#Luck bind off method

[ezekiellsplayground]

The long awaited double knitted twisted rib bind off method is finally here! Big shout out to the genius in my fibre community who developed this method for me and graciously allowed it to be shared. Happy knitting!

[staratinia]

Handcuffed

This work contains smut - minors do not interact

Pairing: Mello x Fem!reader x Near

Synopsis: Mello and Near are handcuffed together and the cuffs will not come off unless certain specific circumstances occur...they require your assistance.

Warnings: Explicit smut

A/N: I know this is different.. I had to get creative. I felt a forced situation was the only way Mello and Near would ever do this together. For the anon who suggested poly- I hope you enjoy this.

wc: 1.8k

_________________________________________

You’re curled sideways in an office chair, one leg draped over the armrest, a cold energy drink sweating in your palm. The ops room is a wreck of cluttered desks, empty takeout boxes, loose wires, the smell of three different kinds of instant noodles clinging to the air like regret.

Mello’s pacing like he’s got a bomb ticking under his skin. Every few laps, he runs a hand through his messy blond hair like it personally offended him.

Near’s on the floor, cross-legged in a sea of puzzle pieces, holding a stylus between two fingers and methodically building a tower of numbered data cards. He hasn't looked up in at least forty-five minutes.

Matt’s the only one enjoying himself. He’s half-sprawled on a desk, red goggles pushed up to his forehead, Game Boy forgotten in his lap, a smirk twitching at the corners of his mouth as he digs through a dusty lockbox labeled ARCHIVE: CLASSIFIED – UNUSABLE ARTIFACTS.

“Hey,” he calls lazily. “You guys ever hear of ‘conflict-resolution cuffs’?”

Near doesn’t respond. Mello doesn’t stop pacing. “The fuck is that, a kink toy?”

Matt pulls something shiny from the box. Metal glints under the overheads—sleek cuffs, silver but inscribed with something that shimmers when he tilts them.

"Magical containment? Binding rituals? You know how they loved that esoteric bullshit"

Near speaks without looking up. “Most of the Archive is unstable or unproven. Do not engage with any items marked in red.”

“They weren’t red,” Matt says, squinting. “They were.... more of a soft rose gold.”

Mello mutters, “If this is another one of your dumbass jokes—”

“Relax.” Matt flicks the cuffs open one-handed, grinning. “They probably don’t even—”

He’s suddenly beside Near. Near looks up. First mistake. Matt snaps one cuff onto Near’s wrist with a sharp click.

“Matt.” Near’s voice doesn’t change, but his fingers freeze mid-stack.

Mello whirls. “Are you fucking kidding me—”

Before you can say a word, Matt turns and slaps the second cuff onto Mello’s wrist.

Click.

There’s a flash of cold light—like a camera bulb and static hitting skin—and then the air feels wrong. Heavier. You feel it. The room does. The whole dynamic shifts.

Mello’s hand twitches. The chain between their wrists is taut. Seamless. No lock. No hinge. No keyhole.

“Matt—” you start, rising.

Matt’s already backing toward the hallway, arms raised in surrender. “Hey, look. If it makes you feel better, I genuinely didn’t think it would work. I was just bored.”

“You moron!” Mello yells, yanking at the cuff. The chain doesn’t even creak. “You cuffed me to him?!”

“You’re welcome!” Matt’s already halfway out the door, grabbing his console on the way. “You two have unresolved tension! This is basically therapy!”

“This is magical fucking bondage therapy!” Mello shouts.

Matt winks at you before disappearing into the hallway. “Good luck, sweetheart. You’re their emotional support peacemaker now.”

The door slams shut.

You've been reading up. The archives are vast. Obscure tomes on magical devices. You finally find it—Soulbind Cuffs: R13 series. Intended as a last-resort bonding tool for high-stakes diplomacy or… couples therapy??

You read the fine print.

Cuffs will only disengage upon shared, consensual emotional alignment. Intimacy accelerates process. Completion of mutual release—emotional, physical—breaks the tether.

You reread that line five times.

Then look up. The boys are glaring at each other across the coffee table, one shared wrist between them. Mello’s sweating, hair stuck to his cheek. Near is tapping a Rubik’s Cube, unblinking.

You clear your throat.

“So. I figured it out.”

Two sets of eyes snap to you.

“They won’t come off unless you both—” you gesture vaguely “—achieve mutual climax. Together.”

Dead silence.

Mello goes red instantly. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

“It’s magic!” you throw your hands up. “It doesn’t care about gender or preference or grudges. It wants to see two bonded souls climax together. Emotionally. Physically. Whatever. It's metaphysical synergy.”

Near’s head tilts. “A forced sexual ritual.”

“Don’t call it that,” you groan.

Mello’s voice drops. “We’re not doing it.”

Near nods. “Agreed.”

You sigh. “Then you’ll be like this forever.”

“I’d rather die,” Mello snarls.

“I’d rather wait,” Near says blandly.

You just shake your head.

Mello growls, yanks at the cuff again—still nothing.

You don’t speak either. You just walk toward them. Unhurried. Hands loose at your sides. You kneel in front of them—between them—rest your palms on your thighs. Steady. Present.

“I’m not saying you two have to fuck each other.” That gets their attention. You breathe. “But I can help. If you let me.”

Mello narrows his eyes. “You’re joking.”

“I’m not.”

Near’s eyes are fixed on your mouth. “You believe... you could stimulate both of us to simultaneous orgasm?” His voice is calm, clinical, but there’s a flicker there. A pulse under his skin.

You sigh. “You’re the ones chained together. Unless you’ve got a spell I don’t know about, this is the only way.”

Mello rubs his face. “I can’t believe this is happening. With him.”

“I’m not pleased either,” Near replies, adjusting the angle of his knees.

“Oh shut up, you don’t feel anything.”

“I feel irritation...you are the source.”

_____________

The room’s warm. Lamp low. No one’s talking anymore. The air feels loaded, like static—like something wants to snap.

You’ve peeled your shirt off, unhurried, sitting cross-legged in front of them on the rug. Mello’s leaned back on his hands, arms tense. Near sits perfectly upright, but his jaw flexes.

They’re both watching you. Their bodies still separated by the inch-thick chain, wrists close but nothing else. They refuse to touch.

So you crawl forward.

“This isn’t about you two liking each other,” you murmur, reaching up to rest a hand on each of their thighs. “It’s about needing each other. Right now. In this moment. To get out of this.”

Mello doesn’t answer. He’s biting the inside of his cheek. Near nods once, robotically.

You start slow. Fingers first, brushing over the front of Mello’s pants. He’s already half-hard. No surprise. All that rage, tension, frustration—it’s sitting right there under the surface, waiting to break.

He lets out a breath through his nose, sharp and ragged. “Don’t tease.”

“I’m not,” you whisper.

You turn to Near, and his eyes are on your hands, blinking slow. His cock is delicate, flushed against pale thighs. You palm it gently. He exhales.

Mello scoffs. “Bet he’s never even been touched.”

“By people with manners? No,” Near replies evenly.

“Fucking hell—” Mello grits

“You’re really responsive,” you say, and smirk when he glares.

You turn to Near, he doesn’t even blink. Just watches the whole time as your hand slides against him. His breath stutters when your fingers close around him.

You stroke them both—two different bodies, two different pulses. Mello wants pressure. Speed. Your wrist aches trying to keep up. Near needs rhythm, precision. He twitches if you deviate. They’re both trying so hard not to show how much they want this.

“Still emotionless, Near?”

His voice is breathy, distant. “Physical responses are not proof of emotional depth.”

Mello barks a laugh. “You’re hard as fuck. What’s that—data collection?”

“Observation,” Near says, eyes fluttering as your thumb brushes his tip.

Two different rhythms. Mello fast, tight, frantic. Near slow and steady, your thumb circling the head of his cock in lazy little patterns that make him twitch. They’re both panting now, shoulders rising and falling like they’ve run miles.

Mello’s eyes are glued to your chest. “Fucking take it off.”

You smile and unhook your bra. Mello groans. Near reaches up like he’s unsure if he can, but you guide his hand to your breast and gasp as his thumb brushes your nipple.

Your moan gets both of them to freeze.

“She’s loud,” Mello mutters. “You like that?”

Near presses his palm against you. “It may assist with... alignment.”

Mello snorts. “Just admit it turns you on.”

“Admitting that would alter the results,” Near murmurs.

You laugh softly, then lean back to peel the rest of your clothes off.

When you’re fully naked, they stop arguing. They’re just watching. You crawl up into Near’s lap, straddle him, and reach back for Mello.

You guide him behind you, feel the burn in your thighs as you press back into his body. Mello groans as his cock glides between your cheeks, hands gripping your hips.

“Still want to kill each other?” you whisper.

Near is breathless. “Temporarily... distracted.”

Mello’s mouth is against your neck now. “You’re lucky you’re hot.”

You slide down onto Near first. His cock fills you, inch by inch, and his breath punches out of his lungs. He’s frozen beneath you, gripping your thighs like they’re lifelines. Then you brace yourself and reach back—

Mello pushes in slowly. Gritting his teeth. “Jesus, fuck—”

You’re full. Too full. Both of them buried deep in you, your whole body trembling as you try to breathe around the feeling. They don’t move. Just pant. Wait.

“Move,” Mello growls. “Please.”

You do. It starts slow—grinding your hips, feeling both of them rub against your walls, your insides pulsing around them. Mello thrusts once, sharp. You cry out. Near groans softly, his head tipped back.

You ride Near with long, rolling motions, your clit brushing against his stomach. Mello fucks into you harder now, faster, his hands sliding up your spine. One of his fingers tangles in your hair, pulling just enough to make your breath catch.

“You’re taking it,” he growls. “So fucking good.”

“She’s very warm,” Near says softly. “Tight. Applying correct amount of pressure.”

“You say that like you’re grading an assignment,” Mello snaps, but his voice cracks on the last word. He’s close. So close.

You’re shaking now—full, stretched to your limits, Near seated deep inside you while Mello drives in from behind, his pace steady but cruel, testing your limits.

You’re not just between them—you’re the bridge. Their bodies only joined through yours. And they’re not giving in easily.

“I don’t see how this is supposed to help,” Mello growls against your shoulder. His breath is ragged, cock twitching inside you with every grind. “He’s not even touching you right.”

Near blinks up at you from below, cheeks flushed, hands tightening on your waist. “Incorrect. Her pupils dilate when I stroke her clit counterclockwise.”

You laugh through a gasp. “He’s not wrong.”

Near’s thumb slides between you, slow and exact, pressing just under your clit in a way that makes your body jerk. Mello’s grip tightens. You feel the cuff pulse with magic, heat flaring between their wrists like it knows they’re teetering.

You roll your hips forward, squeezing both of them from inside. Mello groans. “Shit—don’t do that—”

You smile, breathless. “You close already?”

“I’m not—” he growls, but he thrusts harder, desperate to regain control.

Near’s voice is thin now. “I believe your pelvic rhythm is faltering.”

You moan, sharp, overstimulated now. Near’s cock presses deliciously against that tender spot inside you, and Mello’s rutting deep, his thrusts rough enough to make you tremble.

“Come on Mello, prove you’re better,” you whisper. “Fuck me harder.”

That does it.

Mello grabs your hips and slams into you, rhythm quickening, chasing something now. You gasp, clutching Near’s shoulders, your body caught between them like a live wire. The air smells like sweat and sex and magic burning out.

Your moan cuts them off—high and broken, thighs trembling as your orgasm threatens again, creeping up, so damn close.

You clench around both of them. They both twitch. You slow your movement just enough to make them groan.

“Don’t stop,” Mello growls, panting now. “I swear to god—”

“She’s edging us,” Near says, tone somehow still flat.

“She’s gonna kill us.”

You’re close. But you don’t let go yet.

You slow it down again—grind forward, rolling your hips just right. Near twitches inside you, whimpering, his forehead pressed to your chest.

You glance over your shoulder. Mello’s watching you both like he’s been denied air. You lean back into him, and he licks a stripe up your spine. He’s losing control. You can feel it.

“She’s gonna cum,” he pants. “You can feel it. She’s—fuck—she’s squeezing so hard—”

“We have to time it,” Near gasps.

“I know.”

Mello’s hand snakes around you, joining Near’s, both thumbs pressing your clit now in rhythm. You scream—raw and real—as your orgasm surges up, almost there—

But you don’t fall- Not yet. You ride the edge. Over and over. Your body clenching, thighs shaking, everything strung tight as they both work you toward it. One more second. One more thrust. One more slow, circling press—

And then Mello snaps.

“Now—fuck—now—”

Near arches under you, voice breaking.

And you let go.

It hits like fire—every nerve bursting open, you're clamping down, you scream—legs shaking, body convulsing around them as you lock down hard, milking them. as both of them cry out, twitching inside you, pouring into you, their hands locking on your body as they lose everything.

The cuffs explode.

A flash of white light. A high-pitched crack. Metal hitting the floor with twin clinks.

You collapse, limp and slick with sweat, breath heaving in your throat.

Mello slumps forward, panting against your back.

Near goes still beneath you, eyes closed, his chest rising and falling fast, but even.

Nobody speaks. Until—

“You edged me for fifteen minutes,” Mello says, voice hoarse.

You smile. “You needed the attitude adjustment.”

“She’s... efficient,” Near murmurs.

You roll off them with a groan. “I need water”

No one moves for a while. Then Mello says, “You’re seriously not gonna look at me right now, are you?”

“I’m preserving what little sanity I have left,” Near murmurs.

“You literally came while I was inside her.”

“So did you.”

“I hate this.”

From the hallway, you hear:

“Yo, did it work?” Matt’s voice. “Are the chains off?”

Mello throws the broken cuff at him. “I hope your controller gets stuck on ‘up.’”

Matt grins and ducks. You laugh. Your thighs hurt. Your whole body aches. But the cuffs are gone. “Next time he plays matchmaker, I’m burning the Archive.”

[kolutshanpress]

as per a request in my local renegade server: here is my process (such as it is) for the stenciled covers i've done for my binds. obviously, huge thanks to everyone in the renegade discord for teaching me most of what i know about bookbinding. this tutorial only exists thanks to the resources they've made available and the conversations i've had there.

material list

vinyl cutter (i have a silhouette portrait 3) + mat + blade

stencil vinyl (i have this one, but have had some adherence troubles with it. unclear whether this is just The Nature Of Stencil Vinyl or whether there's a better brand out there. adhesive vinyl can also be a viable option, although i haven't personally experimented with it yet.)

transfer tape (i have this stuff. it's fine.)

weeding tools (i have this hook and a very fine tip pair of tweezers. i highly recommend getting a hook, especially if you—like me—are haunted by the specter of carpal tunnel. get an off-brand one or get one on sale, though. i only have the silhouette brand one because it was on clearance.)

acrylic medium (i have this one because it was on sale at the time i was buying acrylic medium. when i replace it, i will be replacing it with a matte one. the gloss definitely has a noticeable sheen that i don't love.)

acrylic paint (literally any paint will do. i've been mostly using the decoart extreme sheen because it's $4 at michaels. you may be noticing a theme here.)

stiff stenciling brushes (the ones i have are similar to these but cost even less. again, there's a theme here.)

an iron and some parchment paper (jury is still out on whether using heat to "set" the pattern is necessary, but i do feel like it melts the paint a bit into the bookcloth and lessens the extent to which the pattern sits above the bookcloth.)

your trusty bone folder

instructions and a truly hideous number of words under the cut.

step 0.5: discern what will make a good stencil and what will make you hate yourself, your life, and the art of bookbinding

there are a LOT of different ways to put titling on a book. you could do a paper cover with a printed design or paste paper labels onto bookcloth or foil your title onto your cover with heat activated foil. the best method depends on what kind of design you have in mind, what tools you have available to you, and what materials you're working with (for example, i've had very bad luck getting acrylic paint to adhere to Allure bookcloth, but Allure does foil like a dream).

as far as stencils are concerned, you can kind of sort cover designs into three categories:

BEST for stencils: big, bold shapes on larger format books (think letter folio or letter/legal quarto)

OKAY for stencils, but you might hate yourself: intricate detail at a large enough form factor for it to be cut well by your vinyl cutter

BAD for stencils, you will die and it will hurt the entire time you are dying: lots of intricate detail and lots of fine lines

below are examples of category 1, 2, and 3 (all designed for letter folio). to be clear, category 3 can technically be possible, depending on the design. but only undertake it with the awareness that you will die, and it will hurt the entire time you are dying.

step 1: design a thing to put on your cover

i'm not going to go too in depth on this because cover design is a HUGE can of worms. a few pointers, though:

i never start designing my cover until my text block is done. this allows me to design my cover at "full size" based on the measured size of my text block and cover boards.

i fully lay out my cover in a separate program before exporting a transparent PNG to silhouette studio (or whichever proprietary software you have to use to communicate with your particular vinyl cutter). i use affinity designer. some free options would be inkscape (if you want to work with vectors) or gimp.

i design my cover on a document with dimensions of (HEIGHT of boards + 20 mm) x (WIDTH of boards or spine + 20 mm) and 10 mm margins. the area within the margins represents the actual dimensions of the thing i'm designing, while the area outside of the margins creates a mask that prevents me from getting paint on things i don't want paint on (like the covers, if i'm creating a spine stencil).

i always outline my document with a 3 or 4pt black line. this creates the outer edge of my stencil and provides my vinyl cutter with a cut line. if you're working with a smaller vinyl cutter (like the cricut joy) there are ways to jigsaw designs together from smaller pieces of vinyl, but i'm not the person to ask about that. i specifically bought a portrait so that i didn't have to worry about that.

here's an example of one of my affinity files from a recent cover. i've exaggerated my outline to make it clearer. you can also see that i use affinity to experiment with color combinations. before i export, i turn all my elements black and make any backgrounds transparent, meaning that the PNG i import into silhouette studio looks like the one on the right.

step 2: cut and weed your stencil

again, not going to go terribly in depth here. there is a veritable army of youtubers out there with tutorials about how to use [insert propriety vinyl cutter software here]. but, again, a few pointers:

with my particular vinyl cutter and stencil vinyl, i usually cut my stencils with the material set to "washi," depth at 1, force at 13, and speed at 4. google, experiment, see what works. also, you want to put your stencil vinyl on the mat with the blue vinyl facing UP, and you don't want to mirror your design. with stencils, what you see is what you get.

i cut my vinyl a bit bigger than necessary because i'd rather waste a bit of vinyl than have to worry about a stencil falling off the edge of my vinyl because i misaligned it on the mat.

unlike HTV, you will be weeding out all the black parts of your original image. be prepared to hate the letters "e" and "a" forever, because you will have to somehow keep the little eye of them in place while you pry out the rest of it.

step 3: apply your stencil to your case

alright, now let's get into the meat of it. i always stencil after my case is finished but before i case in my book. this means that if i totally fuck it up, i can trash the case instead of the entire book.

additionally, i completely stencil my spine first (as in lay down stencil, paint, remove stencil) and then stencil my covers. i've found that it's easier when you don't have stencils overlapping and sticking to each other.

OPTIONAL STEP: mark guides onto your cover to help you position your stencil. whether or not i do this step depends on the design. a lot of the time, i just eyeball it. but for some designs, precision is key. for those projects, i use my ruler to mark out guides in white chalk for where i need certain elements of the stencil to fall. (i used guide marks for the "penguin clothbound" copies of the The Weight Collected that i've been using as an example in this post—the black rectangular boarder would've made uneven placement REALLY obvious.)

use transfer tape to remove your vinyl from its slick backing. what i've found is that you really, really don't want your transfer tape to be too sticky. you want it just barely sticky enough to pick up the stencil if you rub it down with a bone folder or your fingernail. i have a piece of transfer tape that i stuck to my jeans a bunch of times and then proceeded to use for 8 books in a row. it is, frankly, still a little bit too sticky. i have rolled it up so that i can use it for the next 8 books, at which point it will presumably be the right level of stickiness.

position your stencil. when you're happy with it, rub it firmly down with your bone folder. then do it again. then use your fingernail to score down over the titling text. then pray. in my experience, stencils prefer to stick to transfer tape rather than bookcloth. ymmv.

start at one corner of your stencil. carefully begin peeling back the transfer tape. i've found that essentially folding back the transfer tape (like, the corner that's been freed from the stencil being folded back away from the stencil) helps the tape to release. go slowly, rubbing down with the bone fold as necessary.

after you've finally manage to pry the tape off, go back and smooth down the stencil and firmly rub it down to get it to adhere to the bookcloth as thoroughly as possible with as few ripples or air bubbles as possible.

step 4: paint time!

here is a secret that the renegade discord taught me that i am now passing on to all of you: before you put any paint on your stencil, put down a layer of clear acrylic medium. the medium will finish the job of pasting down the stencil to your cover, and any leaks that happen in the process will be clear medium instead of colored paint (and will therefore be basically unnoticeable). ergo:

stipple a thin coat of acrylic medium over your stencil. you want to use an up-and-down daubing motion, not a brushing motion. brushing will get paint under your stencil. let dry.

after your medium is dry, stipple a few thin coats of your colored acrylic paint onto your stencil. let dry between coats. (i usually find that two coats is enough.) again, try to keep your coats thin. you don't want a thick layer of paint because that will create a raised surface above your bookcloth.

let your paint fully dry. i usually leave it overnight, but if i'm feeling especially impatient, i still make sure to at least give it a good three or four hours.

peel up your stencil. your weeding tools will once again come into play here to pry up little bits and pieces of stencil (like the stupid eyes of the "a"s and "e"s that were so annoying during the initial weeding stage).

step 5: optional setting stage

again, jury is still out on whether or not this is necessary, and the effects are pretty subtle. but i do it every time anyway. some tips:

use an iron on very low heat (i keep mine at the low end of the synthetic setting) and with steam turned OFF

keep a piece of parchment paper (NOT waxed paper. you want the slick paper that you put under cookies to keep them from sticking to the pan.) between the iron and your cover.

press the iron down, don't rub it like you're ironing a shirt. it's possible to smear your paint doing that (ask me how i know).

i usually lay the iron down on a section for 10-15 seconds at a time, then lift it and move it to another section.

start with less of everything (less heat, less time) and build up. always better to be conservative with this.

i usually continue until the paint is warm to the touch, then move onto another section. after it's cooled, i evaluate if i feel like it's melted into the cloth enough. if not, i repeat the process.

step 6: BOOK

congrats, you have put a design on a book cover. the world is your oyster. go forth and make books. become ungovernable.

[half-of-a-gay]

Armor Between Us

Knight!Sevika x princess!reader

When political corruption, forbidden love, and an old enemy threaten the realm, Sevika must navigate her loyalties, her growing feelings for the princess, and the ghosts of her past to protect everything she holds dear.

link to chaper 1 and chaper 3

Chaper 2

Scars of Honor

In a relentless campaign to protect her kingdom, Sir Sevika fights through weeks of brutal battles, her thoughts anchored by a token from the princess—until one fateful clash leaves her scarred, broken, and forever changed.

---

The battlefield was still, for now. A cold wind swept across the plains, carrying the scent of mud, steel, and the distant smoke of burning villages. Clouds rolled heavy and gray overhead, smothering the faint light of dawn.

Sevika tightened the straps of her armor, her fingers methodical, moving without thought. Each buckle, each plate, each adjustment was a ritual—a routine that steadied her against the growing tension knotting in her chest. Around her, soldiers murmured to one another, some whispering prayers, others sharpening blades or tending to their mounts. The air buzzed with the restless energy of men and women preparing to kill or be killed.

Beneath her breastplate, she could feel it—the faint press of fabric against her skin. Before donning her armor, she had folded the handkerchief with deliberate precision, smoothing the embroidered edges with the flat of her calloused hand. She’d wrapped it carefully around the linen strips she used to bind her chest, tucking it snugly over her heart in hopes that no blade or arrow could reach it. It wasn’t the hasty action of a soldier stuffing away a token for good luck; it was a ritual, quiet and unspoken, that she didn’t dare name. Now, as the weight of her armor pressed it close to her, she could feel it there—a fragile thing in a world of steel and blood.

Her gray eyes scanned the horizon, narrowing at the sight of the enemy banners flapping in the distance. Too far to see the faces of the men who carried them, but close enough to know they were coming. She exhaled through her nose, slow and measured. No fear. No hesitation. Not yet.

Her hand hesitated for a moment before resting against the cool steel of her breastplate, just over her heart. She told herself it was superstition—just a token, nothing more. But it wasn’t.

Her mind betrayed her in these moments, conjuring the princess’s face. The warmth in her voice, the steadiness in her hand as she’d offered the token, as if she’d known Sevika needed something to anchor her.

“You fight for the people who believe in you. And I believe in you.”

The memory rose unbidden, and Sevika shoved it aside. There was no room for softness now.

“Sir Sevika.”

The voice jolted her out of her thoughts. She turned sharply, her gaze meeting that of one of her esquires—a young man whose face was pale beneath his helmet.

“The men are ready,” he said, though the slight tremor in his voice betrayed his nerves.

Sevika nodded once, curt and commanding. “Good. Form the lines. We hold position until they come to us.”

The esquire saluted and hurried off, leaving Sevika alone again. She adjusted her gauntlet, checking the straps for the third time. Her muscles coiled tight with anticipation. There was no fear. She’d buried it long ago, the way soldiers learned to bury everything. And yet, beneath it all, she could still feel the faint weight of the handkerchief against her chest.

She allowed herself one fleeting thought, one whispered truth that she would never speak aloud: If I don’t survive this… at least I fought with her faith behind me.

The sound of the enemy war horns shattered the quiet. The storm had come.

Sevika mounted her horse in a single, practiced motion, her sword gleaming at her side. She didn’t look back. There was no point. All that mattered was what lay ahead.

“Hold the line!” she barked, her voice cutting through the rising din like a blade. “Stay steady!”

And then, as the enemy banners surged closer and the clash of steel became inevitable, Sevika touched her breastplate one last time. Just for a second.

Then she drew her sword and rode to meet the storm.

The first skirmish was over in hours, but the campaign stretched endlessly. Each new dawn brought another village to liberate, another fortress to storm, another trail of blood left behind.

Sevika’s days blurred into a rhythm of battle cries and steel on steel. By the second week, her armor bore the scars of countless clashes—dented plates, cracked edges. Her body fared no better. A shallow cut across her thigh from a bandit’s spear. A graze on her cheek that stung whenever sweat trickled over it. Yet still, she fought.

Every night, when the fires of their camp flickered low and the wounded moaned in their makeshift beds, Sevika sat alone beneath the stars. She’d unbuckle her breastplate with deliberate care, fingers aching from the day’s strain, and touch the handkerchief folded beneath her bindings.

She never dared to acknowledge the lingering thoughts of the princess—never let herself admit that the memory of her voice or the touch of her hand could steady her more than the steel of her blade. But in those moments, when the stars were the only witnesses, they came to her anyway. And though she didn’t want to, she let them linger.

By the third week, the enemy resistance hardened. They weren’t just chasing cowards from burned-out villages anymore—they were storming fortresses, breaking entrenched lines. The kingdom’s enemies fought with desperation, knowing their hold on the land was slipping.

It was during one such battle—a grueling siege against an enemy stronghold—that Sevika met her breaking point.

The fighting dragged on for hours. She was at the front of the charge, her sword cleaving through enemy after enemy, her soldiers rallying behind her. The air reeked of blood and smoke, and the clash of steel was deafening.

The blow came suddenly. A flash of steel in the corner of her vision, and then the searing, bone-deep pain of an enemy sword hacking into her left arm. The force of it nearly knocked her to the ground. Her hand spasmed, her sword slipping from her grasp as blood poured from the wound.

She staggered, gasping for breath, and braced herself for the killing blow. But it didn’t come.

One of her soldiers—a young knight she barely knew by name—threw himself between her and the enemy, his shield slamming into the attacker and sending them sprawling.

“Sir Sevika!” the knight shouted, his voice trembling with panic as he caught her before she fell.

But Sevika didn’t stay upright. The weight of her armor and the force of her injury dragged her to the blood-soaked ground. As she fell, her face struck the jagged edge of a shattered shield, splitting the skin along her cheek and brow. Pain exploded across her face, hot and sharp, and she tasted blood on her lips.

The knight dropped to his knees beside her, shielding her with his body as another enemy charge approached. “Hold on!” he yelled, his voice distant in her ears.

Sevika blinked, her vision swimming. Her bloodied arm hung useless at her side, and her good hand clutched at her chest, fingers brushing the handkerchief beneath her armor. I promised I’d keep it safe, she thought hazily, the princess’s voice echoing in her mind. For her.

The world spun as her legs buckled, and the knight dragged her back toward the safety of their lines. The sounds of battle dimmed as darkness closed in around her. Sevika’s last thought was not of the kingdom she had fought to protect, but of the princess who had believed in her. The last thing she heard before collapsing was the rallying cry of her soldiers.

They would win this battle, she knew. But she wouldn’t walk away whole.

[worldsetfree]

Save Tonight - Aizen Sōsuke x Reader

NSFW. Minors do not interact. Post-TYBW, spoiler ahead.

First time writing smut. Wish me luck. Thanks to @bleachsmutfest (shout-out to @villainsrtasty for organizing this) and @byakuyacoochie for convincing me to post this.

This started as a Day 3 drabble that turned into a nearly 1000-word fic, so I present this now for Day 4 of the smutfest: my morally-contentious selfship.

Prompts: Passage + Towels + “Just because it’s dangerous doesn't mean we don't try it”

Thirty-six hours.

Kurotsuchi said it would take thirty-six hours to craft new restraints for the man before you.

The man whom Kyoraku Shunsui, for reasons he didn't express (though his eyes glimmered quite deviously), chose to charge you with. "You've always been good at keeping him in line, right?” he'd teased, like you'd ever had any control over him at all. Like you hadn't joined the very same man in a rebellion two short years ago.

"...I heard you'd died.”

Swallowed up in a sea of darkness at the end of the world, per the rumours. From the shrinking hole in his chest and the arm that crept disgustingly back into shape, you understood their conclusions.

The comment makes his lips curl with delight that's positively nostalgic to see. "A lesser man surely would have."

You hadn't bothered to censor the scoff that left your lips. Utterly ridiculous man. Still so smug and cheshire, despite imprisonment. Yet there he was, wicked and free and radiant as the sun.

For thirty-six hours.

“I missed you, Sōsuke.”

“I knew you would, my dear.”

Finding a place among the ruins of Seireitei to hold your 'captive' proved easier than you'd anticipated (Aizen himself was strangely compliant with his situation), settling into the remains of a home. Its walls were as broken and dirty as your own body in the aftermath of the war, but it would do. You shutter what remains of the curtains while an ever-watchful eye reacquaints itself with your form.

Being near him again is like rejoining a familiar dance. It wasn't long before honeyed words lured you into his desires, his forked tongue inspiring wicked temptation. You should clean yourselves up, shouldn't you? Mayuri has to replace his seals anyway, and haven't you missed the feeling of his skin against your own?

But when your hand stretches outward to remove those barriers, questions begin to burn in your mind: Can you even touch him now? Should you really unleash a god?

Aizen catches this hesitation, and his encouragement burns with the candlelight in his eyes. “Just because it’s dangerous doesn't mean we don't try it.” 

They'll call you a fool for submitting to his will, but you're a moth to his flame, helpless against the want pooling between your legs.

Aizen doesn't move while you release his bindings, allowing you to caress his face and pet his hair once you've removed the seal covering his eye. He remains patient while you reveal your own body to him, and only then does your Lord and lover pounce.

Lost in steam and hot water that envelops the two of you like a dream, Aizen Sōsuke plays a hero and enjoys the spoils of victory without care for time. His mouth renews its claim on your throat, leaving markings that will persist long after dawn breaks. His hands retrace the swell of your breasts to pinch your nipples and pull a reverent breath from your lips.

It's not until your spine begins to arch off the cold tiles and your moans devolve into a siren song that he finally fulfills your request. He greedily takes in every minute detail of your expression as he presses himself into you at last. Oh, how you've needed him.

The slow, methodical journey of his fingertips to the apex of your thighs is deliberately maddening and completely self-indulgent. With your legs wrapped around his hips, Aizen makes you plead and beg for more than tantalizing circles around your clit. "Have you thought of me like this, my love?" he coos in velvet baritones. "Have you needed me?"

His name falls from your lips like a prayer when he begins to move. You're drowning in him, drunk on the feeling of his cock pressing against spots that make you weep. His hands squeeze your plush thighs and hold you to him while he sinks into you again and again. Your own limbs tense to pull him in closer, like you could somehow make him stay if only you held on tight enough, like thirty-six hours won't tick away while you're together.

Your skin burns against his and you begin to feel that coil in your abdomen tightening up, too fast- an ending approaching too soon. Your voice calls out to him a breathless whine. "Sōsuke..." And you feel him exhale against your shoulder. "I know," he rasps. "I know." The way his own breath shakes lets you believe for a moment that maybe he, who needs no one, craved you just as much as you craved him.

Orgasm is nearly blinding and unmakes you before him. Aizen is quick to follow, his hips chasing release before they stutter and press you harder against the shower wall. His lips find your own as he spills into you, hungry and adoring and ignorant of the world beyond you. In the aftermath, you're cradled in his arms like something precious while the water cuts off.

He lifts his head and rests his face against your own once more, obsessed with watching you fall apart for him. Long digits slip between your legs again to rub your needy pearl, and the pleasure nearly ruins you, but you dare not lose yourself without his command. Aizen's gaze captures your own before he speaks against your lips. "Come for me, dear."

The clock ticks forward in a painfully consistent march as he lays you down on the bed. Aizen's head tilts to the side as he looks down at you. Clean, satisfied, and completely his, even now. Your heart swells when he smiles briefly, softness gracing his sharp features. He's beautiful, you think. You want to burn this moment into your eyes forever. But the clock ticks again to shatter your heart once more.

Aizen seems to read your thoughts yet again, his brows furrowing as he watches you. Then he leans in and presses his palms into the mattress around your head.

"Put it out of your mind," he murmurs. "I'll not leave until I've had my fill of you, my darling."

For thirty-six hours, you'll be his, and the way he descends upon you makes you wonder if the shinigami will even be able to pull him off of you when that time is up.

[ultrapoppet]

We all know kaladin has been through hell to get to freedom and personhood and some respect from lighteyes. It only took multiple feats of self sacrifice, inhuman will and literal supernatural powers and luck. Anyone can do it if they try hard enough.

So here's a list of things pissed me off about the good and not like other lighteyes characters which I think are underrated.

Adolin:

His reaction to Kaladin risking his life for him and his family and the men they led to their death is to have a racist/classist tantrum because Kaladin respect his authority while doing all that. And has the gal not to kiss his ass even though he is a lighteyes of high rank. So he goes around not so subtly reminding Kaladin of his place by calling him bridgeboy and making fun of him for not being able to ride a horse or fight a shardblade. Imagine not growing up with the best teachers teaching you how to fight, a magical weapon only you have access to for racist reasons, and hordes of men who die protecting you at battle while you wave said magic sword around in your magic impenetrable armor. Couldn't be him.

He is the only character who says out loud the natural order of the world is lighteyes ruling the darkeyes. Still post prison Adolin is the least racist of the bunch imo. At least to Kaladin. Everyone else is just more subtle about it.

Dalinar:

Being one of the good ones TM, he disagrees with Sadeas's method of send bridgmen to their death. Just not enough not to make use of it for tactical advantage. Or challenge Sadeas for saying they should be honored for the opportunity to die getting him rich. Or to judge Sadeas's character for this line of thinking. Because, as much as he thinks he's better than the other brightlords, he also sees this as the natural order of things.

He only starts seeing the bridgemen as worthy of being saved after Kaladin and co perform a suicide mission aided by supernatural strength to save him from certain death.

He tells Kaladin he trusts him and his men enough to die for his family again. And because he trusts him so much, he doesn't think he's lying about Amaram. Instead, he says he must be confused about being betrayed and his men being murdered. Just typical darkeyed getting confused about complicated lighteyes matters. Because surely a lighteyes he couldn't possibly abuse his power over darkeyes. And this only changed when Kaladin once again saves his sons and Amaram doesn't.

Speaking of saving his flop sons, Kaladin once again jumps to certain death and performs supernatural miracles. Because their highnesses can't plan for shit. And when Kaladin almost gets executed and then gets unjustly sentenced to solitary imprisonment in a windowless black hole after all that, his reaction is to chastize him for being petty and childish and ruining his plans because he didn't exit quietly after risking his life like a good lowly darkeyed soldier should. It's another not so subtle know your place. that also comes with being held to higher standards than the damn king. Just normal privilege things that means he can never be good enough in the eyes of people who see him as inherently less than.

It makes sense that Dalinar, a person with the power to do something to help, would be one getting visions. But he also gets to bind the biggest and baddest honor spren. Because apparently, he committed the most honorable act of :checks notes: stopped being a murdering warlord after 50 years. A feat that no one else has achieved.

Shallan:

Remember when Shallan had to make the most stupid plan of all time because her family couldn't possibly move and get jobs like normal people.

Speaking of, said stupid plan is only possible because although she does not have enough education and her family has a relatively low rank for aristocrats, she still has lighteyes privileges. Including knowing she will not be executed or enslaved for stealing.

The number of times she goes around calling darkeyes she meets dumb and smelly because she is just sooooo witty and funny. And they don't say anything back because they just can't keep with her clever wit!

Her confidence arc starts with her realizing she can boss people below her social status around by actively utilizing her privilege.

The number of darkeyes she gets killed by dumbassery and then forgets about after a oops I did it again.

So she finally spends some time with our darkeye hero. You might think, surely this is where she becomes less self centered and oblivious to her massive privilege and grows some empathy right? Right???? WRONG.

So we’re at the scene that made me sharpen my knives. After all that, she has the gal to chastise Kaladin for not being nice to her. Let's recap their relationship up to this point shall we? They meet when Kaladin is on guard duty and Shalan, hilariously, uses her lighteyes status to take his boot and THREATENS TO FALSLY ACCUSE HIM OF RAPE as a prank. I can't with this girl she's just so quirky. Afterwards they meet because Kaladin is on bodyguard duty. Which involves risking his life for her fiance, and her, on the basis of being a lighteyes who is associated with his employee which he doesn't like because he was racist to him. After he saved his life. Now Shallan, who says maybe three sentences to him as a response, has made no effort whatsoever to know him or even nice to him, expects this man who she only interacts with as his finace's employee and calls bridgboy, to be nice and charmed by her in addition to dying for him. And don't be depressed in her presence because it bums her out. And no the fact that he was a slave until like last month is not a good excuse and he is the problem because look how nice his finance is to darkeyes who don't upset him by not knowing their place. And also why would Kaladin judge her like that and say she is privileged and a brat just because she could've owned him until last month and she acts like a privileged brat? She has a dark past people.

Anyways shenanigans ensue and thankfully Kaladin realizes that he shouldn't judge people for having privilege that they use while acting oblivious to because you never know if they have a dark past. And shallan in turn learns that ahhh you can like talk to darkeyes like people. And sometimes they're not dumb and lowkey hot despite being servants. She doesn't bat an eye when he is wrongfully imprisoned but that’s growth for her.

Ok I'm being unfair. She frees a bunch of slaves. Well she doesn't free them exactly but she does make them work for her in exchange for money. And she even makes a good financial plan for them so they don't spend their money willy nilly because of course they cannot be trusted with their own money.

After seeing the slaves she says becoming enslaved instead of executed is a darkeye privilege. As you recall, girlie just stolen an important artifact from a princess and faced *checks notes* zero consequences.

She also murders someone and no one ever questions her about this. Wonder why.

So it just occurred to me while she is telling Kaladin he shouldn’t judge her for being a lighteyes and should get over being enslaved, she is a literal slaver owner! Her audacity is truly unmatched.

Ok this one is more an overall plot thing. But Shallan meets a bunch of bandits who are really soldiers who have abandoned their post for seemingly good reasons. But they are still cowards for not wanting to die to make lighteyes rich so they're just full of guilt. And being left to their own devices, they have inevitably started to act like savages. But thankfully, Shalan is there to trick I mean guide them and under the guidance of a novel lighteyes woman of means, they of course want to return to war and die for her, or some other lighteyes lord, which as everyone knows, is a noble cause.

Writing this down, I realized I was completely justified in disliking her. She really sucks. And unlike the other two she doesn’t take any steps to improve. She’s as oblivious and insufferable as she was in page one. Dark past though!

And that's all I can remember for now without wanting to buy a copy of words of radiance just to stab it.

[wyllzel]

🔗 Link to Google Doc.

This is how I built Wyll in my Origin Wyll playthrough. This keeps Wyll in his canon Warlock class, while also ensuring he’s handy with his trusty rapier.

The vibe of this Warlock is a spellcaster (Eldritch Blast, AOE, and Enchantment spells) with good melee action. (Very gishy! 👽) The goal is to build up both Arcane Synergy and Arcane Acuity.

Leveling up is fairly flexible, so the focus for this guide is on gear interaction. Key pieces of gear include the Ring of Arcane Synergy (Act 1), Helmet of Arcane Acuity (Act 2), and Band of the Mystic Scoundrel (Act 3).

Overall, this is a fairly standard Fiend Bladelock build, and is not so much an “end all, be all” as it is a basic (but strategic!) approach.

(Fair warning: Possible spoilers ahead!)

Leveling

Please note that this guide is really just my personal preference! I recommend fully reading through the Wiki page on BG3’s Warlock so you get a good idea of what this class can do. In this guide, I’ve added a star (⭐) next to each of the class features or spells that I especially like.

To start with, this is my Wyll’s base stats:

Since Pact of the Blade Warlock’s “Bind Pact Weapon” feature scales weapon Attack Rolls and Damage Rolls off your spellcasting modifier, I recommend heavily prioritizing Charisma. The Warlock class becomes very SAD (Single Ability Dependent) with Charisma which is very convenient.

I prioritized Dexterity after Charisma because your Dexterity modifier affects your Initiative – and the higher your Initiative, the easier it is to get a leg up in combat. Additionally, your Dexterity modifier is added to your AC (when wearing Robes or Light Armor, which this build will be utilizing).

The next prioritized stat is Constitution, which is good for maintaining Concentration spells as well as boosting your total HP.

Level 1

One Level 1 Warlock Spell slot

Select:

Subclass: The Fiend

Two Cantrips: ELDRITCH BLAST 💥, Minor Illusion ⭐

Two Warlock spells (Level 1): Hellish Rebuke, Command

The Fiend subclass gives you:

Dark One’s Blessing (Temporary bonus HP when you kill a hostile creature)

Access to the Spells: Burning Hands, Command

Eldritch Blast genuinely solves any and all problems. (Force Damage is especially good in BG3, where 99% of your enemies do not have Force Resistance.) And Minor Illusion is a really good utility spell – especially if you’re into barrelmancy and need a safe and reliable method to cluster enemies.

The added HP from Dark One’s Blessing is really good, especially in earlier levels (Act 1) when your party is extremely squishy.

Level 2

Two Level 1 Warlock Spell slots

Select:

Eldritch Invocations: Agonizing Blast, Repelling Blast ⭐

One Warlock Spell (Level 1): Armour of Agathys

Replace a Spell: N/A

Level 3

Improved Warlock Spell Slots: Warlock Spells are now Level 2

Select:

Pact Boon: Pact of the Blade

One Warlock Spell (Level 2): Cloud of Daggers

Replace a Spell: Armour of Agathys → Hold Person

Level 4

Select:

Feat: Ability Improvement (ASI) = +1 CHA, +1 DEX ⭐

One Cantrip: Mage Hand

One Warlock Spell (Level 2): Shatter

Replace a Spell: N/A

Level 5

Deepened Pact: Pact of the Blade → Gain an Extra Attack with your weapon ⭐

Scaling Cantrips (ie., Eldritch Blast fires an additional beam) ⭐

Improved Warlock Spell Slots: Warlock Spells are now Level 3

Select:

One Eldritch Invocation: Devil’s Sight ⭐

One Warlock Spell (Level 3): Hunger of Hadar ⭐

Replace a Spell: Hellish Rebuke → Counterspell

The Fiend subclass gives you:

Access to the Spells: Fireball, Stinking Cloud

Level 6

Select:

One Warlock Spell (Level 3): Fireball

Replace a Spell: N/A

The Fiend subclass gives you:

Dark One’s Own Luck: Add +1d10 to an Ability Check once per Short Rest

Level 7

Improved Warlock Spell Slots: Warlock Spells are now Level 4

Select:

One Warlock Spell (Level 4): Banishment

Replace a Spell: Cloud of Daggers → Wall of Fire

Eldritch Invocation: Armour of Shadows ⭐

Armor of Shadows is excellent if you’re wearing robes. Because you’ll probably be wearing the Potent Robe at this point (early Act 2), this Invocation is particularly useful.

Level 8

Select:

Feat: ASI +2 to Charisma

One Warlock Spell (Level 4): Fear

Replace a Spell: N/A

Alternative Feats:

You may want to consider Alert to get the jump on enemies, especially when playing in Honor Mode. 

War Caster is a good idea if you plan to lean heavily on Concentration Spells such as Hunger of Hadar or Wall of Fire. 

Another good Feat for Concentration Spells is Resilient, which you’d take for Constitution. However, your initial Ability Score numbers would probably look different than how I have mine set up!

Spell Sniper is fun if you plan to lean heavily on Attack Roll spells – like Eldritch Blasts!

Level 9

Improved Warlock Spell Slots: Warlock Spells are now Level 5

Select:

One Warlock Spell (Level 5): Hold Monster ⭐

Replace a Spell: N/A

Eldritch Invocation: Life Drinker ⭐

Hold Monster is extremely useful in Act 3, where a lot of the major bosses you face (Orin in her Slayer form, Raphael, etc.) are Monsters.

Level 10

Scaling Cantrips (ie., Eldritch Blast fires an additional beam) ⭐

Select:

One Warlock Spell (Level 5): Flame Strike

Replace a Spell: N/A

The Fiend subclass gives you:

Fiendish Resilience: Once per Short Rest, choose a Damage Type to become Resistant to

Level 11

Gain an additional Warlock Spell slot (for a total of 3 Warlock Spell slots)

Select:

One Warlock Spell (Level 5): Cone of Cold

Mystic Arcanum: Eyebite

Any of the Mystic Arcanum spells are good, though! I just find that Arcane Gate, Circle of Death, and Flesh to Stone are only useful situationally. Create Undead is good for summons-focused teams.

Level 12

Select:

Feat: ASI +2 to Dexterity, or see Level 8.

One Warlock Spell (Level 5): Blight

Replace a Spell: N/A

Eldritch Invocation: One With Shadows

Final Composition

By Level 12, Wyll can have the following notable qualities:

Three Level 5 Warlock Spell slots 

One Level 6 Warlock Spell that can be used once per Long Rest

Three Damage die on Damaging Warlock cantrips – AKA three bolts of Eldritch Blast for 3d10+5 Damage (the +5 applies to each Blast bolt)

An Extra Attack (Weapon) from Pact of the Blade

Spells List and Invocations

Note: Scaling Cantrips (Level 5, Level 10) is based on your overall caster level rather than your Warlock level. As such, if you multiclass Wyll with a class like Bard or Paladin, he’ll still get the fully scaled three bolts per Eldritch Blast at Level 10.

Gear

The goal of this gear selection is to maximize the effectiveness of Wyll’s spells – particularly Enchantment spells. With the Band of the Mystic Scoundrel, Enchantment spells can be cast as a Bonus Action. Without this Band, Wyll generally won't be doing much with his Bonus Action as a Warlock – so let's fix that!

To align with his backstory, Wyll should be a formidable swordsman as well as spellcaster. As such, the weaponry in this build enhances his spellcasting, and ensures that his spellcasting enhances his sword fighting as well. (Synergizing!!!)

Headwear: Helmet of Arcane Acuity

Battle Acuity: Whenever you deal damage with a weapon attack, you gain Arcane Acuity (+1 to Spell Attack Rolls and Spell Save DC) for 2 turns.

+1 to Dexterity Saving Throws

Armor: Elegant Studded Leather

14 AC + Dexterity Modifier (18 AC)

+2 to Initiative Rolls

Can cast Shield once per Short Rest

Alternatively, you can use the Potent Robe and cast Armour of Shadows to bump your AC. However, you cannot wear the Helmet of Arcane Acuity if you do so (the helmet qualifies as Light Armor, meaning it cannot be used simultaneously with Armour of Shadows). If you’d like to use the Potent Robe instead, an alternative headwear is the Diadem of Arcane Synergy.

However, I wouldn't recommend the Potent Robe for a Fiend Warlock once you get the Elegant Studded Leather or an equivalent Light Armor. This is because the Potent Robe's added temporary HP (equal to your Warlock's Charisma Modifier) overrides the Dark One's Blessing, which will grant your Warlock temporary HP equal to your Warlock's Charisma Modifier plus your Warlock's Level.

Cloak: Cloak of the Weave

Arcane Enchantment: Gain a +1 bonus to Spell Save DC and Spell Attack Rolls.

Absorb Elements: Absorb elemental damage once per Short Rest. Take half damage from the next elemental attack targeting you, and deal an additional 1d6 of that element type on your next attack.

Alternatively, if you expect Wyll to regularly be in melee range, I’d recommend the Cloak of Protection (defensive, +1 to AC) or Thunderskin Cloak (offensive, pairs well with the Spineshudder Amulet). 

The Nymph Cloak pairs well with the Band of the Mystic Scoundrel.

Handwear: Daredevil Gloves

+1 to Spell Attack Rolls

Daredevil Proximity: Can make Ranged Spell Attack Rolls as Melee Spell Attack Rolls

For boosting the effectiveness of Eldritch Blasting! Alternatively, the Gloves of Battlemage’s Power would be perfect for this build, but apparently they’re currently bugged (as of Feb. 20, 2024, Hotfix #18).

The Spellmight Gloves, Quickspell Gloves, Gemini Gloves, and Helldusk Gloves are also interesting options.

Footwear: Helldusk Boots

Ignores Difficult Terrain

Cannot be forcibly moved by spells or actions

Use a reaction to succeed on a Saving Throw

Hellcrawler: Teleport to an area and deal 2d8 Fire Damage upon landing in a 3m/10ft zone

Utilizing infernal gear is very synergetic with Wyll’s story. However, these boots are good for characters who want to move into melee range. Alternative teleportation boots include the Disintegrating Night Walkers or the Spaceshunt Boots.

Additionally, the Boots of Stormy Clamour pair well with the Spineshudder Amulet.

Amulet: Spineshudder Amulet

Inflict Reverberation when you deal Damage with a Ranged Spell Attack

Eldritch Blasts are Ranged Spell Attacks. :)

Ring A: Ring of Arcane Synergy

Synergetic Cantrip: When you deal damage with a Cantrip, you gain Arcane Synergy for 2 turns

When you have Arcane Synergy, your Weapon Attacks deal additional damage equal to your Spell Casting Ability Modifier. This makes a lot of sense since Wyll’s highest stat should be Charisma (aka his Spell Casting Ability Modifier), and because Wyll will probably be Eldritch Blasting (Cantrip) a lot.

Ring B: Band of the Mystic Scoundrel

Illusion Quickening: After hitting a creature with a Weapon Attack, you can cast Illusion or Enchantment spells as a Bonus Action

This item is why this build prioritizes Enchantment spells! Otherwise, the only thing Wyll can really do with his Bonus Action in combat is chug a potion (or teleport), haha.

Melee Main Hand: Infernal Rapier

High Spellcasting: +1 to Spell Save DC

Planar Ally: Cambion (Summon a Cambion as an ally)

However, being able to Bind Pact Weapon via Pact of the Blade means Wyll can wield any weapon in the game! So this slot is very flexible depending on the encounter. I favor the Infernal Rapier for the +1 to Spell Save DC and the RP value.

Melee Off Hand: Viconia’s Walking Fortress

Rebuke of the Mighty: When a foe hits you with a melee attack, you can use a Reaction to deal 2-8 Force damage and possibly knock them Prone

Spellguard: You have Advantage on Saving Throws against spells; Spell Attack Rolls against you have Disadvantage 

Swires’ Sledboard is also interesting for potential Force damage. Ketheric’s Shield is good for casters in general (+1 Spell Save DC and +1 to Spell Attack Rolls), although I usually have this shield on my party’s Wizard (Gale).

Ranged Main Hand: Darkfire Shortbow

Grants Resistance to both Fire and Cold Damage

Can cast Haste as a Level 3 spell once per Long Rest

This weapon slot is less important since Wyll will be Eldritch Blasting if he needs to make a single-target Ranged Attack. The only reason he might be using a Ranged Weapon is if he’s Silenced.

As such, it’s nice to just benefit from this bow’s passives. With Fiendish Resilience, Wyll can potentially have four Resistances at once in (very late) Act 2 – Fire and Cold from the Darkfire Shortbow, Necrotic from Selûne’s Blessing, and another from Fiendish Resilience.

Additionally, an emergency Haste is great to have on the backburner.

The Bow of Awareness is another such bow that grants a useful passive (+1 to Initiative).

Ranged Off Hand: N/A

Number Crunching

If you’ve followed the above gearing, you should have 20 AC on Wyll. Hooray!

The following table should give you an idea of how Wyll performs on the battlefield as a result of his gear synergy.

Because this Warlock build has a lot of flexibility in what it can do (#gishy 👽), it’s hard to say how much damage Wyll can regularly dole out. However, in an ideal world, Wyll can take the following actions to get the most out of his gear:

Combat Round #1

Cast Eldritch Blast on three separate enemies, inflicting Reverberation on each and gaining Arcane Synergy.

Combat Round #2

Land a Weapon Attack (which uses Arcane Synergy) on an enemy, gaining Arcane Acuity.

Use Bonus Action to cast Hold Person or Hold Monster.

Land a Weapon Attack (which uses Arcane Synergy) on the held enemy; this Attack is automatically a Critical Hit.

Conclusion

Of course, this is just one way to class Wyll (or a general Warlock)! I prioritized thematic gearing over pure Damage output, so there are definitely ways to get this build even more powerful. For example, Wyll would probably be ethically opposed to using the Bhaalist Armor even though it would greatly enhance his rapier attacks. 

As an aside, there’s a funny bug with Warlock’s Pact of the Blade Extra Attack – in Explorer, Balanced, and Tactician, this Extra Attack adds to (instead of overlaps with) any Extra Attack you get from another class. 

So instead of having an Attack and Extra Attack like most other martial classes, the Lockadin gets an Attack, an Extra Attack, and an extra Extra Attack, for three Attacks total, LOL. (This bug is unfortunately resolved in Honor Mode.) Subsequently, the Pact of the Blade is a great multiclass with martial classes, but especially a Paladin (5 Warlock / 7 Paladin). 😁

Additionally, a lot of this gear is also excellent on a College of Swords Bard (another Charisma-based gish type). To that end, it may not be a good idea to have both a Bard and Warlock on the same team, as they’ll be fighting for the gear listed here.

Thanks for reading, and hope this gave you some ideas for your Warlock builds! :)

[unholy-screeching9]

If you're still taking hc requests I'd love to see some bottom Dice,,maybe bdsm mixed in there

Of course, dear! I hope this was up to your tastes. Sorry this took so long!

NSFW CONTENT WARNING!! 18+ ONLY, MINORS DNI.

💋

Bottom!King Dice x Reader NSFW Headcanons

Bottom!King Dice x Reader NSFW Headcanons (GAME)

It’s no secret to you (or to anyone, really) that King Dice clings to control. It’s in his nature, as a power-hungry and greedy man. 

He is at his happiest when everything plays out exactly how he wants it to in his head. When he has the chance to manipulate any situation, or even any person, he snatches the opportunity as quick as it comes. 

For what it’s worth, you don’t blame him one bit. As one of the only mortals hired by the Devil, it’s important to Dice that he makes his mark. That he shows everyone that just because he is more physically vulnerable, that doesn’t mean he is some kind of punching bag. 

Oh, no. King Dice is the one pulling the punches. 

More often than not, this dominant behavior applies to the bedroom, as well. When you and your husband are intimate with each other, it’s almost ALWAYS likely that Dice is the one to take the reins. 

However, every once in a while… there’s a night where the King lays down his crown. A night where he is the one who surrenders. 

The nights where you take control.

There are a plethora of different reasons that you might be taking charge for the night—perhaps Dice isn’t feeling his best and needs some help in relaxing, or maybe it’s a special night for you, and obedience is one of your husband’s gifts to you.

However… Your favorite way to take control is to earn it. 

You don’t just get to take over the rules just by asking politely, as cute as you are when you do so. That’s not how Dice’s game is played. If you really want something? You have to take it. 

At first, you’re upfront with your demands, using a straight-forward, ‘no is not an answer’ attitude. This approach usually causes a bicker between the two of you, going back and forth until you eventually rip his clothes off of him and shove him on the bed, overtaking him while he’s off guard. 

This method works flawlessly, for a little while. Although, while you two make love, Dice does become a bit of a brat to you, exaggerating his moans and whines to the point where it’s unbelievable. 

It’s almost like he’s mocking you. Rarely does Dice ever take you seriously when you’re topping him for the night… as cute as he is while keeping things humorous, it really is annoying. 

However, overtaking your husband and truly bringing him to his knees is an art that requires experimentation and skill. And as far as you are concerned, you are an artist. 

So, you start getting a little more creative with your tactics. Becoming a brat yourself, until Dice finally lets up and allows you to have dominance. Pinning him down, engaging in a playful little wrestling game and winning out of sheer determination, despite the fact that your husband could very easily take you down. 

But recently, you’ve found an approach that works every time, without fail. 

The ropes. 

Oh, how invigorating it is to get home before your husband, grabbing the bindings that he had used on you so many times before. The look of infatuated horror when he walks in and sees you waiting patiently, the ropes securely wrapped around your hands? It’s delicious. 

Dice may be stronger than you, but you’re quicker on your feet. And in this game, speed is key. Just your luck. 

As soon as you catch him, and effectively tie him down? The knowledge that brattiness and struggle would be futile forces Dice to surrender, and he is yours for the night. That confident, menacing demeanor that was supposed to be so permanent dissipates, and all that’s left is a pouting, naked, blushing mess tied up in front of you. 

But the fun doesn’t just stop at the ropes. Those are only to make sure he doesn’t try any funny business while you’re in charge. What really brings on the entertainment and pleasure is the box of… tools, that you keep under the bed. Those are what really make Dice squirm in his place. 

As your lover adjusts to his current situation, you rummage through the box, looking for your favorite. You feel the familiar sensation of leather tresses brushing against your fingers, and you quickly pull out to our prize, grinning smugly.

The flogger. Your weapon of choice. 

“Y’know, you look so adorable all tied up like that, Dice. It’s like you’re a blank canvas, waiting for me to paint you.” 

The look that Dice gives you is absolutely exquisite. You don’t think you’ll ever grow tired of watching those confident, icy eyes turn soft on you, practically begging you for mercy. And goodness, you haven’t even started yet. 

“Oh, doll, please go easy on me with that thing, you know how sensitive my skin can get!” 

“Easy, babylove. I haven’t even touched you yet! What happened to your confident charisma?” You laugh to yourself, creeping closer to his tied up form on the bed, shaking the flogger teasingly. “Alright, sweetheart. If you be a good boy and sit tight for me, I might answer your pleas.” 

Dice grits his teeth and squeezes his eyes, shut, bracing himself for the impact of the flogger’s crack… But it never comes. He waits a little longer, muscles tense as he keeps up his guard, but the familiar sting of pleasure and pain never comes. 

What he expects even less is the ticklish feeling of soft leather brush up against his bicep. Oh…

Oh no. 

“Besides, my King… There are so many uses for this thing that don’t just involve pain. Sometimes, it can bring laughter.” 

Straddling his lap, you rest a hand on his right shoulder as you brush the tresses of the whip along his bicep, enjoying the sweet melodious sound of his laughter. 

Such a shame that he always insists on being the one on top… he really is so cute when he lets you control him for a change. You relish in the time you spend teasing, tricking, and marking Dice up like a work of art. 

You continue to let the flogger’s strings sweep over your lover’s skin, slowly making your way to that ticklish spot that you had discovered a long time ago: his neck area. 

Oh, you’ll never grow tired of the way he squirms underneath you, his uncontrollable laughter echoing through the room as you continue to tickle him with the very same tool you’ve used to lash him up. 

“I–doll, what–what are–you dOING–?!” Dice spits out between guffaws, tears pricking at the corners of his eyes as you continue to gently swipe over his collarbone. 

“Oh, don’t you worry about that, highness.” You smirk as you quickly crack the flogger over his chest, earning a beautiful roar of surprise from the man pinned beneath you. “I’m just keeping you on your toes…” 

“Aw come on, that’s not fair! I asked you to take it eASY—!” You don’t let him finish, playfully shaking your flogger’s tresses against his chest and sliding down to his stomach. 

Another sweet spot.

Another bout of chortles erupts from Dice’s throat, the man struggling against his restraints. Those tears that threatened to fall finally started rolling down his cheeks, picking up his mascara along the way. What a beautiful work of art his tears make of his face.

And that smooth, ivory skin as he tries to move away from your flogger’s teasing. Shining as he starts to sweat from the heat of the room, along with his hindered ability to breathe. So soft. So flawless.

You want to mark it up. 

Out of nowhere, catching your husband completely off his guard, you suddenly crack the flogger against his chest, relishing in that loud, pained whine that your husband let out. Dice grits his teeth in an attempt to curb his vocalizing, not wanting to appear weak in front of you. 

He’s fighting back, in his own, adorably pathetic way. 

Another crack of your special tool, this time, over his stomach. Still wanting to have a little dignity, the man keeps his teeth gritted, letting out a choked grunt as he squeezes his eyes shut. More tears fall down his cheeks, much to his protest. 

“Awww, what’s the matter baby? You don’t wanna whine for me?” You coo teasingly, going back to the gentle ticklish movements with your flogger once more, forcing another round of laughter from your poor lover. 

“I— N—!” 

How precious. Dice can barely even talk. Usually, the man would have a lot to say to you, even when you’re playing with his senses like this. You must have finally cracked him. 

“C’mon, Dice, use your big boy words. Lemme hear what you have to say…” 

The man struggles beneath you, trying desperately to curb his laughter and stop squirming so much. This is absolutely humiliating. How could you render him so helpless? Completely at your mercy? 

“N—No—! Never—! I won’t—I won’t whine! I won’t beg, cry, plead, none—!!” 

Ooooh, such bold claims from a man who can barely contain his laughter from something as small as a little tickle from your flogger. Dice is always one to talk a big game, even when he doesn’t exactly have the upper hand. 

He wants to play? Oh, you’ll play. 

Another crack to that beautiful porcelain chokes out another agonized scream, your husband throwing his head back as fresh tears streak down his cheeks, sweat starting to bead at the sides of his head. God, he is glistening beneath you. And that’s not even the best part. 

The real kicker is the pressure building against your thigh, that is perfectly snug right in between Dice’s crotch. He’ll never tell, but dammit, he likes what you’re doing. The proof is leaking slightly onto your leg. 

You know what he wants. But he has to earn it. 

“You poor, poor thing… Look at yourself, Dice. Look at how you squirm underneath me, your cock pressing right up against me. You try to act tough, you deny your feelings and cling to the last smidge of authority you think you have… come now, highness. You enjoy this.” 

“I–No–!” 

“Yes, babydoll. You love it when I use your fear against you, don’t you?” 

The pressure is growing. That voice you’re using against him is driving him nuts. Even if he refuses to tell you, he doesn’t need to. You can feel it. 

“I…” 

Another crack of the whip. This time, right on his inner thigh, near his hardened erection. Oh, how he howls. It truly is such a beautiful sound, one that you don’t get to hear often. Usually, the roles are reversed, and Dice is the one undoing you. 

How amazing it feels to be the one taking the reins. You should do this more often–you’ve certainly got the speed to do so. 

But that’s something to think about at a later time. Right now, there are more important things to deal with. 

“I’ll drop the funny business and give you what you want, baby. I can see the longing in those glossy greens of yours. But I’ll only pleasure you if you ask for it.” 

Hearing you talking to him with such authority and demand makes Dice sick to his stomach. It’s not just the way you’ve stripped him of his dominance, and humiliated him in his own chambers. It’s not just the way you’ve ruined his beautiful skin, marring him with scars that will surely last over a week. 

What pisses him off the most is how his body betrays him, and proves you right. You’re absolutely right. He does love it when you smack him with that damned flogger of yours. He loves it when you toy with his emotions like a cat messing with its prey. It turns him on. Dammit, he needs you. He needs your help. 

“I.. Doll…”

“Hm? What was that, Dicey? Please, do be a dear and speak up.”

“Please, darlin’, please help me out here. I’ve let you have your fun, and you’re right. Your tricks worked like a charm. Now would you kindly wrap this up and get it all over with? I’m starting to get antsy here!”

You lean back in his lap, placing a hand on your chin as you think for a moment. Seconds later, you shake your head, laughing lowly as you lean forward, getting right in your husband’s face and running your hands over his bleeding collarbone. 

“That was such a good try sweetheart, you almost got me! But you haven’t been too well behaved since we’ve started tonight… How do I know you’ve earned it? How do I know that you really want it?”

Dice hisses at the sharp sting of your touch, fidgeting underneath you as the last bit of his iron shell starts to flake away. Even your fingers are rendering him helpless, and fuck, as much as it infuriates him, he wants you to continue. He needs it. 

“Doll, please! I’m not gonna ask again! Would you please cut the bullshit and just FUCK me already?!”

Ooh, that was the WRONG tone to use. Now, you wonder if he’ll earn anything. 

“I know you aren’t showing me attitude, you little bastard. You forget that I can do anything I want. I could end this right now if I really wanted to, and you’re starting to tempt me.”

That certainly shuts him up, real quick. Blushing in embarrassment for losing his temper like that, he looks away, hiding his reddened face from your gaze. Why do you have to be so captivating when you warn him like that? Why was that so hot?!

“P-please, I…”

You crane your neck to get a better look at him, and a malicious, victorious grin graces your features at the sight. You’ve finally made him break. 

Dice’s face is crumpled in dismay, and if you really listened hard, you could hear the tiny hitches in his breaths as he does his best to keep his desperate tears at bay. The sweat that had formed on his face earlier has finally started to drip down the sides, leaving small wet streaks of pink blush running down his cheeks. 

He’s trembling beneath you, his eyes shut tightly as he tries to keep his composure. The casino manager is hanging on by a thread, and fortunately, you brought scissors. 

“Dice, I’ll give you one last chance.” You murmur seductively, cupping his face and tilting his head towards you, forcing him to look you in the eyes. God, he looks even more pathetic with the light shining over his face. He’s so damn handsome, even when his makeup is streaky and his tears are flooding his face. 

“But this time, you need to beg for it. Otherwise, you can go to bed unsatisfied. Deal?”

And there it is. The thread has been cut. Dice leans his head right into your waiting palm, sniffling and kissing all along your fingers as if the gesture would be enough to convince you. His shoulders heave forward, trying to get closer to you. He’s aching for your touch, no matter how little. 

You smirk to yourself, poking your pointer finger at his lips, demanding entrance. He complies immediately, allowing you to slip your finger inside and explore that bratty little mouth of his. In fact, he goes the extra mile and sucks on it, allowing you to push your middle finger against his tongue as well. He lifts and lowers his head onto your hand, his tongue expertly working around your digits until you’ve decided he’s done enough. 

When you pull your fingers away, a small string of his drool connects the tip of your middle finger to his bottom lip. Aw, now that’s just priceless. 

“Such an obedient little princess, all of a sudden… You want me to fuck you, pretty boy? Is that what you want?”

“Yes, darlin’! Please, please fuck me, I’ll do anything. I’ll beg, I’ll sit, I’ll kneel, whatever you want! I’m dyin’ here, angel!” 

“Dying, you say? Well, I suppose I can’t have a dead husband now, can I?” You tease amusedly, gently pushing him back so he lays against the silky pillows. 

“Please… I’ll be so good for you, sugar. Anything you say, and I’ll do it.” 

“Alright, honey. I guess I’ll give you what you want.” You relent, smiling warmly and positioning yourself above his throbbing cock. “You ready?”

You’ve never seen Dice nod so quickly in your life. How adorable is that? 

What’s even more charming is the loud, piercing whine he lets out as you lower yourself onto him, your nails digging into his shoulders as you steady yourself. You don’t have to sit there much to tell that he is practically overflowing, due to burst at any moment.

Well, this won’t take too long. 

Wanting to hear more of those melodious noises, you finally start moving, finally giving dice what he had been wanting that entire night. Struggling against the ropes, your lover cries out in pleasure, bucking his hips along to your slow, sensual movements. He matches your rhythm easily, despite being so restrained. If anything, you have to commend him for such expertise. That truly takes some skill. 

“F-faster, baby, please-!” 

Awww, how sweet. He’s asking so nicely. But you didn’t recall asking him to speak.

You lean forward and crash your lips onto his to shut him up, taking his head in your hands as you continue at the pace you’re currently in. He wants you to go faster? He’ll have to wait patiently. 

You won’t lie, though, the little whimpers and moans he releases into your mouth are so pathetically endearing that they do tempt you to go faster, in pursuit of your own release. You suppose that to please yourself, it wouldn’t hurt to also please your husband at least a little. 

So, you pick up your pace, only slightly. However, to your surprise, it’s still enough to drive your husband into a groaning and crying frenzy underneath your form. The whines he makes double in volume and length, and his hip movements speed up to match your rhythm once more. With how rough he’s trying to be, you can tell he’s so desperate for more. It’s so entertaining to watch. 

You can feel his cock getting closer and closer to release from inside you. You can also see it on your husband’s sweaty and tearful face–and hear it in his voice. 

But you aren’t quite done yet. 

You slow back down to the pace you were going at the beginning, much to Dice’s dismay. Before he can complain and ask why you slowed down, you deepen your kiss, cutting off any air that Dice was breathing in. Silent, sweaty, and his lips all over yours–exactly how you like it. 

A wonderful reminder that tonight, everything is up to your standards. You have the final say. Man, does that power feel amazing to hold. No wonder Dice enjoys his job so much. 

“I know you’re confused at why I slowed down, sweetheart, but if I’m being honest? I don’t know if you can handle it if I pick up the pace. You’ll be done before I say so–”

“No-! I mean, n-no. No, I won’t. I promise you, baby. I said I’ll be good, and I mean it. I’ll be good, and I won’t cum until you let me. Please, please speed up, mi corazón. I don’t know how much longer I can wait.” 

“Hmm… Well, since you promised. But let me warn you, King.” 

You grip the bottom of his head, forcefully tilting his head up towards you, staring him down as you cease both your own movements, and his. 

“You cum before I say so, and I will wreck you so hard everyone in the casino is gonna wonder why you’re walking so funny. You’ll be lucky if you aren’t out there in a wheelchair if you defy me, you understand?” 

“I understand, sweets. Anything you say.”

Taking his word, your grip returns to his shoulders once again, and you start to pick up the pace. Faster. Faster. Until every time you come down on his cock, his entire length disappears inside of you. 

Oh, LORD, that hurts. It hurts so fucking good. You start to wonder if you had been punishing him for waiting this long, or yourself. 

It doesn’t take the both of you long to get lost in each other’s trance, finding your steady, quick rhythm and working through it together. Dice’s head slowly lolls back as he does as much as he can, trying so hard not to lose his composure.

When you make a threat, it’s best to take you seriously. And Dice does not want to explain to his boss why he can’t show up for work the next day. 

But god, you feel incredible on his dick, the way you slide on and off of him with such smooth rigor, your skin slapping against his over and over again, creating a beautiful sound that he’d never grow tired of. It’s enough to get him close. 

Too close. Way too close. 

Dice is towing that line now, and he knows it. If he doesn’t gain his composure soon, he’ll end up misbehaving, and then you’ll REALLY be upset. 

He can hold on for a little longer. He can sense that you’re getting closer too. He can do this. Just a little longer…

Just… a little… 

Suddenly, your lover screams in ecstasy, his eyes squeezing shut as he releases every last drop of seed inside of you, stuffing you so much that a little leaks out and starts to run down your thighs. Oh, fuck. 

FUCK. 

“…I…D-doll, I’m- I’m sorry. I know, I promised, and I broke that promise. I don’t know what came over me, I swear! Please, please have mercy on m–”

“Aww, Dicey, it’s alright.” You muse lovingly, cupping his face and pressing a warm, tender kiss to his sweating forehead. 

What? 

What do you mean it’s alright? Surely, for someone who was disobeyed after putting up with his attitude all night, it would be anything but okay. 

“I… Are you sure?” 

“Yes, Dice, of course! It happens. Mistakes happen…” 

Before Dice can truly feel the relief of being off the hook, he feels your nails dig deep into his shoulders, drawing a bit of blood that ends up trickling down and mingling with the small beads of blood left from your flogger’s wrath. 

The man lets out a soft growl of pain, gritting his teeth and reflexively struggling against the ropes, but your nails in his flesh aren’t even close to the amount of pain you have in store for him. 

“Ah! Be careful, sweetheart. You move against those restraints too much, and you’ll end up with rope burns.�� 

There’s something off about your tone. Sure, it’s kind and concerned, but it’s just… eerie. There’s a hint of malice that’s enough to make Dice slightly uncomfortable. 

“Darlin’, are you positive it’s alright? You seem a little tens—!!!!” 

Before he can finish, you start pounding yourself onto him, moving with such force that could break his legs if you aren’t careful. The suddenness of your movements knock the wind right out of Dice’s lungs, and all that he can do is gasp before holding his breath, tensing up as you continue to shake the bed. 

Holy SHIT, that hurts. Dice has really done it this time. 

“S-sweet—sWEETHEART! Ple-ase! I’m—!” 

“Easy now, my king. It’s all gonna be alright!” You call back to him with that same overly kind voice, bringing down your nails and scratching up his shoulders as you fuck him into the mattress, chasing after your own release. 

He had ONE job. One simple task: to wait until you said he could cum. It’s not like he was doing much of the work, either—Dice is tied down. He can’t use anything to aid you. That’s not how this night works. 

The ONE thing you asked him to do, and he blows it. How disappointing. 

Because now, you have to chase your own release, all by yourself. Dice was supposed to help you, but now, he’s just an exhausted shell of the man he was just a few minutes ago. Just like you had been thinking since the beginning of the night. Pathetic. 

“D-DARLIN’—! I’M- I’M S-SORR—!!” 

The man can’t even speak properly. Every time he tries, you knock the breath right out from him, leaving him gasping for air as you continue to release your anger on his poor shaking legs. 

“You don’t have to apologize, baby! Things happen!” 

Oh, but he does. He knows you better than anyone—you’re pissed. Beyond pissed. And you have every right. He understands. He’s been such a bad boy, he deserves every ounce of pain you inflict on him. That’s how punishments work.

Jesus, does it hurt to get a taste of his own medicine. 

The minutes that pass by feel like hours for Dice, and seconds for you. Once Dice finally gets the hint and shuts his trap, the only sounds in the room are his restrained moans and shouts, your ragged breaths as you continue to chase after sweet release, and the harsh creaking of the bed moving way more than it should be. 

Eventually, you finally reach your climax, spilling your juices all over Dice’s front, covering his stomach. After he dared to disobey you, you’ve finally had your revenge. When you slide off of him and collapse beside him, panting heavily, you slowly look over and admire your handiwork. 

To say that Dice is exhausted is an understatement. The man looks beaten, his breaths shaky and labored as he comes down and recovers from whatever the hell you had put him through. His legs are barely functional, unmoving aside from the slight tremors that come from the shock of your sudden wrath. 

A small stream of saliva runs down his chin, slowly trickling down the two face of his head, disappearing near his neck area. Sweat drips down his skin as well, leaving him drenched, hot, and sticking to the sheets below. The ropes he had been struggling against are still keeping his wrists tightly bound, and you can see the slight red marks from where he had tried to break free. 

You should probably untie him, at the very least. 

You slowly reach over and undo the knots, lazily tossing the ropes off to the side. You can deal with them later. 

Dice barely moves in response, slowly sliding into a semi-comfortable sleeping position. The aftermath of your orgasm is still very much stuck to his stomach, mixing with both his sweat and your own, but neither of you have the energy to clean up. 

His hand slowly, shakily, finds yours, and he squeezes longingly, silently asking you for a cuddle. You give in, and roll onto your side, snuggling comfortably against his side and resting your head on his shoulder. 

Alright, you’ll give him this: he’s so warm. So warm. It’s so nice, you don’t want to be anywhere else. Even if he had disappointed you, you suppose that the cuddles will make up for it. 

You pull up the duvet to cover the both of you, and you settle back down, starting to drift off to sleep when Dice’s low, tired voice catches your ears.

“‘M sorry, pip. I didn’t mean to…” 

Okay, that’s really cute… no matter how hard you try, you just can’t stay mad at him forever. Squeezing his hand, you laugh softly and press a kiss to his cheek, gently rubbing his chest to help his shaking form ease into sleep. 

“Oh, King… It’s seriously alright. I really do mean it this time, I promise. I love you.” 

Finding comfort in your words, your husband finally finds slumber, the tiny shakes in his body slowly dying down as he relaxes. You smile and kiss his shoulder, gently rubbing his chest through the silky covers. 

At the end of the day, it really was an accident, and your time together was still some of the best you’ve had. You can easily find it in you to forgive him. 

Besides… the next morning is where he’ll really feel his punishment.~

Bottom!King Dice x Reader NSFW Headcanons (SHOW)

To many high-end demons who roam down in hell, King Dice seems nothing more than some helpless little lackey that kisses the ground the Devil walks on. A foolish mortal that kisses up to those in power after they give him a smidge of authority somewhere. 

But they don’t see the full picture. 

While they do see Dice bow at the Devil’s feet when he needs to, and watch how much effort the man puts into his work to please his boss, they don’t see the other side. They don’t see the true power Dice has over other people. 

Dice may have his show, and all the fame, money, and glory he desires because of the Devil, but everything in the show truly is Dice’s. He is the one making most of the decisions, from the music to the set design. 

His band appears right from the palm of his hand. Dice decides who to choose for contestants. The clothing he wears is from his favorite tailor. He appoints his driver. The food he eats. The very ground he walks on. 

Dice is in charge of everything, down to the tiniest of details. He’s not some clueless wannabe star who takes what he’s given—aside from his boss, he is the one to make the moves. The alpha. The leader. 

Even in hell, some of the imps recognize Dice for the authoritative and powerful man he is. He’s respected. Idolized, even. There isn’t a meeting that goes by where the showman isn’t bombarded with excited chatter and questions about his work. 

And hey, Dice would be a dishonest fool if he said he didn’t enjoy the attention. He adores it. The peasants cheering his name before he even walks on that stage, the way his cards answer every last call he makes, his boss’s pleasant idle chatter with him… hell, even the carpal tunnel from signing so many damn papers every day gives him fulfillment! 

But there’s one place that he enjoys using his power and dominance the most. And you can’t lie—you enjoy it just as much. 

Under the sheets. 

There’s just something about the authoritative tone that Dice uses on you in the bedroom that hits just the right spots in your head. The way he fondles over your body with those perfect hands of his. The flicker of bright, piercing green in his irises that peeks through whenever things really start to heat up. 

Dice truly is a wonderful sight to behold when he has the chance to show off his control over you, and you’ll never grow tired of his ways of taking over the bedroom.

However… Just because you enjoy one thing doesn’t mean you don’t enjoy another, right?

Sometimes, you’re the one who’d like to be in charge for the night. Dice just makes the idea of dominance so exciting, you can’t deny that you’d be happy to take over every once in a while. 

Curiosity turns to fondness over the idea. And eventually, that fondness turns to craving. Need. But Dice, despite the loving gentleman he is, doesn’t give up so easily. It’s not in his nature to just hand over his authority like it’s some pleasant little gift he bought you. 

The only ways you’d ever get the chance to top him are if he is too tired to make things exciting, or if he needs you to relax him after a stressful day. Otherwise, things are on his terms. 

But the more you imagine taking the reins, the more determined you are. 

You know fully well that Dice will never give you such power just by asking nicely. He’ll think it’s adorable, sure, but you’ll need to try a lot harder than that if you really want to get your way. The showman may be a sweetheart who’d give anything to see you happy, but even so, he’s not your little puppet.

It’s alright, You’re prepared for such things. 

You know your lover better than anyone else in the world. You know his strengths, his motivations, the things he holds dearly. You know his weaknesses, both out of the bedroom, and in. 

And boy, are you ready to use those weaknesses to your advantage. 

To get what you want, you need to be unpredictable. You need to catch your lover right off his feet, so you never strike at a set time frame. Your catch could happen anywhere–in the limo, in your chambers, even in Dice’s own dressing room. 

The latter is certainly your favorite. 

How splendid it feels to sneak into Dice’s domain through the back door, waiting patiently for his show to conclude, perched neatly atop his velvet sofa and listening to his smooth voice manipulating his audience. You’ve chosen a rather enticing outfit to wear, in hopes of sending the hint as soon as Dice comes in to see you. Your special box of ‘tools’ sits right beside you, waiting with you just as patiently. 

You know it’s go-time whenever you hear the overwhelming applause come from the auditorium, your husband sensually thanking everyone for coming out tonight as the curtain finally closes. This is it.

The door to the dressing room creaks open, and in steps your husband, looking bleary-eyed and ready to head home… until his eyes fall onto your waiting figure. He can’t help but stare in awe, confused yet longing eyes tracing and memorizing every single hair on your head. Every thread of fabric on your outfit. Well, he’s certainly awake now. 

“Oh, sweetheart, you look absolutely wonderful tonight. What’s the occasion?” 

You can’t help but chuckle at his dumbfoundedness. It seems that his eyes have completely missed the box that was sitting beside you, too focused on your erotic taste in fashion. Perfect. 

“Nothing too special, dear…” You muse seductively, standing and sauntering over to your husband. Smiling at his adorable fascination and desire, you kiss his cheek and reach at his bow tie, completely undoing it with one firm tug. 

“I just thought that maybe we could have some fun in the studio tonight. You know, to celebrate yet another successful night as Inkwell’s biggest star.” 

“My, my! How forward of you tonight, my love.” Your lover smirks in response, his hands snaking around your sides in an attempt to seduce you right back. “You don’t even want to wait until we’re home, hm? You want me to treat you right here?” 

How sweet of him to try and get you to melt into his arms, as he does every night. But tonight is different. Tonight is your moment to shine, after he’s had many moments on his show. And you have him right where you want him. 

“You’re right about one thing, sugar. I don’t want to wait until we’re home, the ride is rather long. However…”

Snap!

You grin wickedly as your sleek handcuffs secure perfectly around Dice’s wrists, trapping him in his own hold against you. His eyes widen in shock as you easily slip out from his arms, the chains of his restraints clinking together as he tries to break free. 

“Wait a minute! Doll, what are you–”

“Easy there, tiger. I’m not gonna hurt you. I just need you to be still this time around, that’s all~” 

Setting your special box on the floor, you guide the awed showman over to the couch and sit him down, straddling his lap and pushing him back. 

“Tonight, you’re mine. Right here, in a space that’s supposed to be your own.”

“What do you mean I’m ‘yours,’ just what are you getting at here? Uncuff me right now, you little rascal!” 

You laugh mockingly at Dice’s outrage, leaning down and pulling something out of your box, holding it up and examining it. Your eyes deem the tool adequate, and you shift your position so Dice is forced to lay down, briefly uncuffing him for a moment to reposition his arms. 

Dice makes a move to launch at you and reclaim dominance once again, but you’re just slightly quicker than that. You shove your entire body weight against him, shoving him down against the soft cushion. No more funny business. Now it gets real. 

“Now you listen to me, six-sides…” You growl threateningly, grabbing his arms and forcing them above his head. The slight tremors in your husband’s form feel intoxicating against your still, confident legs as you re-cuff his wrists together, this time using your long rope to add extra security.

“You will NOT disobey me tonight, or put up any sort of fuss. You know damn well what you expect of me when you are in this position, so why do you think I should expect any less?” 

Before you can go too much further, you realize that you’ve got some fabric to remove, first. Holding the excess rope by your mouth to keep Dice in place, you rip off that goddamn suit of his, tossing his now wrinkled waistcoat, vest, slacks, and undershirt behind the couch. Tch. Pathetic pieces of cloth. 

“You're my bitch, you understand me? You're nothing but a shaking, horny little puppet. Tonight, you’re my plaything, and nothing more.” 

That tone of voice you’re using. The dirty language coming from your normally refined and polished vocabulary. Your embarrassing attempt at displaying power. Power that is supposed to belong to Dice…

How… How DARE you?! 

“Now you listen to ME, you harlot.” Dice sneers from underneath you as you make quick work of the ropes, securing his chest and torso with expert knotting before moving down to secure his feet together. “You think you can speak to me like that, here? In MY dressing room? In MY studio? In MY domain?! You have THREE seconds to remove these pathetic ropes and uncuff me, and apologize for your insolence, or I swear to Satan I will–”

SMACK!

Dice’s words are cut off with a harsh, stinging impact to his chest, and replaced by a high-pitched howl of pain. Oh, shit, that hurt. What on earth did you…

Oh. Oh, no. 

Not that. ANYTHING but that. 

“Shut your goddamn mouth, Dice.” With gritted teeth, you lean down so you’re inches from Dice’s face, waving your trusty flogger for good measure. “And don’t make me use this more than I need to, you got that? I will make that porcelain skin RIDDLED with scars, scratches, bruises, ANYTHING to make you submit to me. You don’t fucking scare me now, you bastard. You’re pathetic. And you’ll do nothing, if you want to keep your head.” 

Slowly, Dice’s mouth closes in submission, but boy, if looks could kill? You’d surely be dead. Even so, you can’t help but scoff at his death glare, feeling completely unphased at the threatening flickers of bright green his irises give off. Oh, he is pissed. 

But you could not give a damn. 

“Good boy. Now, stay nice and quiet for me, and maybe I’ll reward you instead.”

You ignore Dice’s furious grumbling under his breath as you continue tying him down to your liking, smirking at your handiwork once you finish. There’s no way he’ll be able to try any more moves on you now, not after your knotting. 

Which is great, because your next trick would be the cause for a heap of squirming…

You slowly tug down Dice’s boxers, bringing them down to his knees before putting your flogger to work once again. Except this time, it’s not to inflict any pain, but rather, something much more joyful.

Dice’s laughing, even when he might not want to, is always such a melodious sound that graces your ears. And god, there’s nothing that brings it out more than when you gently flutter your flogger’s tresses over his inner thighs. His weak spot. 

You never usually get the chance to play with your husband’s emotions like this, but watching him wriggle beneath you, trying without success to escape from your grasp? You make a mental note to do this more often. 

To ground Dice back to reality, and make another beautiful mark on his ivory flesh, you suddenly crack your tiny whip against his hip, relishing in that precious whine that you hadn’t heard in way too long. Yes. Definitely do this more often.

“H-how–! H-how dARE you! You little BRAT! S-stop thi–AGH!” 

Another blow from your tresses, to his stomach this time. As cute as he is writhing beneath you, you have no tolerance for brattiness. Not tonight.

“Watch it.” 

“MAKE me, you–AAHH!!” 

One last crack of your tool for good measure, and Dice is finally looking down for the count. Dark tears pricking the corners of his squeezed shut eyes as his eyeliner mingles with the clear liquid, his pearly whites gritted in an effort to conceal his agonized yet aroused groans. 

“Had enough?” You beckon, teasing his nipple with your free hand as you run the flogger along his sides. 

Reduced to a twitching, mumbling mess, your husband weakly nods, his cheeks red in humiliation. This… This is torture. You are evil. But yet, Dice doesn’t want you to stop. 

Alright. Maybe he can let go of his pride for one measly night.

“I… O-okay, dumpling. You got me. I-I’ll back down for tonight. JUST for tonight though, you hear me? You can have your fun for ONE night. Don’t tell me I never gave you anyth–MMH!”

Sometimes, you find that all you need to shut that blabbering mouth is to kiss it. If he weren’t being such a brat to you, you’d have half a mind to do it more often. He really tastes just delightful, when you have the chance to snag his lips right after his show. 

That cinnamon chapstick combining flavors with the leftover hints of red wine from his saliva make such a heavenly combination, even after effectively shutting Dice up, you can’t bring yourself to pull away just yet. You want to enjoy your meal, just for a bit longer.

When you finally pull away, you can't help but grin at Dice’s disappointed moan, mourning the loss of your soft lips against his own. God, he’s lucky he’s so damn cute looking like that!

“Awww, what’s the matter, princess? You looking for something?”

That disappointed look is quickly replaced by another embarrassed pout, your lover’s cheeks darkening just that much more. 

“S-shut up. I don’t want to hear it.” 

“Too bad, hun. Unfortunately, I’m not interested in what you want.” You admit in mock sympathy, running your finger down his cheek. Your hand slowly, sexily, trails down his side, manipulating him into believing your touch was for comfort before bringing your hand down on his ass, laughing softly at the pained grunt Dice tries to hide between his teeth. The tears that had threatened to fall earlier finally make their way down, leaving dark violet streaks all over his face. Absolutely beautiful. 

But there’s something else that you notice, pressing up against your leg. Something that you had been waiting for since you first started toying with him. Finally, there he is. 

“Look who’s finally coming out to play, Dicey! It seems that I’ve finally got you cracked, and what, with one spank? You mean to tell me that’s what got you hooked?”

“I s-said, sHUT UP–!”

Another spank to his reddening ass, and Dice is a whimpering, wailing puddle between your legs. God, how pathetic. He really is your perfect little slut tonight. 

“What was that, baby? I couldn’t hear you.” 

“N…Nothing, doll…”

“That’s better.” You smirk, gently pumping his hardened erection with your hand, looking him right in his pathetically watery eyes. “Now… do you want me to fuck your brains out or not?”

“...” Oh, watching that internal struggle between want and stubbornness is hilarious! The way Dice’s eyes flicker back and forth as his head leans down in thought, both sides of his brilliant mind fighting for the correct decision. You didn’t know he could be so indecisive, even when he doesn’t have that much power. 

“I don’t know if you heard my question, Dice.” You lament, your hand speeding up and gripping him twice as hard, choking out an excited screech from the quivering man beneath you.

“I said… do you want me to fuck your brains out, or NOT?!”

“Yes!! Sweetnessl, please!! I n-need you!” 

“One more time? You’ve gotta speak up, baby, I can’t hear you.”

“DOLL, PLEASE! FOR FUCK’S SAKE!!” 

“Don’t you DARE swear at me, boy!” You bellow from above him, your free hand squeezing his nipple in warning. “You BEG, and you beg NICELY, you understand?”

“Y-yes! YES! I UNDERSTAND!”

“Good.” Smirking at your success, you lower your bottoms and take a seat on his waiting cock, painfully slowly. From there, your puppet is nothing but sensual screams and praises as he finally receives what he’s been craving. 

But as with many things in Dice’s life, after adjusting to your form hugging his length, he can’t help but need more of it. And he isn’t afraid to be vocal about his desires, either. 

“B-babydoll… I…”

“Oh for hell’s sake, Dice, what? What do you want from me, hm? Go on, spit it out.” 

“I—n… I need y…” Ohh, the poor dear. You’ve rendered him speechless, it seems. 

“C’mon, use your grown-up words, sugar bear. Come on, tell me what you want.” You smile lovingly, manipulating him with your sweet sweet voice as you cup his face, wet with desperate tears. 

“I need you, my love. Please, please start moving already…”

Laughing at his helplessness, you slowly start bouncing up and down, pinning him by the shoulders as you ride his cock at a snail’s pace. You can feel it inside you, Dice is full. Dangerously full. You’re sure that once you’re finished with him, you’ll be so stuffed you might just feel queasy. 

But that’s alright, You’ll take it. You’ll take every last drop, if it means Dice will submit to you completely and cum into you at your discretion. 

That’s the key. This time around, Dice is cumming on your terms. And before you go too crazy, you need to make that known. 

“B-baby, faster! Faster, please!” 

Perfect timing, too.

“Now, Dice, you listen to me and you listen good. I’ll give you what you want, but you need to promise me something, alright?” You pause in your tracks, making sure you have Dice’s complete attention. 

After whining in despair at the cease in movement, Dice does his best to recollect himself before looking back up at you, panting heavily, a small sliver of drool running down his chin. 

“Anything, doll! Anything!! I’ll promise to beg, kiss, hell! I’ll even BARK if that’s what you want! Just say the word, and I’ll promise! But fuck, baby, if you don’t start moving again I don’t know WHAT I’ll do!!” 

“Easy there, casanova. As appealing as the thought of you barking for me might be, I only need you to do one thing.” You lean forward, your nose touching his front pip, your hot breaths mingling together to create a suffocating heat between the two of you. 

“You will NOT cum until I tell you to. Do I make myself clear?’

“CLEAR AS A DIAMOND, BABY! You have my word! Now ple–”

“Ah ah ah,” you tsk in disapproval, skeptical of his quick answer. You want him to mean it. That answer was way too quick, laced with arousal. 

“You better not be pulling my leg just to get what you want, showman. Promise me again, with meaning.” 

Dice takes in a shuddery breath, trying to get a grip before completely breaking, leaning his head back as more darkened tears stream down his blushing cheeks. He lets out a whine of despair, his eyes squeezing shut. He wants you so bad, it’s physically painful. 

“Sweetheart, I promise you, I’ll do exactly as you say! I won’t even THINK about cumming until you give me permission! I mean every word!” 

Still a bit too desperate for your taste, but you figure you���ve tortured him long enough. You run a couple fingers along the bottom edge of his face, fondly teasing him with your touch as you finally start to move your ass again, this time at a much faster and rougher pace. 

“Alright, hun, you win. As long as you keep your word, I’d say you’ve earned your fair share tonight.” 

What sounds like a simple transaction in your voice, means everything to the man pinned beneath you. Holy FUCK, you’ve started moving, and you’ve started moving quick. Yes. Yes! 

FUCK, YES! 

To hell with insisting on control! To hell with stubbornness! Damn it ALL, if it means Dice gets to feel like this, completely at your mercy! 

The man bites his lip to keep from screeching too loudly, not wanting to damage your hearing. You’re giving him exactly what he wants, even though he’s put up such a fight with you all night, the least he could do is spare your eardrums. 

But as much as Dice wants to conceal his excitement, you want him to let it all out. And in an effort to coax out his screams, you dig your nails into his shoulders and drag your fingers across his chest, the scratches from your hands hatching over the slightly scarred marks on his chest from your flogger. 

It works like a charm. Forgetting all about decency, Dice screams in pleasure, throwing his head back as you continue chasing your orgasm. His hands reflexively struggle against the restraints, the ropes and cuffs surely rubbing his skin raw. 

Not that Dice would care. With the way he’s acting over your skin crashing against his, you wonder if he even notices the pain. Probably not, since all he’s whining about is how much he loves you, and that he doesn’t want you to stop what you’re doing at all. 

Though you want to tell yourself otherwise, you can’t help but thrive off of Dice’s sweet praises as you concentrate on your rhythm. Even when he is dominant, he’s sweet to you, but when you’re in charge? It’s on a whole nother level. 

Literally, all you are doing is lifting and lowering yourself onto his dick, but your lover may as well be renewing his vows to you. It’s priceless! 

“Oh my WORD, babydoll, you’re incredible! Please don’t stop what you’re doing–GOD, just like that sugar! JUST LIKE THAT! You’re so fucking good at that rhythm, sweetheart, I should hire you as a conductor!! SHIT, RIGHT THERE! THERE, BABY!”

And he keeps on going, from there. It’s so, so adorable, you can’t help but lean forward and kiss his precious lips as you pick up your pace, pounding against him so hard the both of you start to see stars. 

His muffled shouts of pleasure, as well as the straining in his voice, let you know that he’s starting to get close. And yet, as he promised, he holds it in for you. Just as you had asked. 

Good heavens, such a good boy he’s being! 

“Mmm, baby, you’re being SO good for me, you know that? See how easy it is to be satisfied when you don’t put up such a fight? You could have had this so much sooner if you had just surrendered from the beginning!” You moan into your husband’s mouth, smiling into your kiss as Dice whimpers back in apology.

“Mmm! Mmmfh, mm… MMM!~”

“Oh, I know you’re sorry, sweet cheeks. It’s okay, I forgive you. You’re just too adorable to stay angry with!” You giggle in response to his newfound language, pulling your lips away from his and grinning at the string of saliva connecting your mouths together. Perfect. 

“I feel you getting close, baby. You remember your promise, don’t you?” 

Biting his lip so hard he almost draws blood, Dice quickly nods, doing everything in his power not to explode into you until you say the word. So obedient. It’s almost strange to you, as just half an hour ago, he was putting up such a fight. How quickly the tables can turn!

“I-I remember, doll!” 

“Good boy. Just stay like this, for a little bit longer. And then I’ll let you cum, okay? But DON’T move a muscle until I say you can cum.”

Completely tense, Dice nods in agreement, gasping for air as you continue to shove yourself onto him, finally starting to get close as well. Now this will be one of the best sensations you’ve felt in a long time. 

Starting to struggle to keep it together yourself, you lean down and bite on his shoulder, muffling your pleasured shouts as you feel your insides come close to exploding. 

Alright, You’re ready. But… 

“Dice, are you ready?”

“YES! Yes, baby, I’m ready!” 

“Are you sure you’re ready?” You can’t help but tease him one last time, smiling against his shoulder as he roars in desperation, that familiar horny rage back at full force. 

“DAMMIT, BABY! How many times do I have to FUCKING say it?! I’M READY!” 

“Watch it, mister. You might just prolong your wait if you start being a brat again.” 

Dice winces slightly in regret at losing himself, much to your amusement. He pants heavily as you continue bringing him closer to the edge, until eventually:

“CUM, DICE!” 

As soon as the words escape your lips, you feel Dice’s erection twitching as he explodes every last bit of his seed into your ass, filling you up so much even your stomach expands a little to hold it all in. The screams of euphoria that come from above your lowered head are sounds that you will hold onto until your dying days–they are perfect! 

It’s enough to push you over the edge as well, and once again you sink your teeth into Dice’s collar bone as your own fluids explode from underneath you, splattering all over Dice’s front like a work of art. A beautiful, sexy, delicious work of art. 

You finally know just what you want to give him for his reward. 

Tiredly lifting yourself off of Dic’s cock, allowing the excess seed to spill between your legs, you smile warmly at your short-winded king as you rest your hands on his knees to keep him still. And then, you let your tongue do the rest. 

Despite being out of breath, Dice finds the strength to groan in pleasure as you drag your tongue across his stomach, lapping up every last drop of fluid you can find. He lets you know just how incredible your tongue feels against his skin, wondering aloud just how you might taste. 

If he must know, you taste deliciously salty, with a hint of iron as the tiny beads of blood from his new flogger scar mingle together with your juices. It’s delicious. 

He has been good for you ever since you had started fucking him, so maybe you could give him just one more reward, right? 

Once you finish cleaning him up, making sure every ounce of liquid has been taken care of, you lean back up and press your lips back against his. Upon feeling his mouth open slightly as he gasps in surprise, you slip your tongue right inside, your taste buds connecting with his and allowing your husband to learn exactly how you taste. 

Exquisite, as far as Dice is concerned. 

While he is distracted with the different flavors happening in his mouth, you find the energy to stand completely, pulling up both your bottoms and his boxers. You quickly undo the ropes and handcuffs, feeling a little guilty at the red marks that mar his flesh. 

Being the gentleman he is, Dice doesn’t let you wallow for too long. 

“Don’t sweat it, sweetheart. I’ve put you in similar situations before. Besides, I… might be a bit of a masochist.” 

Oh, really now? 

“Hm… I’ll have to remember that for next time, then.” You tease warmly, tossing the restraints aside in favor of snuggling on top of him, smiling sleepily as your husband’s arms lazily wrap around you. 

“Mmm… as much as I hate to give up my reins again, next time can’t come soon enough.” Dice admits softly, pressing a tired kiss to the top of your head and letting out a yawn as his eyes start to flutter shut.

You both rest comfortably against each other, finding comfort in your skin’s contact. But even as you slip off into dreamland, your mind wanders, and you ponder Dice’s last statement in yearning. 

He is absolutely right, next time can’t come soon enough.

[endiecutieo6]

so, my idea is trans freddy. like, how was his childhood, his relationships (kreacher and martha for example) as a trans man? does he made any surgery?

Heyo! Got this Drabble done pretty fast and I like how it turned out!

TW: misogyny, period typical transphobia, mentions of sex, improper binding, bad parenting, neglect

ALSO: I’m not trans myself, so if I’ve written down anything incorrect or offensive, please inform me so I can educate myself and be a better person.

Drabble below!

Freddy had grown up feeling like everything was a lie, that he was a lie. His childhood wasn’t a fond thing to recall, through the blurs and snippets that still remained despite all these years. He was terribly alone, always the odd one out, never comfortable no matter how hard he tried. He hated being seen, hated when people spoke his name, hated being aware. His father didn’t help, always looking at him with regret, mourning the fact he “didn’t have a son while he could”, as if it was Freddy’s fault for the way he was born.

He had no friends, didn’t want them. He couldn’t find happiness with anyone, not when he was so wrong. Any talking was only for necessity, only to get something, only to survive. He was seen as distant and callous, an “improper woman”- a phrase he despised. At some point, he stopped caring about how he was perceived, about what people thought of him. They were wrong, blind to the truth that Freddy knew in his heart was right, so why the hell should he listen?

Freddy felt trapped, but Freddy was a clever child. He planned his change of scenery, planned his escape, planned his way to achieve freedom and finally live the life he wanted. He’d applied for law school under his true name, and one night while his father was passed out he made his escape; cutting his hair, binding his chest as tightly as he could with the bandages kept in the hallway closet, snatching the clothes he’d managed to buy or snag from his fathers closet, and he ran. He’d made sure to snatch some money on the way out, just for good luck.

It was this that Freddy found true happiness. He could actually live, live the life he wanted, be seen the way he wanted and he called the name he wanted. Even through his lack of status in his field (he’d tell people he was an orphan, a son of no one) it didn’t seem all that important, especially when he could gain his power through different methods. It was underhanded, but why should he care? The world had punished him for simply just existing, so why shouldn’t he take why he’s due?

That’s how he was able to marry Martha, his beloved Martha. She was a woman like no other, once in a lifetime. Of course, there was a looming terror at first; it was one thing to hide your body from the people that would never really see it up close, but to hide it from the person you planned to marry? Impossible. It felt like a dirty secret, something that would take the world he built so hard for and tear it apart, leaving him with nothing once more, but… she was fine with it. Accepting him without another word, kissing him on the lips and telling him that she didn’t care what name he went by, she loved him either way. She’d massage his sore muscles, careful to avoid irritating the areas where his skin would chafe from the binds, making sure to avoid pressing against his already sore ribs. She was always so gentle, and Freddy was surprised with how much he liked it.

The pregnancy was a shock to both of them. Martha had admitted that she’d slept with Leo not too long before she left, to give him a send off to “alleviate the guilt of being a neglectful wife” and it must’ve taken. At first, Freddy didn’t know what to feel; it wasn’t his in the biological sense, but why did that matter anyway? They would be raised by him, see him as a father, and he’d give them all the love his father had deprived from him. Martha had been terrified at first, only to be overwhelmed with joy when Freddy told her he wanted to raise them as their own, to be family. Freddy had liked the sound of that.

But, Freddy had taken too much from the world and had become indebted to karma, which came back to haunt him. With Martha gone, the man who was the only person willing to call him his friend gone, his beloved child gone, and later on his job all gone, Freddy felt hollow. Anger was the only thing left he could hold onto, and it took him to the manor.

Kreacher was interesting. Admittedly, much of his resentment came from a place of envy; Kreacher just seemed so naturally masculine in all the ways Freddy wanted to be, with his beard and chest hair all on display, like he was mocking Freddy. To bite and snarl was the only way Freddy felt like he could fight back against the perceived slights, and that’s how they were for a while. But, as time passed and they worked together, Freddy had softened. Words that were meant to be biting now came out laced with endearment rather than hatred, and he was no longer met with vitriol, only with a lopsided grin that Kreacher rarely showed anyone else and a witty response that never failed to get a chuckle out of him.

When exactly feelings had emerged, Freddy didn’t know, but it all bubbled and boiled to the surface after they’d gotten a little too drunk for their own good, ending up tangled in Freddy’s bed. Kreacher wasn't as gentle, teeth scraping against skin, nails digging in like he was afraid Freddy would slip away if he let go, but Freddy found that he liked it. The morning after was a shock for Kreacher yet seemingly pleasant, but it was a moment of terror for Freddy. No, Freddy didn’t have a nice morning that day, for as soon as their eyes met, bodies sprawled nude in Freddy’s bed, Freddy had the first panic attack he’d had in years. Kreacher did his best to console him, he really did, but words weren’t reaching Freddy and so he just opted to hold him while Freddy cried and cried, unable to control his tears for much longer.

He was accepting, and Freddy wasn’t as shocked by this as he was with Martha. Kreacher had seen all kinds of people, made odd bedfellows while scrounging on the street for cash. He’d grown to realize early on that people were different and that was okay, though his want to exploit people’s sympathy for cash was something to be worked on. If he’d been completely shocked by the discovery or had a suspicion all along, he never said, only reassuring Freddy that it didn’t matter to him.

Freddy wasn’t used to being in love again, especially in a much less socially acceptable way. He was afraid to touch, to make first contact, to hold and feel his heart pound, but Kreacher never seemed to mind. Kreacher was just the type of accepting he wanted, the type to not condescend or treat overly fragile. He wasn’t a brute either, always making sure it was never too much and that it was just enough. Sure, they couldn’t leave the manor, couldn’t get a house and live a happy life, maybe adopt a child or- Freddy knew he couldn’t have all those things, but he found that he was okay with that. It wasn’t much, but he was happy.

[creations-by-chaosfay]

Did you say you make coasters without binding? I'm curious.

Also, I'm so glad Cacoa is gonna be okay. I hope you get some great luck very soon.

Thank you!

I use an inside out method, and the results loom like this:

I give some a border so as not to lose the edges of the design. When I do the quilting tomorrow, I'll take pics, but the short version is I machine quilt the finished top with the batting, but no backing. After the quilting is done, I then lay the backing down, right side up, lay the finished part on top of the backinf...with the quilt top facing the backing, like right sides together. I sew a half inch seam on the edge, for 3.5 sides, and leave a gap large enough to pull things through. Snip off the corners to the seam, pull it all through so the right side is out, press the new seam with the iron, tuck in the gap, sew a quarter inch from the edge, and maybe go over some of the quilt to make the coaster lay flatter. Then I hand sew and seal the gap that was left, wash, and voila, done. Takes about half as long as adding binding. I won't do this after about 6x8 inches because it looks...odd.

Most of my coasters are done this way though. It's quick, easy, fewer steps, and less taxing on my joints.

[peaches2217]

I’ve foregone binding for the past three days in favor of the Puffy Vest Method, and with another cold snap coming up, I’m gonna try sticking with it for a while longer! My body definitely needs it — I tried wearing a loose-fitting sports bra underneath everything yesterday, and ten minutes later I was having to tear it off. My ribs are so sensitive that I can’t wear anything that wraps directly around them, no matter how gently.

I should be hearing sometime this week whether or not my referral’s been accepted. I’m hoping and praying the news comes tomorrow, but I don’t know if their office will be open (most places aren’t closed tomorrow here locally, but I dunno about Little Rock); Wednesday will mark two weeks after my referral got submitted, so if I haven’t heard anything by then, I’ll call again.

Wish me luck and good news!!

[noeysnowy]

Binding for newbies

(This is not a comprehensive list and your welcome to add if i missed anything)

SO! You want to bind your chest, well your in luck i have some info and tips so you have somewhere to start off!

The 2 ways im familiar with binding is by using transtape and a chest binder.

Ill be talking about:

- What they are

- The pros and cons

- Application/usage (and removal)

- And the potential dangers

transtape:

is a tape made from cotton and spandex that you apply to you chest, you cut two strips that you apply on your boobs and then pull your boobs out to each side. Youll find it in rolls like this

Chest binders:

are a vest that compresses your chest. Theyre a very popular method of binding. They’ll typically look like this (you can also get a swim binder)

Pros!

Transtape:

- is great for shaping the chest into a masculine shape! It’s incredibly customisable because you cut the peices yourself and decide how flat you want it.

- It can be worn for up to 5 days! You can work out, shower, swim and do practically anything with it on and itll stick! Itll get a little icky after those days but you can enjoy your flattened chest for a whole week!

It usually comes in a range of skin-colours to match or you can get fun patterns and colours!

Binder:

- its much quicker to put on and its an easy everyday solution

- many say their chest feels flatter with a binder

-feels very secure because of the pressure

- its just one purchase that last years!

Cons

Transtape

- When you take it off your skin is sensitive and in my experience my nipples are very sensitive

-if applied wrong it can seriously irritate the skin, so the proper application method is a little slow

-its all about practice so you might not get the flatness you want on your very first try

- you have to continuously buy some instead of it just being one purchase (make sure to cross reference so you dont have to way wayyyy to much)

Binder:

- you cant do any sports because you arent able to breathe like you should. I mean it, do not do sports with a binder. (You can get a specific swim binder though)

- it can get dangerous if you where it for more than 8 hours a day

- its a bit tricky to put on and take off

- get sweaty so you have to wash them

Application/usage (and removal):

So the most important part about binding is doing it correctly, but its often hard to find info on what not to do and what to do, so I’ve compiled everything you need to know.

Transtape:

Application is tricky and i find writtten instruction is basically useless so i found some great video tutorials on how to apply it!

Small chest:

Medium chest:

Big chest:

And a very important part is taking transtape off again, now i have personally commited the cardinal sin of just ripping it off, dont do that you will fuck up your skin. Instead you have to lather the peice of tape in oil (any oil is good, i use coconut) and lather the whole thing so its very saturated, then wait a 1-3 minutes for the adhesive to let go and then peal it off. If you feel its sticking to your skin still, put some more on and pull softly.

And heres a video for good measure:

In general the TransTape youtube channel is great for info about transtape, so definetly check them out if you buy some. Their website also offers transtape, nipple covers and oil.

Binder:

Binders are a lot quicker to put on as its just a vest, but its tight and its a bit tricky so if you can get someone to help you on your first try id recommend that.

Now there are a few important things to know about wearing binders, so you can wear them properly and not fuck up your ribs

1. Make sure to get the right size, this is very important for your chest health (your website should have a measurement chart)

2. Never wear it longer than 8 hours

3. Take a minimum of 2 break days a week (as in dont wear it) I usually do that in the weekend.

4. Never double bind, as in wear two at once, and never wear a tight sportsbra over or under it to make it flatter, again you will fuck up your ribs and you cant fix that.

5. If it hurts take it off, I know dysphoria is an incredibly tough battle but your health is more important. I believe in you <3

6. Never and i mean never do sports with a binder on

7. Wash it! it gets sweaty and stinky over time so definetly wash it. I wash by hand with some warm water and delicate laundry detergent but your specific binder should have instructions on how to wash it on the tag.

Dangers:

Both of these methods sadly have some downsides, but they are avoidable if you use them correctly

Transtape:

can irritate your skin if you put it on wrong, it gets itchy and if you scratch, you can cause sores, which then means you cant wear your tape till its healed. Ive tried this and it is a HELL so put it on properly!

Binders:

Are dangerous because they compress your entire chest and that means your ribs and all the important organs inside em, so when buying i binder make sure to buy yours size and if youre in between, buy the bigger one, under no sircumstance should you but a binder that is to small, it can seriously harm you.

When your ribs are bent, you cant unbend them and they will hurt when you sleep and breathe so please wear it correctly

All in all thats it! I sadly dont know every website for binders and transtape out there but these are the ones ive used (theyre DK specific)

Transting (for binders)

Peech (For transtape)

if you know of any other websites you trust your welcome to add them!

I hope this was a help on your journey with gender expression and euphoria, i love you, I believe in you and happy fucking with gender out there <333

[keicordelle]

Celebrating Dawntrail Official Release Day with some more Shadowbringers Thanuri! Chapter 16 is up on Ao3! Taking a half-step back in time to follow Urianger as he picks up some definitely not at all concerning research materials.

Read it on Ao3 at the link above, or check out the first chapter on Tumblr here.

-

The towering shelves and vaguely musty smell of aged paper felt like home, even if they weren't the same towering shelves and musty pages Urianger was used to. He ran his finger along the spine of the nearest book, not because it particularly interested him (although the transmigration of Meracydian water fowl did sound intriguing, on second glance), but for the simple pleasure of feeling the worn leather beneath his touch. Like old friends welcoming him home.

But he did have a goal, and the transmigration of Meracydian water fowl was unfortunately not it. He drifted through the shelves, noting with only mild surprise that the organizational system of the Cabinet of Curiosity corresponded fairly closely to that of the Noumenon. Sensible, he supposed, given who had no doubt established the system, and entirely convenient at a time like this — even if Urianger would have enjoyed the excuse to get lost in the stacks for a time.

Tomes of every size and thickness lined the shelves: some sporting thick, well-tended hide covers, others scarcely more than loose sheafs with disintegrating fabric bindings. Their content spanned the gamut of human interest. Few enough had titles emblazoned on their spines, but those that did invariably garnered both his attention and his interest. Food and Nutrition in Second Astral Era Meracydia, Aetherochemical Manipulation of Chimeric Forms, The Sins of the Past: Light Consumption and the Origins of Sin Eaters, A Sinner's Kiss....

He paused before that last one. That was certainly... different from the rest. It seemed he had stayed strayed into the fiction section at some point, and judging by the rather... salacious titles that surrounded it, a decidedly niche section of fiction at that. Heat rose to burn through his ears. This was very much not where he'd intended to find himself. Twelve preserve him if someone found him here, browsing such libidinous titles.

Although... he turned back, lower lip caught between his teeth as he eyed the offending tome. Curiosity slipped through him, prickling between his ribs. It could be... educational. No doubt the contents of that book would expound upon things he'd never read about before. That he'd never even thought to consider until... recently. Perhaps he could learn something. About... kissing. Or... Anything, really. (One thing in particular, perhaps.)

His hand moved almost on its own accord. Supple paper rustled beneath his fingers as the book found its way off the shelf and into his palm. He flipped it open at random, casting a quick glance about to make sure no one was likely to stumble upon him in his perusal. Skimming random pages of equally random books was not the most studious method of ascertaining its contents, but...

But despite the title, nothing within the pages he scanned offered any insight into, say, how to navigate one's first romance with an old friend. A sucking sensation not unlike disappointment slipped through him as he tucked the book back into its rightful place. Disappointment? Surely not. He didn't really want to read about... that sort of thing, did he?

But he couldn't deny his curiosity had been piqued. Another covert glance thrown over his shoulder as he shuffled two steps to the right to try his luck on a different shelf.

When he turned back, his eyes landed directly on what had to be the most dreadfully racy cover he'd ever seen in his life. Two men tangled together over a field of lush grasses, only an artfully placed scrap of illogical fabric hiding their intimacy from the eyes of whatever unlucky onlooker stumbled upon them. Heat raced to Urianger’s face, blazing along his ears until he was half-convinced they'd sear right off. "Lust Beneath the Light" read the title in overly elaborate font, the curl of the i aligning just so over the entwined figures. To think that such a tome was so readily available within these shelves, visible for all to see...

Less visible once it made its way into Urianger’s hand. There was a ribbon tucked into the pages. Marking someone's place? Cheeks burning so hot it was a wonder no one had come to check on the blaze, he thumbed it open to the marked page.

He feels the grip of Jacques's arms around him hold him tight. Jacques lips feast at his. It stirs up the storm of desire that rages within him. "Please," Phyren moans loudly. His panting breaths are hot on Jacques's lips. "Please impale me with your rod. I cannot wait any longer." He feels Jacques's burgeoning manhood press against his anus. Excitement runs through him. His heart pounds. In just a few moments, he and Jacques will be one at last. In one swift motion, Jacques thrusts his engorged co—

The book snapped shut in Urianger’s hands. Sightless eyes blinked at the cover for a long moment, heat burning furiously through his ears. His head spun from the strength of his blush — and maybe a little bit from the obscene images that still spiraled through his mind. Thaliak's blessed ewer. To think there were books like that within these halls. That was... Informative was a word. Whether it was the right word was a separate question, but it certainly was a word that could perhaps describe this experience.

The book settled back on the shelf with a decisive click, but Urianger’s fingers hesitated over its spine. Much as that had been more than he'd really intended to get himself into, it might be beneficial to know how all of that.... worked. He had never been bothered before by that particular gap in his knowledge, but... It might be worthwhile to look into it. Just a little. Just to... know. In case it happened to come up.

Lip caught between his teeth, he drew the book carefully back off the shelf and into the crook of his arm, tucking the cover in against his chest so no one would see it. And really, it wouldn't do to consult only one tome for research purposes. He needed a larger sample size if he wished to get a decent impression of the subject matter.

He shuffled a little further down the shelf, studiously examining the covers of its brethren until he found a handful of others that each made his face flame so hot it was a wonder the pages didn't catch fire from proximity alone. He tucked them in against his chest, their salacious artwork and revelatory titles hidden from view. Four was likely sufficient; there couldn't be that much variation in the depiction of events, could there? Surely this would at least be enough to sate his curiosity. If the few pages he'd skimmed were anything to go by, there was more than enough detail within them to answer any questions he might have.

Although... It might be a good idea to pick up some less anecdotal references as well. Something that provided a more accurate depiction of the anatomical and biological processes. Just so he could know how all of that... worked. Not that he was completely clueless, of course. He'd read the medical textbooks when he was young, just like everyone else. He knew where everything went. ...More or less. But... A reminder certainly couldn't hurt.

The stacks of biology and medical texts were more familiar ground, but Urianger still felt the heat searing along his ears as he tugged books from their shelves to add to the growing stack in his arms. He hadn't even made it to the tomes he'd actually come for yet, and already his collection had grown dreadfully large. The prospect of transporting them back to Il Mheg was growing to be a concern, not only because of the weight of them but also for the effort it would take to conceal their contents. Thank the stars the Crystal Exarch had granted him blanket permission to borrow whatever materials might be of use to his research; if anyone saw him with these, he was liable to combust on the spot from embarrassment.

"Urianger, have you found what you were looking for yet?"

The sound of Thancred's voice nearly made him scatter the whole blasted stack on the ground. Urianger clutched them tightly to himself as Thancred rounded the corner, eyes perhaps a little too wide and reddened ears surely a dead giveaway that he'd been up to something salacious. But Thancred regarded him normally as he drew up before him, awaiting an answer to a question Urianger had already forgotten about.

"I— yes. Or, er. Somewhat. There remain a number of volumes I've yet to retrieve. I will— do that now. Excuse me." It was a small mercy that Urianger could not see the bewilderment on Thancred's face as he turned on his heel and left him there staring dumbfounded in his wake.

Urianger didn't breathe again until he’d crossed half of the library. Chagrin turned his knees weak, and it was a wonder he could still stand with all the blood in his body concentrated entirely in his face. Of all the people who might stumble upon him carrying such libidinous books, Thancred was the very last he wished to see. With anyone else he might play it off as academic curiosity, but with Thancred... He might know. Might guess the indecorous twists his thoughts took these days, when Thancred pressed close and brushed his lips to Urianger’s. Or when he stripped his sweat-soaked clothing after a rigorous training session. Or when he lay down next to Urianger at night in the bed that they sometimes shared, because the sofa was no more comfortable now than it had been months ago and it would be simply illogical not to share the bed when there was more than enough space for the both of them.

Twelve help him. Maybe if he counted backwards from one hundred, his cheeks would have returned to a normal color by the time he was through.

The sudden rustle of fabric from the other side of the shelf nearly made him leap out of his skin all over again.

...Perhaps I should start at one thousand.

[Chapter 17] | [Masterlist]

[Kofi/Commissions]

[levixthxn-thegirl]

Below: Headcanons for One Piece Verse (A brief use of violent language in the third entry and mentions of scarification in the fifth entry.)

(Many of these headcanons for Ambrosine's time as a pirate are relevant from the ages of 18 to 25, then again at 30 onwards after she joins her crew again a little ways after the Loguetown arc.)

• Ambrosine's first time on the sea wasn't with Leviathan's and the crew on the Queen of Heaven. In fact, as a child, she could always be found on her grandda's fishing boat, enjoying the sea salt spray and the big open waters. In a corny way of phrase, her first love was the sea, and it's never could resist its siren call. So the moment she sat foot on the ghostly galleon that was her new home, she immediately felt that same joy she knew long before.

• The folk on Emerald Island are inherently superstitious, and Ambrosine is still no different. One of her first and favorite moments being on Avalon (her grandda's fishing boat) was being tossed overboard and then being hauled back. They believed that, and drawing blood before fishing season would bring good luck. On the Queen of Heaven, some of the superstitions couldn't be avoided, like not sailing on a Thursday or Friday, but it was basically a carnal sin to whistle (it's believed that whistling would bring a storm.)

• Additionally, about Emerald Island, everyone from there has a very distinct accent (think the irl Irish accents), and the Lazarus Organization had to all but beat it out of Ambrosine as they deemed it 'unprofessional' and 'unruly sounding'. Eventually, she just would barely talk unless it was with Dimitrios, then it would be her working incredibly hard to tone down her native accent. Nowadays, it'll slip out in times of anger or shock, where emotions are high, rationale is low, and the conscious filter is turned off completely.

• You don't like shanties? Then your place isn't on the Queen of Heaven. The exit is right there (overboard). From morning till well into the night, the crew, if not chatting, is singing their hearts out. If it's night of celebration or there's booze involved, good luck getting any sleep as they'll sing till dawn, only stopping when sleep finally as them in their grip.

• Like how most pirate crews have a look or theme in which they dress themselves in, the crew of the Queen of Heaven is no different. In fact, if loyalty is being rated on the way they adorn themselves, they would be poster crew of ride or die as theirs is more than clothing and makeup. The most common look amongst them is a full body skeletal tattoo, with scarification of the same design being a second choice, but each member had their own add ons to their chosen methods, adding a unique touch to an otherwise uniform sign of devotion.

Ambrosine participated in the custom, with a brand vertical along her back that could be seen as black magic (specifically a binding seal, but what for?), along with her infamous scaly tendril sleeve tattoo, with the red violet eye at curve of her shoulder. In 'polite' company or in the company of other pirates were serious matters were being discussed, she'd wear her fur line trench coat to cover herself. If the event of a merry making or just amongst her own crew, then a backless halter top would be worn. To them, scars were nothing to be ashamed of and were physical testimonies of your survival.

[windvexer]

hey chicken! what can i do in the dry periods in which there is nothing really bothering me? as in, how can i further my practice with spirits and witchcraft if i am not actively needing to do a spell?

What a great question! This is a problem that plagues many practitioners. Here's a few ideas in no particular order:

Take a break and do nothing. IMO, a vital part of growth in witchcraft is growth of the witch. Just by living life, you develop yourself and therefore your craft. Your witchcraft evolves at the exact same pace as you evolve. It is in lockstep with you; it is you, it comes from you. It is never separate from you.

So do literally anything - relax and steep yourself into a tea of nonaction, learn a new hobby, watch that Netflix series, go for a walk. Do anything, including nothing.

Learn a new creative hobby, by the way. A significant portion of my practice these days is making things. My beliefs advise that the act of physical creation is very powerful and a very good way to bind magic into our physical world.

Christmas is coming up and it's the perfect time to learn to crochet coasters, paint watercolor bookmarks, calligraphy for fancy cards, and so on. Knowing most of us, we probably have expensive and barely-used craft materials in the closet from last summer's hyperfixation! Pick something up again and learn to use it for small projects.

As you hobby away, ask yourself how the skill you're learning might translate to witchcraft.

When it's time to do magic again, you'll have extra tools in your toolbox. Hand-made bags for spell sachets, devotional artwork, stunning sigils: by learning a skill and meditating on its mystical uses, we unlock new doors in our path that may lead to mysterious and winding hallways of possibility.

You can also do drills. Whatever sort of magic you do, you can break it down to its composite parts and practice it. Suppose you like to do a lot of candle magic where you charge the candle. Well, practice that. Get a pack of 100 tea lights and practice charging each one. Fill it with a specific sort of energy. Come back the next day and fill it again. And again. Carve a symbol on top. Do you perceive that it is easier to charge the candle when a corresponding symbol has been carved into it? Put it away. How long does it stay charged for?

Learn a new method of charging. Maybe you like to do visualization + willpower charging. Now, try something new: charging through offerings. Charging through sacrifice. Charging through prayer. Compare the results to your original method. Is it less draining? More? Does it stay charged as long? Is the quality of energy different? What about when you carve a symbol and then pray over it, does that make a difference?

(the benefit of this is ending up with a hundred pre-charged candles ready for spellwork when the time comes)

Of course, you may work over substances specifically meant to be worked over ahead of time. Oils, waters, potions, and powders may be prepared ahead of time, especially at opportune astrological appointments, and accumulate a great deal of power before they're needed. Many traditional recipes call for an incense or oil to steep for months before it is used.

What kind of magic do you often end up doing? Are you regularly blessing, generating good luck, or drawing prosperity? Perhaps your practice would benefit from careful preparation of a blessing incense, worked over for a few months before it's put into use.

If you're in a creative mood, maybe there is some big project you've been putting off - building of spirit houses, making of fancy altar cloths, crafting of special ceremonial masks - that you could finally get started on.

Moving away from mundane creation, perhaps there's some magical skill you'd like to adopt. Astral travel, new methods of divination, new methodologies of spellwork, and so on. If there's truly nothing for you to cast on, learning about a system is better than not learning about a system. You'll still take away more than nothing.

A healthy period of self-examination may also serve. Try giving a name to your practice (something very cool and 90s, like Path of the Golden Crow) and writing a handbook for hypothetical novices who want to join this path. What are the foundational skills of your practice? What are your core beliefs? What spell or ritual formats must people be able to work if they want to be a Golden Crow?

Pouring energy back into spiritual relationships is always a good option. It's my experience that spirits don't like feeling like vending machines, and relationships may turn sour if we only show up when we need something from them. Spend a lot of time talking to the spirits. Ask them what you should be doing.

If your skills with spirit work are limited, actively practice psychism, divination, astral travel, or other methods of spirit contact.

Of course, you can also just do spellwork regardless. Why does something have to be bothering you before you cast on it? Wouldn't you like to get a pay raise, or have more ideal hours? Would you like your blog to have more followers? Would you like a very expensive tool or crafting supply on the cheap? Maybe you'd like to meet similarly-minded folks in your local area. The list goes on.

Now, I will say something to wrap this up: plateaus are good and necessary. There is a difference between a plateau and a rut. I started this list off with "literally do nothing" for a reason. Periods of rest are not periods of stagnation, and things are often going on behind the scenes without us realizing it.

A few years ago, a witch friend of mine said she felt she had plateaued and asked me for a reading on how to get to the "next level." The reading was very bizarre and recommended that she basically implode her own life by making horrible decisions.

"Judy," I said, "isn't it true that all your periods of growth in witchcraft have been because something horrible happened, and you had to adapt to survive?"

"Yes," she said.

"Then enjoy your plateau," I advised, "and don't try to get out of it."

[wisteria-dream-writer]

Villain fumbled with their work, their lockpicking skills failing them today. Their lockpicking tool seemed unwilling to cooperate as it slipped from their hands once more. 

Henchman knew something was bothering the Villain. Their entire demeanor was off. Villain’s usual peppiness was gone and they were much less talkative than usual. They lacked the usual excitement of completing a mission, especially for a mission such as this one.

Supervillain had given them the assignment of kidnapping Hero, a mission that had originally sent Villain into a whirl of excitement. They’d raved for weeks, about all the different ways they could go about it. Supervillain didn’t give them any specifications, just that Hero needed to be alive. 

But today, now that they were at Hero’s apartment, Villain seemed a bit gloomy. They seemed like they had something else on their mind. They were distracted by something, their sole focus wasn’t on the mission. That’s dangerous when trying to complete a mission.

“Villain, are you alright?” aske Henchman. “Is there something bothering you?”

Villain sighed, a tired sigh that confirmed Henchman’s suspicion. “I’m thinking about Civilian,” they admitted. “They’ve been ignoring all of my calls, and I haven’t seen or heard from them in almost a month.”

“Is it possible that maybe you did something to scare them off?” asked Henchman.

Villain shook their head. “Not likely. They know who I am, what I do. And I’ve always kept my promise to keep them out of harm’s way. The last time we spoke, we were on wonderful terms.”

Henchman let out a half laugh. “What if Civilian is secretly Hero?”

“That’s not possible,” Villain scoffed. “We don’t keep secrets from each other.”

Their conversation cut short when Villain finally managed to pick the lock on Hero’s backdoor. They nudged the door open with their foot, slowly stepping inside the quiet apartment. The atmosphere was still, and unnaturally quiet.  

“It’s kind of spooky in here,” Henchman commented. “Should we split up to search for Hero?”

Villain nodded. “Yes, that’s a good idea.”

Villain searched through Hero’s living room and bedroom with no luck. Hero was nowhere to be found. They were immaculate with organization, not a single thread out of place. Everything seemed perfect, felt almost too perfect. Villain had a sneaking suspicion that something wasn’t right.

“Villain!” called out Henchman. “You might want to come down and see this!”

Villain followed the voice of their henchman to the basement of Hero’s apartment. They trotted down the stairs in a hurry, the tone of Henchman’s voice worrying them. 

“Henchman, what is—” Villain stopped when their eyes landed on Henchman’s discovery. In their basement, Hero had a civilian tied up and gagged. But not just any civilian.

Villain’s lover, Civilian.

“Oh my God,” Villain choked out. 

Civilian sobbed upon seeing Villain and Villain wasted no time rushing to their side. Villain pulled the gag out of their mouth and undid their bindings, horrified by the welts and lashed left all over Civilain’s body. Their clothes were mere rags now and stained in their own blood. Bruises littered the entirety of their body, especially around their right eye. It didn’t take a genius to figure out that Hero’s methods of torture were beyond humane. 

Even in all of Villain’s years, they had never done something like this. Sure, they’d held hostages before, but never had they tortured their captives. 

“Civilian, what happened to you?” they asked. They cupped Civilian’s face in their hands as gently as they could, scared to hurt them anymore than they already were. They were scared of the answer, but they needed to know. They needed to know just how much pain to give Hero before sending them off the Supervillain. 

“Hero—” Civilian choked out. “Hero took me to get to you. Said they were going to doll me up before using me as bait. They wanted to know where you were, but I wouldn’t tell. I wanted to protect you.”

Villain’s heart swelled in both love and pain. They loved seeing how devoted Civilian was to them. But at the cost of their own safety. Villain was not ready to accept that.

“Baby, I appreciate you wanting to protect me, but next time—” like there would ever be a next time. Villain would kill Hero before that happened again. “—just tell the damned hero what they want to know. Henchman and I can deal with the consequences.”

Tears welled up in Civilian’s eyes and Villain didn’t waste another second pulling them into their arms. They let Civilian cry on them, guilt heavy on their shoulders. This was Villain’s fault. If they worked in a different profession, had a safer job, Civilian wouldn’t be in this position right now. They’d be home, safe and uninjured. 

 Villain planted a kiss on their forehead and whispered an apology against their skin. A couple tears of their own trailed down their face. They hated seeing their lover like this.

“Boss,” said Henchman. “Someone’s walking down the stairs.”

Villain turned their head to see Hero entering the basement, a satisfied grin on their face. 

“Well, well,” they said. “Look what the cat brought in. Though you are a bit ahead of schedule, I had planned to wait another month before informing you about my little guest.”

“You’ve crossed a line, Hero,” spat Villain. “Civilian is innocent in all of this.”

Hero shook their head in mock pity. “No one is truly innocent if they knowingly let a criminal roam free without reporting them to the police. I’m just giving them the same treatment I’d give a villain.”

Villain’s heart felt heavy with guilt, it really was their fault Civilian was here. It pained them knowing they were the cause of this. 

“Stop it,” they pleaded. “Leave Civilian out of this. They did nothing wrong. I’ve alway kept them out of my crimes. I’m the criminal. Torture me instead.”

Hero smirked at Villain’s obvious weakness. “Hurt your loved ones to get to you is the best kind of torture there is, don’t you agree? The results are more long term than any physical damage. Knowing the person you love most is hurting and it’s all your fault? It’s the best torture method there is.”

Hero sent Civilian a sadistic smirk and Civilian literally shook in fear. They cowered further into Villain’s hold, a small whimper escaping past their cracked lips. 

“You’re disgusting,” said Villain. “Hurting an innocent person, for your own gain? You’re no different than me. You’d blend right in with the other villains.”

Hero scoffed. “Don’t you dare compare me to the likes of you. Everything I do is for the good of the public in the long run.”

“If the public saw what you did, I can promise you they’d be horrified by you,” Villain looked at Hero in pure disgust. “Henchman.”

“Yes, boss?” 

“I trust you can complete the mission without me?” asked Villain. They received a nod and slipped away while Henchman and Hero engaged in a fight.

They carried Civilian home and spent the remainder of their day treating their wounds and endlessly apologizing.