûsei Matsui pairing: akabane karma x gender-neutral! reader warnings: none, unless you count second hand embarrassment notes: - cross posted on ao3 under the same name - first fic ever posted for me, i have more plans n drafts for this universe already but that depends on my motivation lmao - i hope you have as much fun reading as i had writing --- START ---

Mustering up the last bits of courage you can, you pull the two tetra packs from your bag and abruptly stand up.

Unfortunately for you, your chair screeches against the floorboard from the force, and all of your classmates look in your direction.

You could feel the heat creeping up your neck as you quietly mutter out an apology. Thankfully, no one makes a big issue of your disruption and they all return to their own activities.

Now to face the daunting task that’s been plaguing your mind ever since this morning at the train station, where your whimsical decision-making had you convinced that you should totally, definitely, get something for Karma.

You briskly walk across the room, over to where the aforementioned red-headed boy was conversing with Nagisa about some topic you couldn’t process at the moment.

All you want to do is to get to know him better, that’s it. No underlying motives, whatsoever.

“Hey, this is for you.”

You shoved the strawberry milk carton into his hand. A flash of innocent confusion crosses Karma’s face, and you almost let yourself think about how cute of a look it was for someone like him. Before you get to entertain that preposterous thought, he tilts his head in amusement, waiting for an explanation.

“So, uhm- The vending machine! I got lucky, cause it, uhm- it broke, so I got two instead of one- Not that it’s lucky that it broke of course! That’s bad, that has some very bad implications. Uh, you know?” you wave your hands around in an attempt to explain, gesturing to your milk carton as if it would suddenly start talking in your defense.

From the corner of your eye, you see Nagisa giving you a sympathetic smile before grabbing his notebook and gesturing to Karma of his intent to review for the next class.

You were thankful at first, until the realization sunk in that you now have to explain yourself to Karma.

Alone.

No verbal or social support from your peers.

This will be fine. You convince yourself this before the urge to backflip out of the classroom window can overtake you.

“Thanks, I guess? Why the sudden gift, you like me or something?” He teases, because of course he does, and now you have to come up with the reply or he will know that you lied about the vending machine and that there’s some dubious reason as to why you got two strawberry milk cartons that just so happen to be his favorite brand.

Karma cannot know. He absolutely cannot.

“Huh? Psh! Of course not, I just wanted to thank you for helping me last week, you know? Math isn’t my strongest subject and I- what you told me, that shortcut? It just- it’s cool! It really helped me and I felt like I had to thank you. Yeah?” you ramble, and a part of you wishes the ground would collapse beneath your feet just so you could escape this tragedy of a conversation.

You stare awkwardly at Karma, anticipating his response. You swear he looks like he wants to ask what on earth is wrong with you, but maybe it’s just the nerves.

He shrugs, “No biggie. You didn’t need to go through the effort of buying me something just for that one tip.”

He hates it. He thinks you’re weird and over the top. It’s time for you to exile yourself.

“Thanks, though. How’d you know I like this brand anyway?”

He likes it. It’s his favorite brand and you are so good at this ‘communicating’ thing. You’re pretty sure Karma said something after that, but currently, you are on cloud nine and you can barely process the words over your feelings of success.

You would have fist pumped and yelled ‘sublime’ too, had he not waved a hand in front of your face in concern.

“Hey, are you okay? You’re acting kinda- weird?”

Okay, you did not respond fast enough, what did he even say before that? You shake your head and prepare the fastest, most soundproof response you can muster.

“Sorry, I fell down the stairs this morning.”

‘WHO SAYS THAT? WHY DID I SAY THAT?’

You need to pass out right now. Maybe if he thinks you have a concussion you can still salvage your reputation in his eyes. Karma’s eyes widen in concern and you can’t help the butterflies ricocheting in your gut.

“Woah, maybe you should go have that checked with the nurse? I can take you there, I wanna skip class anyway.”

In normal circumstances, you would have reprimanded him for even suggesting that he skip classes and use you as a reason. However, now it is different. Now it is very different when you feel these very dreadful, un-platonic feelings for the redhead.

‘Calm down butterflies, he just suggested a friendly gesture of good, normal, regular, concern.’ You reassure yourself, because if you don’t, you might just blast off into the stratosphere like you were Koro-sensei being complimented by a pretty barista lady.

Karma puts his hand on your shoulder.

‘ÆÆÆÆÆÆÆÆÆÆÆÆÆÆÆ'

You imagine swatting away the butterflies to keep yourself sane, and you try your best to collect an actual, reasonable response this time.

“No, no, it’s fine. Thanks for the concern. A lot of things just happened today, and I’m just a bit overwhelmed. I’m sorry if I’m acting strange.” you speak slower than you did prior, and you find yourself more composed.

Well, as composed as you can be considering Karma still has his hand on your shoulder. You bow your head in shame, not being able to meet his eyes.

He scoffs in amusement, “Hey, don’t worry about it, and really, thanks for the strawberry milk.”

You look up at him and sigh in relief, thankful that he doesn’t think you’re completely insane. He gives your shoulder another pat before moving his hand off to pry the straw from the back of his tetra pack.

“No problem! Thanks again too, for helping me last week.”

A big part of you is relieved that he took his hand off of your shoulder so your heart rate could normalize itself, but a tinier, more delusional part of your brain feels disappointed that he had to pull his hand away at all.

You move to turn and walk away, but Karma speaks again.

“Hey, if you’re still feeling overwhelmed, you can always skip class with me. We can just tell Koro-sensei you weren’t feeling well.” he offers, and it takes every ounce of sense in you to not just accept it then and there. Especially not when you meet his eyes and see them light up with mischief.

You have to be reasonable. Doing so just to entertain your silly little infatuation would disappoint Koro-sensei and tarnish your good record. You can find more excuses to spend time with him without breaking the school rules.

“No thank you, it’s okay. I think I’ll just go to the bathroom and wash my face. I appreciate the concern though.” You nod your head and flash Karma a light smile, to which he shrugs and moves to sit at his desk, drinking the strawberry milk you gave him.

You move to make your way out of the classroom, and you see Nakamura smirk at you. She was probably watching you make a fool out of yourself in front of Karma, and you know for a fact she will tease you about that horrid display of human interaction later. You squint your eyes at her, daring her to laugh or say something, to which she just smiles at you wider and you swear you can see devil horns form on her head.

Nakamura held her phone up while you were walking past. You gape slightly in frustration as you realize what she had shown you.

She had recorded your god awful attempt at giving Karma the strawberry milk. There was physical evidence of it for others to witness.

The worst part? There was physical evidence of it for Koro-sensei to witness.

You quickly stomp into the bathroom and turn on the sink, shoving your face into your hands before you let out an exasperated groan.

There was no living this down for you.

You just hoped Karma wouldn’t take the news so harshly if he found out.

---END---

Thanks for reading! :DDD

[azure-firecracker]

X-Files Masterpost

This post will be a central location where y’all can locate all of the X-Files content I make on this blog. Hopefully it makes it easier for things to be found! The goal is to update semi-regularly, but it will not always be 100% up to date. Also bear in mind that I am a first-time watcher, so please refer to my most recent posts if you want to know where I am in the show. I hope this is helpful!

My favorite thing about this fandom is how friendly y’all are, so please feel free to come to me with questions about any of my TXF stuff, fic or meta requests, random asks, or anything at all:)

My X-Files Fanfic

I have a general rule of not replying to comments for mental health reasons, but if you read these, know that I cherish every single comment and they often make my day, so please consider commenting if you enjoy:)

Beneath the Ice, Beneath My Skin (Teen and Up, 9,984 words): My first fic! An alternate version of Ice where Mulder is actually infected by the parasites. Paranoia and tension ensue!

Flight and Sanctuary (Teen and Up, 6,656 words): Scully and Mulder deal with the aftermath of Irresistible. Lots of angst, lots of worry, lots of hurt/comfort. As of the creation of this post, this is my most popular fic.

(And FANART! By @scullysmywife ! Yippee!)

Salvation (Teen and Up, 7,599 words): Mulder’s perspective during his missing scenes in The Erlenmeyer Flask, followed by how he and Scully cope with the trauma. Very angsty featuring some torture. 2 chapters: one during the episode, one after. The chapters can be read individually or together.

Save Me from the Fire (Teen and Up, 5,672 words): An alternate version of Our Town where Mulder and Scully switch places. Very tense, but also very heartfelt and tender (I hope). A personal favorite of mine.

And FANART❤️❤️❤️ by @scullysmywife

Piece Me Together (General Audiences, 3,147 words): Scully takes care of Mulder post-731. Introspection and moments of extreme proximity ensue. Probably the most introspection-heavy fic I’ve written.

Caught on Tape (Teen and Up, 4,044 words): Scully finds tapes that Mulder made for her while she was abducted. Very emotional, almost pure angst with a bittersweet ending.

I Hate All of My Habits, But I Happen to Love You (General Audiences, 5,066 Words): A series of vignettes depicting Mulder’s internal monologue throughout some pivotal/my favorite MSR moments, as he slowly realizes he’s falling in love. This fic was a birthday present to myself:)

Raise Your Voices (Teen and Up, WIP): My ongoing multi-chapter fic in which Mulder and Scully go undercover in a community choir. Set in Season 2, featuring lots of fluff, humor, angst, hurt/comfort, and little tidbits about folk music from all corners of the world.

(And FANART! By the amazing @scullysmywife !)

Fic Rec Roundup (Seasons 1-3): Favorite fics I’ve read.

My Season Reviews

Season 1

Season 2

Season 3

Season 4

Individual Episode Takes

Deep Throat

Ice

Beyond the Sea

Irresistible

End Game

Anasazi

Syzygy

Wetwired

Memento Mori

Small Potatoes

Demons

Meta

Mulder + Scully + Saving Each Other

Intelligence Comparison

Mulder + Scully + Needing Saving

Season 2 Abduction Arc

The Problem with Season 2

Conversation on the Rock

What they Need to Hear: Irresistible vs. Teliko

Bringing Him Back to Life

MSR + Truth and Lies

Playlists

Mulder

Scully

Me Ranting About The Mulder and Scully Playlists (Not a Playlist)

TXF x Songs

MSR x Gracie Abrams Songs

MSR x Billie Eilish

Miscellaneous

Mulder + Scully being lousy at their jobs ( +Addendum)

Acknowledging Scully + Mulder’s good agent-ing in Season 1

Fanfiction Writers Made TXF

Why I love MSR

X-Files Episode Locations Game

My Camp Roommate’s Reaction to TXF

Criticizing the Score (+ Accompanying Meme)

Scully the “Rational One”

X-Files Ask Game

Pet Headcanons!

Holiday Headcanons

[ash-and-books]

Rating: 5/5

Book Blurb: A girl with dangerous magic makes a risky bargain with a demon to be free of her monstrous power in this young adult fantasy perfect for fans of An Enchantment of Ravens and House of Salt and Sorrows.

Liska knows that magic is monstrous, and its practitioners are monsters. She has done everything possible to suppress her own magic, to disastrous consequences. Desperate to be free of it, Liska flees her small village and delves into the dangerous, demon-inhabited spirit-wood to steal a mythical fern flower. If she plucks it, she can use its one wish to banish her powers. Everyone who has sought the fern flower has fallen prey to unknown horrors, so when Liska is caught by the demon warden of the wood—called The Leszy—a bargain seems better than death: one year of servitude in exchange for the fern flower and its wish.

Whisked away to The Leszy’s crumbling manor, Liska soon makes an unsettling discovery: she is not the first person to strike this bargain, and all her predecessors have mysteriously vanished. If Liska wants to survive the year and return home, she must unravel her taciturn host’s spool of secrets and face the ghosts—figurative and literal—of his past. Because something wakes in the woods, something deadly and without mercy. It frightens even The Leszy…and cannot be defeated unless Liska embraces the monster she’s always feared becoming.

Review:

Howl's Moving Castle mixed in with Polish mythology and so much more. This was a gorgeous story filled with magic, romance, dangerous monsters, and deals with demons and old gods. Liska is a girl cursed with uncontrollable magic, every time she lets it out someone ends up hurt... or dead. In an attempt to finally get rid of it she decides to wander into the woods to make a deal with a demon. But deals with demons always comes with a cost... so when she meets the Guardian of the Woods, Leszy, he asks for one year of her servitude in exchange for her magic. For one year she will live in his manor and work under him and to her surprise he even begins to train her as his apprentice. One year should go by right? For a village girl shunned by everyone in town for being a "witch" Liska strangely begins to feel like she has found a home for herself with this strange demon and his sentient house and talking cat. Liska and Leszy are polar opposites, she is sunshine while he is darkness, she is a curious and open while he has so many guarded secrets. Yet Liska finds herself drawn to his secrets and his past, trying to figure out why he wants her magic and what happened to the previous apprentice who lived her as well as why a mysterious ghost dog keeps haunting her at night. Liska discovers more than she could ever imagine about the demon boy she lives with and that beneath his gruff exterior lies a boy who is cursed. Liska discovers that Leszya got his power from a deal with a powerful demon himself and that he gave his heart up... yet if she wants to save the boy she has begun to fall for she'll have to break his curse and save his heart before it's too late. This was an absolutely fantastic and stunning read, I adored this book so much, It's such a perfect read for fans of Howl's Moving Castle and Uprooted, it's got a great world and the relationships between the characters was absolutely perfect. My only thing is I wish there was a bonus chapter or a bit of an extended epilogue so I could see more of Liska and Leszy together again after everything. I just wanted one more happy scene for them after everything they went through so badly because I love them so much. I seriously loved this book and can't wait to recommend it!

*Thanks Netgalley and Simon and Schuster Children's Publishing, Margaret K. McElderry Books for sending me an arc in exchange for an honest review*

[stromuprisahat]

TW RAPE MENTION AND NAZI IMAGERY

What I would have done with Fjerda instead of Helnik(scornful): we start on a smiling blond-haired blue-eyed family man, let's call him Alfred, who kissed his wife and children good morning and was the picture of classic paterfamilias at the breakfast table. He leaves to his 'lumber mill' management job. He gathers his workers, has morning prayers, and enters his office where he reviews paperwork on today's fresh 'logs'. He goes to the collection room, picks out a young blond Grisha for himself before telling his men what to do with the rest.

After the deed is done he continues working, observing a room of emaciated Fabrikators working on a tank. We see one guard nudge a skeletal young woman slumped over her table, declare her dead and carts her away to the incinerator. He comes home, kisses his wife and hugs his children and goes to sleep soundly.

The horrific is routine.

That's too obviously Nazi. Better to keep it in hints and put a lovely romance that will miraculously fix him.

Or outright describe drugging breeding factory, and pretend killing some of their staff and showing the victims to inhabitants of nearby town will earn a wave or righteous indignation for their sake and turn the population into Jew Grisha worshippers of Living Saints.

A girl who couldn’t be more than sixteen was being walked up and down the length of the corridor by a Springmaiden. Her feet were bare and she wore a light gray gown that stretched over her jutting belly. “I can’t,” she moaned. She looked unspeakably frail, the thrust of her stomach at odds with the sharp knobs and angles of her bones. “You can,” said the Springmaiden, her voice firm as she led the girl by her elbow. “She needs to eat,” said another of the women from the convent. “Skipped her breakfast.” The Springmaiden tsked. “You know you aren’t to do that.” “I’m not hungry,” panted the girl between heavy breaths. “We can either walk to help the baby come or I can sit you down for some semla. The sugar will give you energy during the birth.” The girl began to cry. “I don’t need sugar. You know what I need.” A tremor passed through Nina as understanding came. She recognized that desperation, that deep hunger that sank its teeth into you until all you were was wanting. She knew the need that turned everything you’d ever cared for—friends, food, love—to ash, until all you could remember of yourself was the desire for the drug. The wasted body, the dark hollows beneath her eyes—this girl was addicted to parem. And that meant she must be Grisha. Nina peered down the row of beds at the women and girls. The youngest looked to be about fifteen, the oldest might have been in her thirties, but the ravages of the drug made it hard to tell. Some cradled small bumps beneath their thin blankets, others hunched over high, protruding stomachs. A few might not have been pregnant—or might not have been showing yet.

King of Scars- Chapter 18

Just don't kill the guy behind all this no matter how many chances you'll get, because he's your new LI's daddy, and he DOES love his child (as long as he doesn't know they're Grisha too).

Save some mercy for my people my ass. Dying wish or not, it shouldn't extend to the likes of Jarl Brum.

[melodygatesauthor]

The Dark Side of the Moon - Chapter 5: Losing Control

Vampire Marc Spector X f!Reader

Beta Read by @xbellaxcarolinax - Masterlist - AO3

Chapter Summary

About a week after Ammit's departure, Marc learns that Khonshu has been invited now to see Ammit in the mountains. His desire for you grows.

Tags/Warnings (for entire fic)

Major Tags/Warnings Major Character Death - Non-con - Dub-con - Violence Minor Tags/Warnings NSFW, smut, Khonshu is human turned vampire, Ammit is human turned vampire, sex with characters other than the main pairing (Marc X f!Unnamed Character - Khonshu X f!Reader), p in v creampie, furniture grinding, scent kink, blood kink, vampire/human relationship, blood drinking, rough sex, oral sex, coming untouched, coming in pants, panty sniffing, angst, fluff, smut, forbidden relationship, secret relationship, possessiveness, obsessiveness, Marc does NOT have DID Dead Dove Do Not Eat - This means that what you see in the tags is what you get in the fic. If you read the tags and see "non-con" and then see non-con in the fic, don't be surprised!

Word Count: 3.1k

Marc brought your panties back to you that same night while you slept soundly. He’d left without a word because he didn’t want to make things more intimate than they already were. He didn’t even know you, and he already wanted you so badly. He breathed deeply while trying to imagine…what if he actually cared about you on a personal level?

He didn’t…but what if he did?

There was no way he’d be able to just sit idly by and watch while another man drank your blood, and touched you the way Khonshu did. In the week following that night, Marc made a point to avoid going to your room. It was far too risky, and Khonshu was keeping a closer eye on things ever since Ammit had taken her leave. It was obvious his master was suspicious, so it was best he kept a healthy distance from you.

Marc thought he would never know the nature of Ammit’s visit until Khonshu called both he and Arthur to his study to meet. The only reason he looked forward to seeing Khonshu anymore was because you were often there at his side, but not this time. Marc felt a pit in his stomach when you weren’t there. The only time he got to see you was when you were with him. He was determined to avoid going to your room again…ever again.

“Looking for something, Marc?” Khonshu teased, knowing exactly why Marc’s eyes were scanning around the room, as though he might see you hiding behind a curtain or perhaps you might pop out from beneath the desk.

“No, sir. Just making sure the room is secure,” he lied, watching Khonshu to see if he bought it.

If he didn’t buy it, he wasn’t making it obvious. Khonshu sighed, looking between his two knights, crossing his arms over his broad chest. He had that smug look splayed over his face while he looked them both over. Marc’s stomach turned, knowing what this look meant. Their master was plotting something.

“Ammit has invited us to her home in the mountains to discuss her plans with the upcoming annual cattle auction, and to review our peace treaty,” he scoffed, “she thinks I don’t know her true intentions.”

“Why didn’t you two discuss this when she was just here?” Marc asked, not keen on the thought of walking into the lion’s den to discuss something so trivial.

The other part of Marc, the selfish part, didn’t know if Khonshu intended to leave you here while they traversed into the mountains. If that were the case Marc didn’t know when he might see you again, and despite himself, he couldn’t bear that thought. What was he thinking? He’d only known you a few weeks and he was in a chokehold by your scent, your body, and everything that made you…you.

Dumbass, he thought to himself.

“Does it matter? Do you have duties other than serving me to keep you busy, Marc?” Khonshu looked at him with his brow furrowed in aggravation.

For fear of his fate should he continue questioning his master, Marc took a deep breath and nodded.

“Sorry I was just wondering, it could be a trap,” he proposed, trying to think of a more logical reason than his emotions to keep them in Khonshu’s mansion.

“I’ve already considered that,” Khonshu retorted.

“That’s why I’ll stay behind, Marc. You and Khonshu can go to Ammit, and I’ll keep an eye on things here,” Harrow explained with more attitude than was probably necessary.

Marc couldn’t continue protesting without looking suspicious, so he nodded, accepting defeat. Khonshu sighed, running a hand through his black locks, sauntering to the window to stare out at the moonlit bay. His face looked calm while he took in the view, and for a moment Marc wondered about Khonshu’s past. He didn’t know the man well, not on a personal level anyway, and yet he felt himself obligated to defend Khonshu with his life, all because he’d saved Marc so many years ago in Cairo.

“Marc, instruct the servants of your wing to ready your cattle, we’ll be leaving at dawn.” Khonshu spoke without turning to face either of them. “You may go now, Harrow, you can stay. We have much to discuss before you take over for me.”

Marc left the room and closed the door behind himself slowly. The light click was deafening in the otherwise silent hallway. He trudged toward his room, hands tucked into his pockets. Marc stopped in his tracks, right at the junction of your hallway and his. All the high-ranking vampires’ cattle were in your hall, doors lining the walls where each one had a lovely room with spacious quarters. It wasn’t practical, but Khonshu was nothing if not excessive.

“Master Spector,” a soft voice came from behind Marc, forcing him to jump.

Frightening a vampire was a near-impossible task…while they were focused that is. But since you’d arrived, Marc couldn’t focus to save his life. He spun around, seeing the head maidservant of that wing there to greet him. She gave him a friendly smile, as she often did.

“Uh, I was just looking for you. Would you ready my cattle for travel tomorrow? I don’t know when we’ll return, so we’ll need to spare a few maidservants as well.” He said, still trying to catch his breath from the start she gave him just a moment ago.

“Of course sir. Anything else?” She waited for him expectantly.

“No, no thank you.”

~~~~

In another couple of hours, he’d given up trying to fight with himself and Marc was climbing up to your window to see you. He didn’t know what would happen while he was away, and he needed to feel you again before he left. If he could just take in your touch, and that sickening scent one more time, he could get through until the next time he saw you. At least, that’s what he’d hoped.

You were sleeping, which made him somehow feel like less of a freak. If you weren’t conscious, then you wouldn’t know he was standing there awkwardly, watching your shoulder rise and fall with every breath while you slept with your back to him. He sighed in contentment, knowing that you would be safe while he was away, safe from Khonshu…and safe from himself.

“Are you going to join me or are you going to stand there?” you asked softly, turning around just enough to look at him.

Marc froze in place, feeling embarrassed for, once again, being caught red-handed by you in your bedroom. It took him a moment to process your words fully. Join you? Not a chance that you were asking him to join you.

“You don’t want that,” he said sternly, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Yes I do,” you turned over to make your seriousness known.

“You want me to lay in bed with you? Why?” Marc was so confused, unable to understand why you, a human who knew what his kind was capable of, would want him to lay in your bed.

“You’ve felt what you do to me,” you started sliding off the bed, standing on your bare feet and gliding toward him. “I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you I…”

Marc’s body was rigid as you trailed off and walked closer, soft hands reaching out to grip his forearms just below his rolled-up sleeves. You weren’t even looking him in the eye anymore, your pupils were dilated, and staring at his parted lips. Marc sighed out a soft breath just before he let you kiss him.

Your lips were still delicious, and your mouth even more so. Marc’s hands found your hips, fingers squeezing just hard enough to claim possession, but not hard enough to do any damage. He couldn’t leave a mark on you, despite wanting to desperately. In a sick way, Marc was willing to accept his death just to see the look on Khonshu’s face when he saw the way his servant branded you.

“Take me, Marc,” you whispered against his open mouth before he closed it over yours once more.

Fuck he wanted to.

Marc’s lips stole a loud gasp from you as he pushed you backward, landing on top of you as your knees gave out at your bedside. He felt his cock pressing incessantly against his jeans, desperate for you once more. He fumbled with his buckle, the obstacle only serving to make him want you more. The leather against denim whooshed as he pulled the belt free from the loops, beginning to work on the button.

He could feel you spreading your legs even wider, as though you were trying to pull him into your body. Marc was the only supernatural creature in the room, but your moans called him to you like a siren song. His breath quickened as he finally found freedom from his pants, pulling them down below his knees.

“Mm, help…” you whined, tugging at your shorts and trying to get them off, but to no avail.

Marc leaned back, pulling your shorts and panties off quickly, tossing them aside before caging you between his elbows once again. His breathing was labored, leaking cock so desperate it was like nothing he’d ever felt before. The anticipation alone was almost enough to make him come without any friction at all. He tasted your sweet lips again, both of you moaning into each other’s mouths with such hunger.

“Marc…” your voice sounded so small, so insignificant compared to the obnoxiously loud thoughts plaguing his mind.

Fuck her, bite her, kill her, fuck her, fill her, drink her…

He brought his lips to your neck, kissing your skin and tasting the salt of your sweat. His cock twitched and his hips jerked forward involuntarily, fat tip brushing against your slick entrance. You spread your legs more, your body telling him in a thousand ways the same thing you’d been saying all along, ‘take me, Marc’.

He could do it. He was right there, leaking head sitting just barely in your needy little hole. You whimpered, hips arching upward and forcing a little more of his length inside of you. Marc shuttered, feeling his teeth graze your neck as he lost control. The part of him that wanted to drink you dry was winning.

“Marc, no!” You said just over a whisper.

He woke from his trance, hearing your words break through the internal struggles of his mind. He growled in frustration and pulled back, feeling the disappointment in your airy exhale. He was disappointed too, but he couldn’t risk hurting you. Marc slid off the bed onto his knees, gripping the space where your hips and thighs meet, tugging you toward his face. Your pretty cunt glistened by the moonlight coming through the window, juices dripping down your lips and into your asscheeks.

Marc felt his eyelids drop in arousal while he stared at the beauty before him. He leaned in, pressing his lips softly to your folds, kissing them once and feeling your thighs tremble in response. Your sensitive reaction made Marc’s cock twitch again, inciting a deep, low rumble in his chest. He breathed out slowly, licking his lips and tasting your sweet juices. If your blood was even half as delicious, he was certain he wouldn’t be able to resist emptying you completely.

He dragged two fingers between your soaking lips, collecting a small pool of your arousal in his palm before bringing it down to his leaking cock. Marc wrapped his fist around himself, letting your slick guide his hand easier along his length. A growl escaped him just as he covered your needy cunt with his mouth.

Marc’s brain went blank.

He had to stop pumping his fist before he came too quickly. The taste of your body, - your wet slick - was maddening.

“Mm, put your l-legs on my shoulders,” he managed to say before your alluring scent pulled him back in.

He was biting back the urge to moan as he felt your legs wrap around his head, thighs brushing along his ears gently. Using his free hand - the hand that wasn’t choking the life out of his aching dick - he pressed against your stomach, keeping you firmly in place. A sharp gasp shot out of your lungs, making his cock leak even more. He sighed, dragging his tongue between your folds, moaning into your mound as though he were savoring every drop your body fed him.

This was the first time Marc ever truly felt powerful in all his life. He wasn’t hurting you, and instead, he was simply enjoying you. He was enjoying your sounds, the little breathless whines that slipped through your parted lips. He enjoyed the smell of you, that sweet scent that held him in a chokehold every damn day since he’d met you. And dammit if he didn’t enjoy that taste, the distinct flavor, unlike anything he’d ever felt on his tongue in all his days.

You were too good to be true.

“Oh, M-Marc,” you breathed, reaching a hand up to grip his slicked-back curls.

He exhaled with a low groan, slowly starting to jerk himself again while you tugged and pulled his face tighter against your center. Your legs were vibrating against his ears, heels digging into his back while you pulled him in deeper. 

Needy little thing, he thought, as if he weren’t twice as desperate.

The wet sounds of his slurping tongue mixed with your cries. Marc started rutting into his own hand, imagining he was fucking the cunt he ate from. He dragged his tongue down between your crevices, cleaning each fold before dipping his tongue into your fluttering hole. If he moved his head just right, he could brush the tip of his nose over your swollen clit - just right -.

“O-oh, Marc!” You rasped out in a high-pitched whisper. “Y-yes oh god f-fuhh…”

The hand Marc had on your stomach worked together with your hand in his hair to bring your bodies as close as possible. He couldn’t get any closer to your cunt unless he broke his nose and for a moment he thought it might be worth it. He could feel your thighs tense a bit, and your hand grip his hair harder. You started gasping as if you’d run out of air. Part of him wished you were stronger so you could really hurt him.

“Why do you taste so–” Marc murmured against your mound before cutting himself off, going back in to slurp more from you.

Marc jerked his hand faster, the sensations surrounding him becoming too much to handle. Your scent, your taste, the way you pulled his hair, it was all driving him mad. He breathed against you, moving his tongue faster so he could hear you too. You shook, pretty voice wavering with every moan that left you. 

“Marc, you’re so g-good at this I…oh god I’m…”

Marc felt your pussy contract around his tongue, moving the tip of his nose in faster circles to make you squirm more. Your juices were coating his tongue and he felt an unimaginable euphoria burst through his mind. He panted, sounding more pathetic than he cared to acknowledge but he couldn’t help himself. You were writhing now, trying to get out from under him. He knew he should stop because, as you kept shrieking, it was ‘too much’, but he couldn’t.

Marc’s hand pushed down on you harder, and with one more sharp inhale of your delicious little cunt, he finally felt it. His orgasm washed over him like soft velvet, bringing him the sweetest relief he’d felt in ages. Marc let go of you quickly, holding his palm under himself to catch the white ropes spilling from the fat head of his twitching cock. He was loud, louder than he should’ve been, but he was sure no one would hear him, and he couldn’t keep his composure anymore.

He caught most of it in his hand, but a few stray drops landed on the floor. He would’ve just let it go, making a mess all over your bedding without care, but if the maids found out, and if even one of them breathed a word to Khonshu, it wouldn’t end well for either of you. 

Marc leaned forward, pressing another soft kiss to your pussy lips before pressing his cheek against your inner thigh. For a moment you both lay there, the room filled with nothing but the sound of both your breathing returning to normal. If he could die like that by choice he would, eyes closed with his face next to your scent, your fingers idly carding through his hair. Marc sighed using his free hand to tuck his dick back in his pants before standing up on shaking legs.

“Just gonna…gonna use your bathr–”

“Wait,” you said, grabbing his wrist tightly, looking up at him with eyes that said ‘can I taste you?’

As if he could read your mind, Marc nodded, watching with mixed awe and adoration as you brought your lips to his hand. You pursed your lips into an ‘O’, sucking in and slurping his cum right out of his palm. Marc felt his cock coming alive once more, but he didn’t want to press his luck by staying in there much longer. It wasn’t only the constant looming threat of Khonshu discovering you both that frightened him, but the lack of control he might experience if he lingered in your scent for too long.

“God you…you’re something huh?” Marc asked, mouth hanging open while he watched you dart your tongue out, lapping at his palm. “F-fuck.”

Marc watched you drag your lips over each finger before lowering your entire mouth on each one, making a show of your task. You always looked so meek and innocent with Khonshu, but the way you sucked on his fingers, he could tell you were a bit more experienced than you pretended to be. You moaned as you went down on his middle finger, and before things could go any further, Marc pulled his hand from you.

“Enough,” he said coldly.

He hated that disappointed look in your eye, the one that begged for more; that begged him to stay just a little longer and to fuck your brains out. Marc zipped and buttoned his pants before darting for the window, taking off before he could change his mind. He couldn’t stop smelling your aroma on his nose all night, and he couldn’t decide if it was a good thing, or if it was just torture.

Who was he kidding? Everything about you was torture.

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